From Pantry To MIT: Their Regret

My parents left me to freeze to death on a mountain just to save their adopted daughter.

When I dragged my broken body back home days later, my father didn't hug me.

Instead, he frowned and asked why I was making such a scene over a "simple accident."

For eighteen years, I was the Corbett family's dirty secret.

Despite being their biological child, I slept in a pantry and scrubbed their floors while Angelique, their "chosen" one, lived like a princess.

They erased my existence, starved me, and when I finally packed my bags to leave forever, they accused me of being an ungrateful gold-digger.

Even my childhood protector, Asher, looked at me with disgust, claiming my survival was hurting "delicate" Angelique.

I severed all ties, but they wouldn't let me go.

When they cornered me at my new school to save their plummeting stock prices, I didn't cower.

I exposed every scar, every unpaid bill, and every crime to the principal, getting them banned from campus.

Now, as I head to MIT on a full ride, the Corbett empire is burning to the ground.

And I' m the one holding the match.

Chapter 1

Catrina POV

My breath hitched, a phantom tightening in my chest. I heard the crunch of expensive shoes on the gravel driveway, a sound I knew too well, a sound that always meant trouble. I was already halfway down the steps of the mansion, my worn backpack slung over my shoulder, a physical weight I was used to, unlike the invisible burden I was shedding.

"Catrina! What are you doing?" Angelique's voice, sweet as poison, drifted through the evening air. She appeared at the threshold, Cordell and Dozier just behind her, forming a picture-perfect family tableau.

Dozier, ever the dutiful son, had his arm loosely around Angelique's waist. She leaned into him, a delicate porcelain doll, her designer silk robe shimmering under the porch lights. I watched them, a familiar ache deep in my gut. It wasn't jealousy anymore, just a dull throb of recognition for the lie they lived.

"Leaving, Angelique," I stated, my voice flat. My eyes caught hers, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something calculating behind her wide, innocent gaze. My lip curled. She was always good for a performance.

"Leaving? But... why? Is it about the new car? Daddy was just going to surprise you with it." Her voice was laced with feigned concern, a practiced tremble.

I let my backpack slide from my shoulder, the dull thud on the flagstones echoing the finality of my decision. My gaze swept over them, landing on Angelique. My face remained impassive. "Oh, a new car? How terribly thoughtful. Is it perhaps the latest model, just like the one you received for your eighteenth, Angelique? Or maybe a slightly older version, to remind me of my place?"

Cordell's jaw tightened. That was a familiar tell. My sarcasm, honed over years of their casual cruelty, always pricked his carefully constructed facade.

"Catrina, that's enough," he snapped, his voice a low growl, devoid of any genuine emotion. "Let's not make a scene. We' ve all had a difficult time since Aspen. It was an accident. We've moved past that."

An accident. His words felt like a slap. An accident that left me stranded, broken, left to freeze to death while they evacuated their precious, unharmed Angelique.

"You survived, didn't you?" he continued, mistaking my silence for submission. "You're standing here now, perfectly fine."

Perfectly fine. The phrase clawed at something raw inside me. Perfectly fine after two days of frostbite and a cracked tibia, after weeks in a cast, limping through a strange hospital where not a single Corbett came to visit. Perfectly fine after paying my own medical bills, working three jobs under the table just to afford the co-pay, all while they enjoyed their lavish lifestyle.

I was the biological daughter, unearthed from the foster system at fifteen. But I was an inconvenient truth, a rough-edged reminder of a past they preferred to forget. They had Angelique, their chosen one, raised as their own. She was everything they wanted: beautiful, fragile, and utterly compliant. I was the anomaly, the inconvenient heir who dared to have opinions, who dared to excel academically, who never quite fit their gilded cage. Every triumph, every small victory I scraped out for myself, was met with suspicion, thinly veiled jealousy, or outright sabotage. They accused me of stealing, of lying, of being ungrateful. It was easier to believe Angelique' s fabricated tears than my quiet competence.

For years, I craved their love, their approval. I yearned for the warmth of a family, a home. I cried myself to sleep for them. But the tears eventually dried up, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I stopped hoping. I stopped caring. I started planning. I had already secured a small studio apartment downtown, emptied my meager savings, and even managed to squirrel away a small emergency fund. I was ready.

I adjusted my backpack, the straps digging into my shoulders. "I plan to," I said, my voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the silence. "Live, that is. I plan to live very well." I met Cordell's gaze, my eyes devoid of the longing he was perhaps accustomed to seeing. "And from this moment on, you will consider me dead. You will act as if I ceased to exist the moment you left me on that mountain."

Angelique gasped, a delicate hand flying to her mouth, but a fleeting smirk betrayed her feigned shock. She looked at Cordell, as if seeking permission to perform.

Cordell' s eyes narrowed, a cold fire burning within them. "Fine," he bit out, his voice sharp and final. "If that is what you wish. But know this, Catrina. Once you walk away, there's no coming back. You will never set foot in this house again."

