After Driving Away the Fake Heiress, The Family Went Bankrupt

Corey didn't have long to enjoy himself. His phone rang, and he picked up. The arrogance on his face collapsed in under three seconds.

"What? The Connolly real estate projects all tanked? The eighty million we put in—"

His voice was shaking.

Isabella pulled away from him immediately, pointing at me. "It's her fault. It has to be. She's always been bad luck; she drags down everything around her."

I looked at her. I wanted to slap her, but that would only make me angrier. "I told you," I said quietly. "Don't make me unhappy."

Margaret jumped in: "Still throwing a tantrum at this point? You've been a liability in this house since day one. Should've been sent away years ago."

Isabella clapped her hands. "Don't worry. Today I'm giving you back what's yours."

She crossed to the front door and pulled it open. Two strangers stood in the hallway, a man and a woman. The man was gaunt, his eyes darting immediately to anything in the room that looked valuable. The woman was chewing something, her jaw working rhythmically.

Margaret pressed a handkerchief to her nose and stepped back three paces.

"Ivy, take a good look. These are your biological parents. They came all the way from the country today to take you home, back to the life that was always meant to be yours."

I stared at those two completely unfamiliar faces. No blood recognition, no warmth, just instinctive revulsion.

My biological father lit up and shuffled over, wringing his hands. "Kid! I finally get to see you!" His eyes weren't on me. They were fixed on the Tiffany jade earrings on my ears.

"Dad's got some good news for you." He dropped his voice but didn't bother controlling the volume. "The Crawford fellow one county over, fifty-three with a bad knee but decent enough. He put up thirty thousand dollars and he's waiting for you to come back and marry him."

Thirty thousand dollars. The shoes on my feet were worth more.

My biological mother reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled scrap of red fabric, grinning with a mouthful of uneven teeth. "Don't you worry, baby. That Crawford man, well, his last wife left because he had a temper, but if you're good and give him a son, I'm sure he won't lay a hand on you."

Nausea surged from my stomach straight to the back of my throat.

I looked left at the manipulative schemer and the spineless traitor. I looked right at the pair of biological strangers who'd sold me for a better offer. Then I looked at Margaret, standing three feet back with her arms crossed, watching it all like she was enjoying a show.

I kicked the solid oak coffee table in front of me clean over.

"Thirty thousand dollars?" My voice was quiet, but every word came out shaking. "The shoes I'm wearing could buy your whole family. You touch one hair on my head, and the first thing Raymond Connolly does when he lands is bury every last one of you."

My biological father stumbled back two steps, but Isabella's voice rose from behind me.

"That's hilarious." She tilted her chin up. "You're still hiding behind Raymond Connolly? He's my father. You think he's going to punish his own flesh and blood, his daughter who spent twenty years lost, for your sake? Wake up, Ivy."

"Somebody grab her. Take her home."

At Margaret's signal, the household staff surged in. Corey moved fast, eager to impress Isabella, and locked both arms around me from behind.

I turned my head and sank my teeth into his wrist.

"God—!" Corey screamed, yanking his hand back, then whipped a slap across my face.

I spat the blood out of my mouth and looked at him. "A dog who sold out for scraps. Doesn't it make sense that someone bit back?"

Corey's forehead was beaded with sweat, his humiliation curdling into fury. He turned and barked at my biological father: "What are you standing there for? Tie her up!"

My biological father fished a coil of rough rope from his pants pocket. Two men grabbed my shoulders and wrenched my arms behind my back. The rope's fibers ground into my wrists, shredding a layer of skin instantly, and blood seeped up.

I fought, driving my heel hard into Corey's shin. But two grown men were more than I could overpower.

Margaret stood exactly three feet away and watched every second of it. She didn't lift a finger. Instead she walked to the kitchen and came back with a grimy stovetop rag, pried my mouth open without a word, and shoved it inside.

Every sound I could make was gone.

I tilted my head back and looked at her. She looked satisfied. She'd been waiting to do this for a long time, and now she'd finally gotten rid of me, with no one left to challenge her claim on the Connolly estate.

They dragged me down the stairs. The rope cut into my wrists with every step, and my heels slammed into each stair. The pain was nearly blinding.

But I didn't cry once. Through the rag I let out a single muffled laugh, and the sound made my biological mother flinch.

As the car door slammed shut, a bright red warning blazed across my mind.

FORTUNE SYSTEM — CRITICAL ALERT: Host emotional index has reached minimum threshold. Connolly Group market cap... ZERO. Bankruptcy effective immediately.