Chapter 2

The whole mess started with a debt of gratitude.

Years ago, my parents, Jonathan and Evelyn Calloway, were framed for financial fraud. The accusations were vicious, and the punishment even more so. Both were sentenced to prison, their reputations shattered. Desperate to protect their only child, they turned to the one person they trusted—Grandpa Crestwood.

The Calloway couple had once saved his life, and they believed he would return the favor.

They asked him to adopt their son, Killian. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Old Master Crestwood had just passed away. And in his will, he left behind a cold, calculated clause: half of his shares would go to the first great-grandchild born into the Crestwood family.

That child... was me.

But I wasn’t a boy.

The Crestwood family, bound by outdated beliefs, refused to hand over such a massive inheritance to a girl. Grandpa Crestwood made a choice of terrible, irreversible one. He switched our identities. He gave the Crestwood family name and fortune to a boy who wasn’t blood, while his own granddaughter was cast aside.

That single decision changed everything.

When I was released from the hospital, Grandpa Crestwood brought me back to the Crestwood estate. He treated me like I was made of glass, trying to make up for years of silence with sudden affection.

Then came the day Killian returned. And of course, he brought her with him.

Kayla Donovan.

The moment she stepped into the estate, Grandpa Crestwood’s face darkened. Without a word, he hurled a porcelain mug across the room. It cracked against the side of Killian’s head, blood streaming down his temple.

Kayla let out a shrill scream, clinging to him like she was the victim.

I sat beside Grandpa Crestwood, calm and unbothered, like I was watching the opening act of a drama. And in a way, I was.

“Grandpa, please don’t blame Killian,” Kayla sobbed dramatically. “If you want to be angry, be angry at me.”

Grandpa Crestwood didn’t even blink. “Shut your mouth. Who said you could call me Grandpa?”

That’s when Killian turned to me, his eyes sharp and venomous. “Oh, but she can call you Grandpa?! That pathetic, cursed woman?”

It was like he’d forgotten we ever shared a bed, a life, a name.

I didn’t flinch. I just smiled through the tears pooling in my eyes.

Then, right in front of everyone, Killian got down on one knee.

Kayla followed suit, lowering herself beside him like a loyal little shadow.

The image struck a painful chord inside me. I remembered the day he’d knelt just like that, begging Grandpa Crestwood to let him marry me. Back then, Grandpa didn’t know I was the child he’d once cast out.

Now he was using the same move—for someone else.

“Grandpa, Kayla’s pregnant,” he said. “She’s having my baby, and I—”

“You what?!”

The room cracked with Grandpa Crestwood’s fury. But Killian didn’t get it. He still believed kneeling would fix everything.

What he didn’t realize was, Grandpa Crestwood never accepted me because I begged.

He accepted me because I was his blood.

A hard slap echoed through the hall as Grandpa Crestwood’s hand connected with Killian’s cheek. The sound turned every head in the room.

It was the first time anyone had ever seen Grandpa Crestwood strike his so-called grandson.

Killian stared up, stunned, blood mixing with betrayal in his eyes.

“You were supposed to treat Aven well,” Grandpa Crestwood seethed. “And instead, you bring this... trash into my home? Have you no shame?”

“You think I chose her?” Killian shouted back, rubbing his face. “You’re ruining my life for a debt of gratitude! Just because the Calloway couple once saved you, now I must pay the price?”

Kayla shrank beside him, her act crumbling fast. She’d walked in thinking she could climb her way to the top just like I did—only I hadn’t climbed. I’d been at the top all along.

She thought being pregnant would secure her place.

Now she realized the Crestwood family throne wasn’t just handed out to the woman carrying the heir.

The room fell silent.

Everyone was waiting for the next explosion.

Except for me.

I laughed.

Not a laugh of joy, or relief—but of bitter, broken mockery.

It was the laugh of a woman who had finally seen the full extent of betrayal—and no longer felt pain.

Only freedom.