I nodded slowly, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. "Wouldn't dream of it." My gaze lingered on Angelique, who was now subtly clutching Dozier's arm, her eyes wide and wet. "I wouldn't want to intrude on your perfect family, Angelique. I'm sure you wouldn't want me around, reminding everyone that you're not the only daughter, would you?"

She flinched, her carefully constructed facade cracking. My words had hit their mark. I watched her, a predator observing its prey. How many times had I seen that look? The trembling lower lip, the tear-filled eyes designed to manipulate. She would soon turn it on Dozier, on Cordell, on Dona, painting me as the cruel, ungrateful outsider.

I used to fall for it. I used to rage, to cry, to try and defend myself. But not anymore. Now, I saw the mechanics of her performance, the well-oiled machine of their collective deceit. I saw the expensive clothes, the designer bags, the lavish parties, all bought with the money that could have, should have, been mine. I remembered my own threadbare clothes, the stale bread for dinner, the cramped, unheated closet I'd slept in, convinced it was all I deserved. They twisted my very existence, my blood relation, into a weapon against me. I, the true daughter, was the interloper, the stain on their immaculate canvas.

But today was different. I was no longer seeking their love. I was simply stating a fact. Their "upbringing," as they so proudly called it, had been nothing more than an elaborate act of systematic abuse.

"You speak of 'raising' me," I said, my voice steady, cutting through the tense silence. "But what exactly did you raise? A housemaid? A scapegoat? A punching bag? Eighteen years of neglect, emotional manipulation, and physical deprivation. Shall we tally the hours I spent cleaning your mansion, preparing your meals, tutoring Angelique, all while being told I was worthless? Shall we calculate the monetary value of the endless chores, the stolen designs, the fabricated accusations?" I fixed my gaze on Cordell. "Perhaps I should send you an invoice. With interest."

Before he could respond, a harsh, masculine voice sliced through the air. "What in hell is going on here?"

The sound of an approaching car, heavy and powerful, crunched closer. The headlights cut through the deepening twilight, illuminating Dozier Corbett as he stepped out of his sleek black sedan, his face contorted in a mask of anger.

Catrina POV

Dozier Corbett stepped out of his sleek black sedan, his face a mask of anger. He strode towards us, his eyes, so like his father' s, burning with a familiar disdain.

"You're still here, Catrina?" he sneered, his gaze sweeping over my backpack with open contempt. "Still trying to extort more from them? Honestly, your greed knows no bounds. Angelique never asked for anything. She's grateful for every little thing they do."

I let out a short, incredulous laugh. It wasn't amusement; it was the sound of something breaking inside me, something I hadn't realized was still intact. "When have you ever acknowledged me as family, Dozier?" I shot back, my voice sharp. "When have any of you? Did you ever introduce me as your sister at those fancy Ivy League parties you attended? Or was I always the 'intern' or the 'charity case' you graciously allowed into your home?"

My gaze locked with his. "And as for greed, Dozier, Angelique has never lifted a finger for anything in her life. She gets everything handed to her on a silver platter. I earned every penny, every scholarship, every shred of dignity I possess. You, on the other hand, stole my robotics design and gave it to her for her college application, didn't you?"

Dozier's face went pale. He averted his eyes, the casual arrogance replaced by a flicker of something that might have been shame. I remembered the first time I met him, three years ago. He had been so charming, so seemingly kind. He' d helped me with my homework, shared his lunch, even told me I could call him "big brother." The words had felt like a balm on my wounded soul. For a brief, intoxicating period, I thought I had found an ally. A protector.

That illusion shattered the day Angelique cried, accusing me of ruining her expensive dress. She swore I had purposefully spilled paint on it, knowing I was a meticulous artist. He saw the genuine distress in my eyes, the paint smudges on my own clothes from my latest project, but he didn' t see the tears that streamed down my face. He only saw Angelique' s. Her tears were always more potent, more real to them. He'd yelled at me, shoved me against the wall, called me a manipulative liar. Then he' d stormed into my room, ransacked my belongings, and threw my art supplies out the window, convinced I was hiding some evidence of my "crime."

"It was a misunderstanding," Dozier mumbled, his gaze fixed on the ground.

I laughed again, a harsh, brittle sound that grated in the quiet evening. "Misunderstanding? Was it a misunderstanding when you accused me of plagiarizing my own physics project? Was it a misunderstanding when you told the entire school I was a gold-digger, trying to steal Angelique's inheritance? Was it a misunderstanding when you stood by, arms crossed, watching as Angelique poured bleach on my foster mother's clothes, then blamed it on 'my temper'?"

No, it wasn't a misunderstanding. It was calculated. All of it. Angelique knew I was a threat, not to her inheritance, but to her place in their hearts, a place that was rightfully mine. She saw my intelligence, my resilience, as a challenge to her carefully cultivated fragility.

