Reborn And Pampered: The Genius Heiress Returns

The heavy wrought-iron gates of the Fitzpatrick estate groaned as Leland pushed them open. The metal hinges scraped together, a harsh sound that grated against the eardrums.

Leland did not look back. He simply jerked his chin, signaling for the seven-year-old girl to follow.

Cordelia stepped forward. Her faded, oversized T-shirt hung loosely on her thin frame. Her worn-out sneakers hit the pristine, mirror-like marble driveway, leaving a faint smudge of gray dust with every step.

Leland glanced down at the dirt. His nose wrinkled. The muscles in his jaw tightened in obvious disgust. He quickened his pace, deliberately putting three steps of distance between his polished Italian leather shoes and her dirty sneakers.

Cordelia did not care. She tilted her head back, her eyes scanning the massive Gothic architecture of the main house. Her pulse was steady. Her stomach did not flutter with the nervous anticipation of a child coming home.

Her eyes were dead pools of still water.

They walked through the manicured rose garden. A stray thorn caught the frayed hem of Cordelia's shirt.

She did not stop. She did not ask for help. She simply grabbed the fabric and yanked it in the opposite direction. The thread snapped. The movement was sharp, efficient, and entirely devoid of childish helplessness.

Leland pushed open the double mahogany doors of the main house.

A blast of freezing air conditioning hit Cordelia's face. It smelled of expensive floral perfume and chemical floor wax. The sudden cold made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. Goosebumps erupted across her skin.

Inside the grand foyer, a maid named Maureen was wiping down an antique vase. Maureen turned her head. Maureen, who had served Antoinette loyally for a decade and adored Hallie, saw the newcomer not as a child, but as a threat to the household's peace. Her eyes swept over Cordelia's yellowed hair and cheap clothes. The corners of Maureen's mouth immediately pulled down into a sneer.

Maureen shifted her weight. She casually kicked her mop bucket half an inch to the right, placing it directly in Cordelia's path.

Cordelia kept her eyes on the floor. She did not break her stride. At the exact last second, her right foot shifted a fraction of an inch. She glided past the bucket without brushing the plastic.

Maureen blinked, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp of surprise.

Leland stopped at the edge of the cavernous living room. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to get the attention of the person sitting on the floor.

Hallie sat on a massive Persian rug, surrounded by the pieces of a thousand-piece puzzle. She wore a custom-made silk princess dress. At the sound of Leland's throat clearing, Hallie jerked her head up. Her face twisted with annoyance.

Then, Hallie saw Cordelia.

Hallie's eyes locked onto the dirt on Cordelia's shoes and the malnutrition in her cheeks. The skin around Hallie's eyes tightened. A violent surge of jealousy and pure hatred flashed across her face.

Hallie scrambled to her feet. Her elbow slammed into the glass coffee table.

A freshly brewed cup of hot coffee tipped over. The dark brown liquid spilled across the polished glass, dripping onto the expensive rug.

Hallie did not care about the burning liquid splashing her fingers. She lunged forward and grabbed the heavy ceramic mug by its handle.

"Get out of my house!" Hallie screamed. Her vocal cords strained, the sound piercing the quiet room.

Hallie swung her arm back and hurled the heavy ceramic cup straight at Cordelia's head.

The cup spun through the air in a deadly arc.

Leland gasped. His hands flew up, but he was three steps away. He had deliberately kept his distance to avoid Cordelia's dirt. He could not reach her in time.

Cordelia's pupils shrank.

A memory ripped through her brain like a lightning bolt. In her past life, that exact cup had smashed into her forehead. She remembered the blinding pain. She remembered the hot, sticky blood pouring into her eyes.

Her body reacted before the thought fully formed.

She did not freeze like a normal seven-year-old. She did not raise her hands to protect her face. Instead, she snapped her neck hard to the left.

The ceramic cup flew past her ear. The wind from the heavy object whipped against her cheek, stinging her skin.

The cup slammed into the marble wall behind her.

The impact sounded like a bomb detonating in the echoing room. The ceramic shattered into a hundred jagged pieces.

One sharp shard ricocheted off the wall. It sliced across the back of Cordelia's right hand.

A bright red bead of blood immediately welled up from the cut.

Cordelia slowly lowered her gaze to her bleeding hand. She did not cry. Her chest did not heave. Instead, the corners of her lips twitched upward. She smiled. It was a microscopic, bone-chilling smirk.

Hallie saw that she had missed. Her chest heaved with rage. She stomped her foot hard against the floor, grabbed a velvet throw pillow from the sofa, and raised it over her head.

Leland finally snapped out of his shock. He lunged forward, placing his body between the two girls.

