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My mother' s hand, fragile as a bird' s wing, tightened around mine. For eighteen years, she' d sacrificed everything, her hands chapped and sore from cleaning houses, all so I could go to Northwood University. But with her dying breath, she whispered a secret that shattered my world: "Your father... Richard Thompson." Richard Thompson. The tech mogul whose face graced magazine covers. My father. It was impossible. A fever dream. "He has to matter now," she rasped, revealing a promise he' d made to care for me. The last thing she said before the flatlining monitor screamed her final moments was, "He will hate it. He will hate you. But he will do it. Make him keep his promise." I walked out of that hospital an orphan, holding a crumpled number that was both lifeline and curse. When the sleek black car pulled up to my crumbling apartment, I knew my life was over-and just beginning. My new home felt like a museum, or a very expensive prison. My half-siblings, Emily and Ben Thompson, greeted me with icy disdain. "Stay in your lane," Ben sneered, "The one you came from." I was a ghost in their pristine mansion, eating alone, walking on tiptoes, a cheap paperback thrown in the trash when I dared leave a trace. Then came the university lecture, taught in French, which I couldn't understand. My scholarship, my mother' s sacrifice, felt meaningless. Just as panic swelled, Ben, still with closed eyes, slid his tablet onto my desk. Real-time translation, a silent lifeline, an unexpected act of protection. "Don' t fall behind. It' s embarrassing," he grunted. And then Jessica, the girl I thought was a friend, outed me in the cafeteria. "So you' re the tech mogul' s bastard daughter," she announced, her voice dripping with venom. She mocked my mother, sneered at my attempts to belong, and shoved me, my lunch tray clattering to the floor. I saw red. Something inside me snapped. I lunged, my fist connecting with her nose. Blood, screams, chaos. Expulsion loomed. But my father didn' t come. He sent his assistant, who bought off Jessica' s family with a briefcase full of cash. Another message: I was worthless, easily bought, and completely alone. The bullying escalated. Vandalized lockers, spilled books, tripping hazards. No one would sit with me. I ate lunch in a bathroom stall, enduring it all in silence. Until one afternoon, in a deserted alley, Jessica and her friends cornered me. "No one' s here to save you now," she gloated, "Your rich daddy doesn' t care, and your fake siblings hate you." Just as the football players moved in, a black Audron screeched around the corner. Ben and Emily emerged, their faces cold and menacing. Ben punched a football player, breaking his nose. Emily slammed Jessica' s head against a brick wall, dragging her whimpering form before me. "You touched our sister," Emily' s voice was dangerously quiet. "She is a Thompson. Now you know the rule." Back at the mansion, in the aftermath, Ben explained their silent contempt. "We hate you, but you' re our problem. And we don' t let anyone else mess with our problems." Then, in the sterile bathroom, with Emily bandaging my cuts, they revealed their mother' s tragic death, her art destroyed by Richard. And how their own dreams had been crushed by his iron will. My gift, the glass butterfly, had not been an offering. It had been a ghost. My tears, long held back, finally fell. "He' s trying to break you," I whispered to Ben in the cold, dark basement where Richard had imprisoned us. "He wants obedient successors," Ben replied, recounting his dreams of game development, his mother' s art, all crushed by Richard' s ambition. "I hate him," Ben confessed, his voice raw. "Me too," I whispered back, a cold, hard rage solidifying within me. Then, Emily' s studio, a vibrant space of creation, was a scene of methodical, vicious destruction. Her hands, tools of her trade, wrapped in bandages, tendons severed. "He cut her," Maria, the maid, sobbed. "She will never... sew again." My fear burned away, replaced by a cold, clarifying rage. "You' re the only one he can' t break," Emily said, her empty eyes burning with desperate intensity. "You have to be our shield, Sarah. You have to be our weapon. Get strong. Get smart. You have to be the one to break him." "Okay," I said, my voice steady and clear. "I will."
Introduction
My mother' s hand, fragile as a bird' s wing, tightened around mine.
For eighteen years, she' d sacrificed everything, her hands chapped and sore from cleaning houses, all so I could go to Northwood University.
But with her dying breath, she whispered a secret that shattered my world: "Your father... Richard Thompson."
Richard Thompson. The tech mogul whose face graced magazine covers. My father. It was impossible. A fever dream.
