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.