bChapter /bb1 /b

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The blizzard had raged for three bdays/b, burying Hirica under ba /bsuffocating nket bof /bsnow. The Sherman residence loomed like a frozen fortress. And there, on the icy driveway, the butler tossed Olivia’s suitcase out.

“Ms. Summers, Mr. Sherman’s orders: you’re leaving today. The Sherman family was kind enough to btake /byou in, but now that their real daughter has returned, your presence bis /bno longer required,” the butler said, his voice oozing disdain.

Then he tossed a slip of paper and a card onto the ground. “Here’s the info on your birth parents, the Summers. And this is five thousand dorsb. /bConsider itpensation for the years you spent with usb.” /b

Olivia didn’t even nce at the card. “No bneed/b.”

“And keep this,” the butler scoffed, tossing down onest document–a formal disownment noticeb. /b

Olivia ignored that too, slinging her bags over her shoulder. If she wanted to find her real parents, she’d do it on her own terms. And she wasn’t taking a single cent from the Sherman family.

The butler watched her with open contempt. ‘Pathetic, he thought. “Too proud for her own good. Doesn’t she realize? Since the true Sherman heiress had returned, why would they keep some nobody like her? That money is more than she deserved.’

“Then see you, Ms. Summers.” With a final sneer, he mmed the door shut behind her.

Olivia didn’t flinch. Head held high, she walked away, her thin frame cutting through the falling snow. She felt no grief—the Sherman family had never given her love, so why mourn them now?

From an upstairs window,ughter rang out as snowballs pelted the ground near her feet.

“Finally, she’s gone. No more standing in Cheryl’s way.”

“Never belonged here anyway. I was half–afraid she’d refuse to leave.”

Olivia heard every word. A cold smile touched her lips, her expression as unreadable as the winter storm around her. Catching a snowke in her palm, she exhaled softly. ‘Good riddance.’

*****

In a traditional courtyard in Kingtonelle, the Summers family had gathered for an urgent meeting.

At the center sat Samuel Summersb, /bthe family patriarch, dressed in a sharp suit thatmanded respect. His stern voice cut through the tense silence as he red at his grandsons. “You call yourselves capable men? It’s been over a decade, and you still haven’t found Ivy?”

The Summers brothers were among the most powerful men in Kingtonelle, each aplished and formidable. Yet now, they stood with their heads bowed, shame and regret burning in their chests.

They were the ones who had lost her. Their little sister, Ivy, had been the sweetest child–quiet, gentle, always smiling like a cute doll. That day, they had been careless, distracted by their own games, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

For fifteen years, they had chased every lead, but the trail had gone cold after tracing her to a human trafficker’s den. By the time they reached the town, Ivy had already vanished without a traceb. /b

“Grandfather,i” /ione of them spoke up, voice firm with resolve. “I’ll mobilize everyone immediately. We won’t stop until we bring her homeb./bb” /b

b1/3 /b

55 vouchers

Before Samuel could respond, a breathless aide rushed in, clutching a stack of documents. His hands trembled as he stammered, “Sir, we–we’ve found her! We’ve located Ms. Ivy Summers.”

Samuel shot to his feet, his own hands unsteady as he snatched the papers. “Where is she? Take me to her now.”

“Hirica, the aide blurted. “We don’t have the exact location yet, but the confirmation bis /bsolid–she’s thereb.” /b

Samuel didn’t waste another second. “Get the car ready. We’re leaving for Hirica immediately.”

After being cast out by the Sherman family, Olivia didn’t return to the orphanage. She waited for the snow to ease. Evening fell before she finally trudged back to her apartment, a modest unit in one of Hirica’s older neighborhoods.

As she parked, her neighbor Laura called out, “Olivia, you’re backte. Wannae over for dinner tonight?”

Olivia offered a tired but polite smile. “Thanks, Laura, but I’m cutting back on carbs.”