"He has to matter now," she rasped, revealing a promise he' d made to care for me.
The last thing she said before the flatlining monitor screamed her final moments was, "He will hate it. He will hate you. But he will do it. Make him keep his promise."
I walked out of that hospital an orphan, holding a crumpled number that was both lifeline and curse.
When the sleek black car pulled up to my crumbling apartment, I knew my life was over-and just beginning.
My new home felt like a museum, or a very expensive prison.
My half-siblings, Emily and Ben Thompson, greeted me with icy disdain.
"Stay in your lane," Ben sneered, "The one you came from."
I was a ghost in their pristine mansion, eating alone, walking on tiptoes, a cheap paperback thrown in the trash when I dared leave a trace.
Then came the university lecture, taught in French, which I couldn't understand.
My scholarship, my mother' s sacrifice, felt meaningless.
Just as panic swelled, Ben, still with closed eyes, slid his tablet onto my desk.
Real-time translation, a silent lifeline, an unexpected act of protection.
"Don' t fall behind. It' s embarrassing," he grunted.
And then Jessica, the girl I thought was a friend, outed me in the cafeteria.
"So you' re the tech mogul' s bastard daughter," she announced, her voice dripping with venom.
She mocked my mother, sneered at my attempts to belong, and shoved me, my lunch tray clattering to the floor.
I saw red.
Something inside me snapped. I lunged, my fist connecting with her nose.
Blood, screams, chaos. Expulsion loomed.
But my father didn' t come. He sent his assistant, who bought off Jessica' s family with a briefcase full of cash.
Another message: I was worthless, easily bought, and completely alone.
The bullying escalated. Vandalized lockers, spilled books, tripping hazards.
No one would sit with me. I ate lunch in a bathroom stall, enduring it all in silence.
Until one afternoon, in a deserted alley, Jessica and her friends cornered me.
"No one' s here to save you now," she gloated, "Your rich daddy doesn' t care, and your fake siblings hate you."
Just as the football players moved in, a black Audron screeched around the corner.
Ben and Emily emerged, their faces cold and menacing.
Ben punched a football player, breaking his nose.
Emily slammed Jessica' s head against a brick wall, dragging her whimpering form before me.
"You touched our sister," Emily' s voice was dangerously quiet. "She is a Thompson. Now you know the rule."
Back at the mansion, in the aftermath, Ben explained their silent contempt.
"We hate you, but you' re our problem. And we don' t let anyone else mess with our problems."
Then, in the sterile bathroom, with Emily bandaging my cuts, they revealed their mother' s tragic death, her art destroyed by Richard.
And how their own dreams had been crushed by his iron will.
My gift, the glass butterfly, had not been an offering. It had been a ghost.
My tears, long held back, finally fell.
"He' s trying to break you," I whispered to Ben in the cold, dark basement where Richard had imprisoned us.
"He wants obedient successors," Ben replied, recounting his dreams of game development, his mother' s art, all crushed by Richard' s ambition.
"I hate him," Ben confessed, his voice raw.
"Me too," I whispered back, a cold, hard rage solidifying within me.
Then, Emily' s studio, a vibrant space of creation, was a scene of methodical, vicious destruction.
Her hands, tools of her trade, wrapped in bandages, tendons severed.
"He cut her," Maria, the maid, sobbed. "She will never... sew again."
My fear burned away, replaced by a cold, clarifying rage.
"You' re the only one he can' t break," Emily said, her empty eyes burning with desperate intensity.
"You have to be our shield, Sarah. You have to be our weapon. Get strong. Get smart. You have to be the one to break him."
"Okay," I said, my voice steady and clear. "I will."
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Introduction
04/07/2025
Chapter 1
04/07/2025
Chapter 2
04/07/2025
Chapter 3
04/07/2025
Chapter 4
04/07/2025
Chapter 5
04/07/2025
Chapter 6
04/07/2025
Chapter 7
04/07/2025
Chapter 8
04/07/2025
Chapter 9
04/07/2025
Chapter 10
04/07/2025
Chapter 11
04/07/2025
Chapter 12
04/07/2025
Chapter 13
04/07/2025
Chapter 14
04/07/2025
Chapter 15
04/07/2025
Chapter 16
04/07/2025
Chapter 17
04/07/2025
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