Chapter 2

My first month back in this house was not peaceful.

Isabella had once "kindly" gifted me a set of expensive skincare products. A La Mer gift box, encased in a wood box lined with velvet and tied with a champagne-colored ribbon.

"Sister, your skincare routine used to be too simple; your skin is a bit rough," she said, holding my hand, her eyes touchingly sincere. "I've used this brand for years; it's the best for repair. Especially this serum—it contains the Miracle Broth that can deeply repair damaged cells."

I was genuinely touched at the time.

I thought it was a signal of her acceptance, the beginning of sisterly affection.

A week later, my face broke out in large patches of red, swollen allergies. It burned with pain and was covered in dense, tiny rashes.

The family doctor was summoned urgently. He was a white-haired gentleman wearing gold-rimmed glasses, speaking with a British accent. After a careful examination, he said euphemistically, "Miss Grayson, certain potent ingredients in this product may not be suitable for your skin type. Your skin barrier is quite weak and requires gentler restorative products."

Isabella's eyes reddened on the spot. Large tears rolled down as she sobbed, "I'm sorry, sister, I really didn't know... I just wanted to give you the best. I've used it myself for so many years without issue, I thought..." She cried so heartbreakingly, shoulders trembling, as if she had suffered a massive injustice.

Anna immediately pulled her into a hug, whispering comfort, "Baby, don't blame yourself, you meant well." Then she turned to me, her tone becoming businesslike. "Emily, if you have sensitive skin, why didn't you say so beforehand? You've wasted Bella's good intentions for nothing."

Alex was much more direct. He stood in front of Isabella like a beast protecting its cub, looking at me with reproach: "Bella meant well, sharing what she uses herself. Why did you have to mess yourself up like this? Ask someone before you use things in the future."

That skincare set, worth three thousand dollars, ended up in the trash, and the red rash on my face took two weeks to completely fade.

Then there was the time at the Whitney family dinner—my first official appearance in high society as the eldest daughter of the Grayson family.

Anna selected a royal blue gown for me, a one-shoulder design with exquisite pleating at the waist. In the mirror, I looked mature and elegant, surprising even myself.

Isabella wore a pale pink tulle dress that day, looking like an eighteen-year-old ballerina. She took my hand, looked me up and down, her eyes full of envy: "Sister, you look so distinguished in this color. It's so nice to have pale skin. It's just that the style..." She paused, lowering her voice just enough for several ladies selecting champagne nearby to hear, "It seems a bit too mature, doesn't it? It makes your waist look less slender. But it doesn't matter; for your first time at this kind of occasion, being conservative is right."

Later that evening, while touching up my makeup in the ladies' lounge, I inadvertently overheard a conversation between two older women.

"Is that the daughter the Graysons just got back?"

"She looks decent enough, but she lacks class. Wearing that Valentino, she just doesn't seem to carry it off."

"I heard she grew up in Queens. How much taste can you expect? Isabella, on the other hand, is becoming more outstanding. So well-bred."

I stood in the stall, clutching my clutch bag tightly, fingernails digging into my palm.

What chilled my heart the most was the matter regarding Maggie.

Two months after returning to the Grayson home, I secretly went back to Queens to visit Maggie. She was coughing terribly, her face sallow, so thin she was just skin and bones. The community doctor said it was severe pneumonia, but the treatment covered by Medicaid was limited. I begged the Graysons to help contact a better doctor, even if it was just a referral to a specialist.

When Isabella found out, she proactively came to me. In the small living room of my suite, she brought two cups of herbal tea, her face full of sincere worry.

"Sister, I know you're anxious. Auntie Maggie raised you, and I understand that debt of gratitude." She held my hand, her palm warm. "But Dad is negotiating a very important deal lately, that waterfront development project with the city government. He's under a lot of pressure and in a bad mood. If you bother him now, and he takes his anger out on you, it might make his impression of Auntie Maggie even worse."

She sighed, showing a conflicted expression. "How about this... I'll advance you some of my allowance? Although it's not much, it should be enough for Auntie Maggie to go to a decent clinic." She took a check from her small handbag, filled in a number, and handed it to me.

I was moved almost to tears at that moment.

Until three days later, at the breakfast table, Alex coldly said to me in front of everyone, "Emily, I don't care what attachments you have in that other home, but now your surname is Grayson. Don't use our family's money to fill a bottomless pit, and certainly don't extort Bella's allowance. She has a kind heart, but she's not there for you to exploit."

I was stunned and turned to look at Isabella. She was taking small spoonfuls of yogurt and granola. Hearing this, she looked up, her eyes instantly red, and bit her lip, whispering, "Alex, don't say that about sister. She's just worried about her foster mother... I offered to help..."

"You're just too kind," Anna frowned. "Emily, you need to understand that everything you have now is given by the Grayson family. Don't do things that cause misunderstandings."

Later, I heard from the butler that the day after Isabella gave me the check, she had gone crying to Alex and Anna, claiming I had extorted her allowance to subsidize my other family and was sowing discord between her and the parents, saying I felt she had usurped what belonged to me.

For a whole week after that, Alex didn't give me a single pleasant look. Every time we met in the hallway, he glanced at me with the look reserved for a parasite, then strode away.

Isabella used these seemingly harmless soft knives to carve away my footing, bit by bit. Behind every act of kindness was a trap; after every offer of help came an accusation. She solidified her image as the kind, fragile girl being bullied by the uncouth biological daughter, while I became the ungrateful intruder attempting to plunder everything.

But I didn't care about these things.

Or rather, I pretended not to care.

I told myself these were just growing pains, the estrangement caused by twenty-four years of separation. Blood is a bond that cannot be severed; as long as I was patient enough, worked hard enough, I could eventually awaken a little warmth.

I diligently learned those complicated table manners, memorizing which wine paired with which dish; I stayed up late studying the Grayson Group's annual reports, trying to understand the workings of this business empire; I even began to mimic Isabella's way of speaking, that soft, slightly drawling Upper East Side accent.

I thought that as long as I became what they expected, I would be accepted.

Until today.