"Miss Hallie, please!" Leland shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

Hallie saw Leland blocking her path. She immediately dropped the pillow. She threw herself backward onto the Persian rug.

Her lungs expanded, and she let out a deafening, hysterical wail.

"She ruined my puzzle!" Hallie sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at Cordelia. Real tears spilled over her eyelashes.

From the second-floor hallway, the sharp, rapid clicking of high heels echoed down the staircase. The noise from the living room had summoned the lady of the house.

Cordelia slowly lifted her head. Her eyes bypassed the crystal chandelier and locked onto the top of the stairs.

A figure was about to turn the corner. It was the biological mother she had spent her past life begging for love. The mother who had ultimately shoved her into hell.

Cordelia's fingers curled inward. She hid her bleeding hand inside the oversized sleeve of her shirt and waited.

The clicking of the high heels stopped abruptly.

Antoinette Webb stood at the top of the stairs. She gripped the fabric of her silk robe, her knuckles white. Her face was twisted in absolute fury.

A second later, Alton Fitzpatrick stepped out of his home office. He was adjusting his expensive silk tie. His eyebrows were pulled together in a deep scowl as he looked down at the chaos in the living room.

Antoinette did not even glance at Cordelia. She rushed down the stairs, her robe flying behind her. She threw herself onto the floor and pulled the sobbing Hallie into her chest.

"Oh, my sweet girl," Antoinette cooed. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and frantically dabbed at Hallie's dry cheeks.

Alton walked down the stairs. His leather shoes crunched over the shattered ceramic pieces. The sound was like bones grinding together. He looked down at the mess, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Finally, Alton's eyes landed on Cordelia.

He took in her dirty T-shirt, her messy hair, and the dust on her shoes. His stomach physically recoiled. The disgust in his eyes was raw and unfiltered. He did not ask if she was hurt. He did not look at the blood dripping from her sleeve.

Alton turned his glare on Leland. "I pay you to manage my affairs, Leland. Not to drag trash into my main house."

Leland bowed his head, his shoulders shrinking. "Sir, I apologize. But Miss Hallie threw the-"

"Shut up!" Antoinette shrieked from the floor. She glared at Cordelia. "You just walked through the door and you are already bullying your sister! You have absolutely no manners!"

Hallie buried her face in Antoinette's neck. Over her mother's shoulder, Hallie shot Cordelia a vicious, triumphant smile.

Cordelia stood perfectly still. Her breathing was slow and even. She did not rush forward to explain. She did not drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness like she had in her past life.

She slowly raised her uninjured left hand. She casually wiped the blood off her right hand before it could drip onto the expensive rug. The gesture was careless, almost bored.

Alton saw the movement. His blood pressure spiked. The veins in his neck bulged against his collar. To him, her silence was an act of extreme defiance.

Alton marched across the room. He stopped inches from Cordelia, towering over her. He pointed a thick finger right between her eyes.

"Listen to me," Alton hissed, his breath hot against her face. "This is the Fitzpatrick estate. I will not tolerate your trailer park rules in my home."

Cordelia slowly tilted her head up. Her blue eyes-the exact same shade as Alton's-locked onto his. There was no fear in her gaze. Only a freezing, bottomless void.

She opened her mouth. Her voice was high and childish, but her articulation was razor-sharp.

"Are the rules of the trailer park to throw heavy cups at people's heads?" Cordelia asked.

The logic was flawless. The question sliced straight through Hallie's lie.

The living room plunged into a suffocating silence.

Alton's jaw dropped. For a split second, he was stunned by the girl's razor-sharp articulation. Then, the humiliation of being outsmarted by a seven-year-old child turned his face a dark, angry red. His chest tightened.

Antoinette's voice shattered the silence. "How dare you talk back to your father! Apologize to Hallie right now!"

Cordelia let out a short, breathy laugh. It was a cold sound. She looked at the two adults standing in front of her. She looked at them the way a person looks at a corpse.

In her chest, a heavy chain snapped. She mentally deleted them. The biological connection was dead.

Hallie realized her parents were losing control. She kicked her legs against the rug and screamed louder. "Make her leave! Send her back to the orphanage! I hate her!"

Antoinette's eyes watered. She looked up at Alton, her hands clutching Hallie. "Alton, please. Get this jinx out of here."

Alton yanked at his tie, loosening it. He opened his mouth to order Leland to drag the girl out.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A heavy, rhythmic pounding echoed from the dark hallway leading to the east wing. The sound hit the floorboards like a hammer.

The air in the room instantly froze.