Downstairs, Helen, the woman who sold yogurt from her stall, handed her a cup. “Haven’t seen you in weeks! My back’s been killing me.”

“Yeah, and my eyes are getting worse,” another elderly resident chimed in. “We’ve been waiting for you to check on us.”

Olivia was well–liked in the oldplex. Most of the residents were retired officials, who enjoyed chatting with her. She was humble, kind, and never pried into their pasts, which made her a favorite among them.

The neighborhood might’ve looked ordinary, but it was full of hidden talent. Even Helen had once been Kingtonelle’s most sought–after tailor, her designs worth a fortune.

Olivia never asked questions, though. She lived here simply because Grace Lane, the orphanage director, was nearby, making visits easier.

Arms crossed, Olivia scanned their faces and sighed. “Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll set up a free clinic in the central square. And remember what I said? Follow my diet advice and cut back on the TV. That revenge drama isn’t going anywhere.”

Lately, the seniors had been obsessed with a hit revenge series, binge–watchingte into the night and neglecting their health.

Caught red–handed, they exchanged guilty nces. “Alright, alright, we’ll listen to you, Olivia.”

It was remarkable how these aplished individuals–some with shadowy pasts–would take orders from a young girl like her.

“Dr. Summers, you’re back.” A cheerful man in a button–up shirt hurried over, relief washing over his face. He’d been waiting for her return.

Olivia sidestepped as he got too close. “Stanley, personal space.”

Flustered, he scratched his head and held out a key. “Sorry, I just missed you. Don’t worry, though. I kept an eye on your ce. No one’s messed with it.”

“Thanks.” Olivia nodded and handed him some oranges.

Stanley grinned, shooting a pointed look at the others. They were always pestering her, and it annoyed him. “Thanks. So…. you’re staying for good this time?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said, pocketing the key. “I’m not going anywhere.”

b8:49 /bbpm /bD

1 55 vouchers.

Stanley smiled, “Great then. Drop by when you can. Oh, it’ste. Get some rest. Call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

With a small smile, Olivia nodded and headed inside.

After they left, Olivia unlocked her door. The exterior lock was in, rusty and unremarkable.

But inside, it bwas /bba /bdifferent story. Behind several reinforced locks stood a high–tech door with a biometric scanner. “Facial recognition required,” a mechanical voice prompted.

Olivia tilted her face toward the bscreen/b. “Proceed.”

“Scanning… Authenticationplete. Wee home, Master.” The familiar automated greeting, unheard for bweeks/b, signaled the door’s brelease/bb. /b

As it slid open, lights flickered to life, revealing a space that defied the building’s shabby exterior. Shelves overflowed with jars of rare dried herbs, while weathered medical texts lined the walls. The balcony functioned as an improvised greenhouse, thriving with medicinal nts.

Dominating the living room was a massive disy screen, its interface tracking real–time fluctuations in microchip markets worldwide.

Olivia grabbed a slice of cake from the kitchen and settled in, ready to finally watch that addictive revenge drama everyone kept talking about.

Then the phone erupted with its obnoxious custom ringtone: “Olivia, jobsing. Moneying! Olivia, jobsing. Money-”

She mmed her palm on the answer button. “What?”

“Boss, lucrative job in Hirica,” her subordinate said. “Worth our time?”

Rubbing her temples, Olivia sighed, “Details.”

“Kingtonelle’s wealthiest patriarch is offering 10 million to find his missing granddaughter. Intel suggests she’s somewhere in Hirica.”

Olivia stretchedzily. “Missing heiress retrieval? Pass. Anything actually challenging, or should I hang up?”

“Wait! Here’s another one, and you’ll love it.”

“Really? Go on.”

“The Shea family just posted a bounty–15 mil for intel on you, 25 for a consultation. Even credible tips get 1.5.”

That got her attention. Olivia set down her phone. “Whoa, that’s a fortune. Now that’s interesting. Show me.”

“On

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