The Farm Girl\'s Billionaire Secret

The Farm Girl\'s Billionaire Secret

Gavin

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My dad, Marcus Sterling, banished me to a remote Montana ranch after my ill-advised crypto-smoothie investment turned into an SEC headache. I, Ava Sterling, prodigal daughter of a tech mogul, was serving time for a very expensive lapse in judgment. All I wanted was a cell signal, a working phone, and to beg my dad for the G650 jet back home. The ranch, with its endless shoveling and broken fences, felt like a temporary purgatory. Then, on the eleventh morning, a sleek black Escalade crunched up the gravel driveway. A woman stepped out, an older, tired reflection of me, introducing herself as Eleanor Vance, my birth mother. The mother who, according to vague family stories, had vanished when I was a baby. It was an utterly shocking reunion, one I never anticipated. Eleanor quickly swept me into her opulent, yet startlingly cold, life in the city. Her grand house was a blur of shimmering dresses and tailored suits, a world away from my farm attire. My introduction to her husband, Richard Harrison, and her mean-girl daughter, Chloe, was anything but welcoming. "What is *that*?" Chloe drawled, her voice dripping with disdain at my mud-caked boots and ripped jeans. Richard's gaze was ice-cold as he demanded, "Get this... person out of my house." Despite Eleanor's tearful proclamations that I was "the one we lost," I was met with contempt and immediate rejection. The DNA test confirmed my identity, yet their attitude toward me only hardened; I was just an inconvenient truth. Why did this newfound family, after supposedly searching for me for two decades, treat me like an embarrassing relic? Their shock, their anger, their open scorn for me, the daughter they supposedly yearned for, left me bewildered and quietly seething. I, Ava Sterling, who was used to being celebrated, was now their dirty secret, a farm girl to be hidden away. But I wasn't some pitiable charity case; I was a genius accustomed to winning. As I picked up a plate of roast beef, ignoring their stares, a thought solidified: if they wanted a "farm girl" who was easily underestimated, they would certainly get one. This was a game, and I was just getting warmed up.

Introduction

My dad, Marcus Sterling, banished me to a remote Montana ranch after my ill-advised crypto-smoothie investment turned into an SEC headache.

I, Ava Sterling, prodigal daughter of a tech mogul, was serving time for a very expensive lapse in judgment.

All I wanted was a cell signal, a working phone, and to beg my dad for the G650 jet back home.

The ranch, with its endless shoveling and broken fences, felt like a temporary purgatory.

Then, on the eleventh morning, a sleek black Escalade crunched up the gravel driveway.

A woman stepped out, an older, tired reflection of me, introducing herself as Eleanor Vance, my birth mother.

The mother who, according to vague family stories, had vanished when I was a baby.

It was an utterly shocking reunion, one I never anticipated.

Eleanor quickly swept me into her opulent, yet startlingly cold, life in the city.

Her grand house was a blur of shimmering dresses and tailored suits, a world away from my farm attire.

My introduction to her husband, Richard Harrison, and her mean-girl daughter, Chloe, was anything but welcoming.

"What is *that*?" Chloe drawled, her voice dripping with disdain at my mud-caked boots and ripped jeans.

Richard's gaze was ice-cold as he demanded, "Get this... person out of my house."

Despite Eleanor's tearful proclamations that I was "the one we lost," I was met with contempt and immediate rejection.

The DNA test confirmed my identity, yet their attitude toward me only hardened; I was just an inconvenient truth.

Why did this newfound family, after supposedly searching for me for two decades, treat me like an embarrassing relic?

Their shock, their anger, their open scorn for me, the daughter they supposedly yearned for, left me bewildered and quietly seething.

I, Ava Sterling, who was used to being celebrated, was now their dirty secret, a farm girl to be hidden away.

But I wasn't some pitiable charity case; I was a genius accustomed to winning.

As I picked up a plate of roast beef, ignoring their stares, a thought solidified: if they wanted a "farm girl" who was easily underestimated, they would certainly get one.

This was a game, and I was just getting warmed up.

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