"You watched," I continued, my voice gaining strength, "as they confiscated my books, as they threw away my childhood photos, as they made me sleep in the unheated pantry because I 'deserved to be punished.' You watched as I went hungry, as my clothes became threadbare, as my knees bled from scrubbing their floors. You were my 'big brother,' Dozier. You were the one who promised to protect me. But you never said a word. Not one." I shook my head, a bitter taste in my mouth. "You forfeited that title a long time ago. You are no brother of mine."

My words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Cordell and Dona stood frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and something else – embarrassment, perhaps, that their dirty laundry was being aired so publicly. But it wasn't pity I saw in their eyes, not for me anyway. It was the dawning realization of a potential PR nightmare.

"Catrina, get back inside!" Dona shrieked, her voice shrill with anger, her perfectly coiffed hair trembling. "This is not the place for family squabbles!"

I turned to her, my expression cold. "We are not family, Dona. Not anymore. And there will be no more squabbles." I took a step back, my gaze sweeping over the whole sordid group. "I came to retrieve what little is mine and to say my final goodbyes. The only thing I feel now is pity. Pity for the pathetic, desperate creature you are, Angelique."

Angelique' s face, usually so composed, crumpled. Her eyes, wide and terrified, met mine. She looked genuinely afraid, perhaps for the first time in her life. Good. She should be.

"I hereby sever all ties, legal and emotional, with the Corbett family," I declared, my voice clear and strong. "I am not your daughter, Cordell and Dona. I am not your sister, Dozier and Angelique. I want nothing from you, and I will take nothing from you. And I will never, ever acknowledge your existence again."

Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel, picked up the old, faded backpack I had left on the flagstones, and slung it over my shoulder. It felt lighter than it ever had before, as if shedding the weight of their names had lifted a thousand pounds from my soul. I didn't look back. I walked away from the perfectly manicured lawns, the opulent mansion, the suffocating prison that called itself a home.

The night air was cool against my skin, cleansing. It washed away the cloying scent of their hypocrisy, the bitter stench of their lies. For the first time in my life, I felt truly free.

But as the adrenaline faded, a different kind of sensation crept in, an icy loneliness that settled deep in my bones. I was free, yes, but I was also utterly alone. The Corbetts were gone, a toxic limb amputated. But there was another wound, a deeper one, festering beneath the surface. Asher. My childhood friend, my confidant, my supposed knight in shining armor. He was the one who had promised me salvation, only to betray me in the cruelest way imaginable. Hadn't I saved him, once?

Catrina POV

My declaration echoed in the heavy silence, carrying an undeniable power. Cordell' s face, usually composed, contorted in a mixture of shock and sheer indignation. It wasn' t the pain in my voice that stunned him, but the audacity of my public defiance. He hated scenes, hated anything that threatened the immaculate image of the Corbett dynasty.

"Catrina, get back inside!" Dona shrieked, her voice piercing the night. Her face was a mask of fury, her carefully applied makeup unable to conceal the raw anger beneath.

"We are not family, Dona," I reiterated, my voice calm, almost meditative. The contrast to her hysteria was stark. "And there will be no more squabbles. My purpose here was merely to retrieve my belongings and bid you farewell. I' m done discussing anything with you."

I took a step back, my gaze sweeping over the group one last time. Angelique stood there, pale and trembling, her eyes wide with a fear I found deeply satisfying. She should be afraid. Her carefully constructed world was crumbling, and I was the architect of its demise.

"I hereby publicly and irrevocably sever all ties, legal and emotional, with the Corbett family," I announced, each word cutting through the quiet night. "I am not your daughter, nor your sister. I seek no inheritance, no financial compensation, and no claim to your name or your legacy. From this day forward, we are strangers. I will never acknowledge you, and I demand you cease all attempts to contact me."

I didn' t wait for a response. I turned, picked up the old, faded backpack that held all of my worldly possessions, and slung it over my shoulder. It felt impossibly light, a testament to the emotional baggage I was finally shedding. I didn't look back. I strode away from the opulent mansion, across the perfectly manicured lawns, and out onto the street. The night air, crisp and cold, was a welcome relief. It seemed to scrub away the lingering scent of their hypocrisy, leaving me feeling clean, untainted.

For the first time in my life, I felt a profound sense of freedom. But as the adrenaline began to recede, a cold, hollow ache settled in my chest. I was free, yes, but also acutely alone. All my life, I had longed for a family, for belonging. Now, I had deliberately, definitively, severed that last, tortured connection. The Corbetts were a closed chapter, a toxic memory I was determined to bury.

Yet, a sharper, more insidious pain lingered. Not from them, but from Asher. The one who had been my friend, my confidant, my supposed ally. He had been my anchor in the storm, the only one who seemed to understand. He was the one who hurt the most, because his betrayal had been so unexpected, so absolute. I had saved him once. I had thought he would save me.