From the moment Liana Mercer returned home, she didn't waste a single day. Every morning, without fail, she administered acupuncture to Harlan Mercer, carefully adjusting pressure and placement while noting even the smallest changes in his condition. She wrote herbal prescriptions for Ethan to collect and personally brewed the mixtures for Harlan's daily medicinal baths. The small, cramped house was constantly filled with the sharp, bitter aroma of herbs—and beneath it, the Mercers sensed something else: hope.
Dahlia's eyes grew brighter, no longer dulled by exhaustion. Ethan and Gideon moved with renewed energy, driven by purpose. Ivy's laughter rang clearer and warmer than before. Watching them, Liana felt a fire ignite within her. She didn't just want her father to walk again—she wanted this family to truly live, without fear or limits.
That evening, as they huddled around the small wooden table calculating monthly expenses, Liana spoke quietly. "Dad. Mom. Ethan. Ivy." All eyes turned to her. "From now on, I'll take care of this family. I'll make sure we're alright."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat—then laughter erupted. Dahlia reached over and gently ruffled her hair. "Silly girl. You've got your dad, your brothers, your sister—we're all here. Just focus on your studies." Liana only smiled. She didn't argue. She didn't need to.
---
Meanwhile, at Bellamy Manor, the air was thick with tension. The once-lively living room was eerily silent. Victor Bellamy slammed his phone onto the Persian rug with a roar, the screen shattering. "Useless!" he bellowed. "All of them are useless! I can't even get a meeting with Orinthal Group's CEO!" His red-rimmed eyes and disheveled hair erased any trace of the polished tycoon he once was.
Isadora's flawless composure cracked. "Victor, what's going on? Haven't we partnered with Orinthal for years?"
"How should I know?!" he snapped. "They say they don't work with liars and backstabbers! What lies? What betrayal?!" Refusing to accept defeat, he stormed out. "I'm going there myself!"
Victor rushed to Orinthal Group's towering headquarters—but didn't make it past the lobby. The security team that once welcomed him now blocked his way without hesitation. "Mr. Bellamy, you're not on the visitor list. Please leave."
"Do you know who I am?!" Victor roared, trying to push forward. "I'm the chairman of Bellamy Holdings! I demand to see your CEO!"
The response was icy. "Mr. Bellamy, please respect yourself. Our CEO has given strict orders: no member of the Bellamy family is to be admitted." He was escorted out.
Standing on the busy street, staring up at the skyscraper pulsing with power, Victor felt a chill crawl down his spine. Without Orinthal Group, Bellamy Holdings was nothing—its strings cut clean. Partners backed out overnight. Banks called relentlessly. Projects crumbled. From the outside, the Bellamys still appeared glamorous. Inside, they were already falling apart.
---
Yet Seraphina Bellamy remained blissfully unaware. In front of her full-length mirror, she fastened diamond earrings worth six figures and smoothed the collar of her Chanel Spring Haute Couture suit. The reflection glittered with luxury, unrecognizable from the girl who once wore faded T-shirts and chopped firewood in a rustic kitchen. "This is how I'm supposed to live," she whispered.
Clutching a crocodile-leather handbag, she descended the stairs with red-carpet grace. Isadora glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her eyes before she smiled. "Heading out? You look stunning—a true Bellamy heiress."
Seraphina basked in it, lifting her chin as she slid into the sleek black car outside. She snapped photos—carefully framing the mansion, her watch, the logo on her limited-edition bag—and posted them online.
Back where I belong. Life is finally smiling at me.
The response exploded. Likes, comments, praise flooded in. Former classmates and acquaintances scrambled to flatter her. It wasn't enough. She wanted more. She wanted to see it—to see how miserable that fake heiress, Liana Mercer, must be now. Face to face.
With a glint of malice, Seraphina leaned forward and instructed the driver, "Take me to Willowbrook Lane, West Quarter."