Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!

"This contains the information regarding your biological parents," Preston said, his voice devoid of inflection. "And the arrangements for the next few days."

Journey reached out. Her hand was steady. She flipped the folder open.

The first photo was of a man. Kamron Cobb. He was wearing a hard hat, his face lined with grit and exhaustion. He looked nothing like Preston. He looked real.

"I'm so sorry," Alleen blurted out. Her voice was high, thin. "I didn't mean to ruin your life, sister. I just wanted to see my mommy and daddy."

She emphasized the words mommy and daddy, dragging the vowels out, turning them into weapons. She looked at Journey, waiting for the crack in the armor.

Victoria leaned in, wrapping an arm around Alleen's shoulders. "It's not your fault, darling. You've suffered enough."

Journey ignored them. She scanned the document. Queens. A fourth-floor walk-up. A food truck business.

It wasn't the Hamptons. It was better. It was anonymous.

Alleen was watching her, eyes darting between Journey's face and the file. She wanted tears. She wanted screaming.

Journey closed the folder. The sound was sharp in the quiet room.

"When do I move out?"

The silence that followed was absolute. Alleen's mouth fell open slightly. Her sob story stalled in her throat.

Preston blinked, thrown off his script. He had expected begging. "Immediately. It's best for everyone."

"Journey," Victoria said, her voice trembling with performed guilt. "We raised you for twenty years. We don't want to be cruel..."

"For Alleen's sake," Journey cut in, her voice smooth as glass. "I should leave quickly. The media will have a field day if I linger. You need to control the narrative."

Alleen bit her lip. She realized, with a dawn of panic, that Journey was managing the situation better than she was. Journey was stealing the victimhood.

"Are you disgusted?" Alleen asked, her voice trembling. "Because my parents are poor? They're good people, even if they don't have... this." She gestured vaguely at the crystal chandelier.

Journey turned her head slowly. She looked at Alleen. She didn't glare. She just looked, dissecting the girl like a frog in biology class.

"I haven't said a word about them," Journey said. "Why are you so eager to tell me how I feel?"

Alleen flushed a blotchy red. She looked down at her hands.

Preston tapped the table, impatient with the female emotions cluttering his schedule. "Enough. Journey, we have prepared a settlement."

Journey raised an eyebrow.

Alleen's head snapped up. The grief vanished, replaced by the sharp calculation of an accountant.

A maid entered, placing a tea service on the table. The china clinked softly. Journey reached for a cup, pouring the tea, adding milk, stirring once, twice, three times. The spoon didn't touch the sides.

Alleen watched the ritual with naked envy. She tried to straighten her spine, mimicking Journey's posture, but she just looked stiff.

"Alleen is new to this life," Victoria said, noticing the contrast. "You'll have to forgive her lack of polish, Journey."

The implication hung in the air: You are the outsider now. You are the guest.

Journey set the cup down. It made a decisive click against the saucer.

"There is nothing to forgive," Journey said. "We are strangers now."

Victoria flinched as if slapped. Her face went pale. She hadn't expected the cut to be so clean.

Preston pulled a check from his jacket pocket. He placed it on the table.