Glenwood Fitzpatrick stepped out of the shadows. The patriarch of the family leaned heavily on a black ebony cane. His face was a map of deep wrinkles, set in a permanent scowl.

Alton and Antoinette instantly dropped their shoulders. They lowered their heads.

"Father," Alton said, his voice suddenly weak.

Hallie stopped screaming. She sucked in a breath and shrank behind Antoinette's back, her fingers trembling.

Glenwood ignored them. His sharp, predatory eyes swept over the broken cup, the spilled coffee, and finally landed on the tiny, skinny girl standing in the middle of the room.

Cordelia did not look away. She held the old man's gaze.

She placed her left foot slightly behind her right. She pinched the sides of her oversized, dirty T-shirt. She bent her knees and lowered her body into a flawless, textbook-perfect curtsy.

Glenwood stared at the girl. His cloudy eyes widened a fraction. The muscles around his mouth twitched in surprise.

He leaned his weight onto his cane and slowly walked forward. The rubber tip of his cane crunched over a piece of broken porcelain. He stopped exactly one step away from Cordelia.

Glenwood looked down. His eyes locked onto the dried blood smeared across the back of her small hand. His thick white eyebrows slammed together.

"What happened here?" Glenwood's voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the floorboards.

Alton jumped forward, his hands waving in panic. "Father, she is clumsy. She knocked over the coffee and broke the cup, and then she had the nerve to talk back to-"

BANG.

Glenwood slammed his ebony cane against the marble floor. The noise cracked like a gunshot.

"Shut your mouth, Alton," Glenwood barked.

Alton's jaw snapped shut. He swallowed hard, stepping back.

Glenwood turned his attention back to Cordelia. The harsh lines on his face softened just a millimeter. "What is your name, child? And who taught you to curtsy like that?"

Cordelia did not look at her parents. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the old man.

"My name is Cordelia," she said. Her voice was steady, completely devoid of the tremor a normal child would have.

She paused, letting the silence stretch for one second. "It means 'daughter of the sea' in Latin. The woman who picked trash out of the dumpsters to feed me gave me that name."

A sharp, wet gasp ripped from Antoinette's throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her face turned the color of ash. The shame of hearing the word "trash" associated with her biological daughter felt like a physical slap to her face.

Glenwood's eyes darkened. A complex mix of guilt and intense curiosity swirled in his gaze.

"Do you not know that Antoinette is your real mother?" Glenwood asked softly.

Cordelia slowly turned her head. She looked at Antoinette. Her blue eyes were completely hollow. There was no longing. No sadness. Just ice.

"She is not my mother," Cordelia said. The words dropped from her lips like heavy stones. "She only cares about the sister who throws cups at people."

Antoinette staggered backward. Her knees buckled slightly, and she had to grab the wooden banister of the staircase to keep from falling. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.

Hallie saw her mother falter. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced out a loud wail. "She's a liar! Grandpa, she's lying!"

Glenwood slowly turned his head. He shot Hallie a single, lethal glare.

Hallie's mouth snapped shut. She choked on her own saliva, swallowing her fake sobs instantly.

The living room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone waited for the patriarch to pass judgment on the disrespectful girl.

But Cordelia was not finished.

She took a half-step forward. She deliberately closed the physical distance between herself and the old man, entering his personal space. She tilted her head up.

"Grandpa," Cordelia said, using the title with surgical precision. "I know the law says I have to return to this house."

She kept her voice low, but the acoustics of the room carried every syllable. "But the law does not say I have to be their punching bag."

Alton's face turned purple. The blood rushed to his head so fast his ears rang. He pointed a shaking finger at Cordelia. "You ungrateful little animal! I will teach you-"

Glenwood lifted his cane horizontally, blocking Alton's path. He did not look at his son. He kept his eyes on Cordelia. "Go on."

Cordelia took a deep breath. She let the air fill her lungs, preparing to drop the bomb she had calculated since the moment she woke up in this timeline.

"The law says I have to live here, but can I choose who takes care of me?" she stated.

The bold question hung in the air.

Leland choked on his own breath. He stared at the seven-year-old girl as if she had grown a second head.

Antoinette pressed both hands over her mouth. Her eyes widened, but a sick thrill of joy shot through her stomach. She thought she was finally going to be free of this embarrassment.

Alton felt his stomach drop. The humiliation burned his throat like stomach acid. His own flesh and blood was firing him in front of the head of the family. It was a direct attack on his authority as the heir.

Glenwood's grip on his cane tightened until his knuckles turned white. The shock in his eyes melted into a fierce, burning admiration.

The old man narrowed his eyes. "Do you even know what you are asking for? Who do you want to be your new guardian?"