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Rhonda’s grip tightened. Her blunt, grime-caked fingernails dug deep into Blair’s skin through the thin, faded fabric of her sleeve. The woman’s heavy breathing filled the confined space of the passenger seat.

"Blair, what are you up to?" Rhonda warned, her voice dropping to a harsh hiss. "Serena is your sister. If you dare scheme and make her leave the Vance family to suffer with me, I will beat you up!"

Blair winced, her brows furrowing as the sharp pinch radiated up her arm. The initial jolt of shock faded within seconds, quickly replaced by a wave of cynical amusement. Outside the tinted window, Miriam fussed over Serena, asking where she did not feel well, treating the girl like fragile porcelain. Inside the stifling car, Blair’s foster mother wanted to strangle her, caring only about preserving her biological daughter’s privileged life. They all viewed Blair as trash—unwanted, hated, and disposable.

"What are you talking about?" Blair tilted her head. She gripped Rhonda’s thick, calloused wrist and pried the offending fingers away from her arm with firm, unyielding strength. She sat up straight, lifting her chin. "Why scheme against her? Isn't the Vance residence my home?"

"Nonsense! That is Serena’s place." Rhonda’s wrinkled face twisted into an ugly scowl. But then, as if realizing honey might work better than vinegar, her tone shifted, adopting a sickeningly sweet, coaxing lilt. "Blair, be good now. Look, I never treated you badly, and you grew up so pretty. Now you found your real parents who love you. Serena cannot do much; she has been spoiled since she was a kid. You will help Mom take care of her, right?"

The hypocritical sweetness would not fool a toddler. Blair did not argue. She simply pulled her hand free and rolled up her sleeve. A dark, jagged bruise marred her pale skin, stark and ugly against the dull fabric—a silent testament to Rhonda's so-called good treatment. Blair did not flinch. She just let the sleeve drop back down, her face an unreadable mask.

Rhonda swallowed hard, the fake smile freezing on her lips as her hypocritical claims crumbled.

Through the windshield, Blair spotted Conrad walking toward the vehicle. A smirk played on her lips. "Yeah, I know Serena is spoiled. That is why I brought you all here. When Dad gets back, your family will be together again."

She popped the door handle and stepped out into the crisp estate air.

Conrad gestured for the rugged group to follow him toward the grand entrance. "Blair, you have two brothers. I called them back. You all should get along."

Blair nodded once, her expression blank. *Get along? No way.* She felt zero desire to bend over backward for their approval. She planned to step aside and let the man she now called father deal with the chaos these unruly Haskins would bring.

The Vance family servants lined the grand foyer. They maintained professional silence regarding the outfits of the three ragged visitors, but their wide eyes and tight lips screamed volumes.

The grand living room boasted spotless white leather sofas and pristine cream rugs. Cody dragged his feet, his worn-out sneakers leaving gritty, black footprints across the expensive flooring. He ignored the horrified gasps of the staff and plopped his heavy frame onto the immaculate sofa. He squirmed around, making himself comfortable, and when he finally shifted his weight, a distinct yellowish-brown stain smeared against the pure white leather. Every crude movement shattered the elegant atmosphere of the Vance household.

A robotic chime echoed in Blair’s mind.

[The Vance servants were curious about the three unexpected guests. But seeing how they dressed and acted, especially Rhonda and Cody, their hopes for the long-lost daughter dropped straight to the floor. They assume no decent kid could emerge from that kind of family background. In their eyes, Serena remains the untouchable, elegant swan.]

Blair caught the system's blunt assessment and fought back a dry laugh. She had scraped and fought her way through a grueling childhood; she had zero time or energy to pander to their snobbish, upper-class expectations.

A maid in a crisp black-and-white uniform approached Blair, her posture stiff. "Miss, come with me. Mrs. Vance wants me to take you to clean up."

Blair nodded. She cast one last glance at Cody, who was now picking at the expensive sofa stitching, and Rhonda, who looked terrified to touch the velvet cushions. She turned her back on their squirming forms and followed the maid down the opulent, echoing corridor.

The maid, Nora, led Blair into a sprawling guest bathroom lined with imported marble. She opened a gleaming cabinet and pulled out a delicate, pristine dress.

"This is Serena’s," Nora said, holding the garment up. "You are about her size, so wear it for now. When Mrs. Vance is free, she will take you shopping herself."

Nora stopped right there. The omission hung heavy in the air. A simple phone call could have arranged a custom wardrobe before Blair even arrived, but the Vances had not bothered to prepare for her. Clothes were not a difficult issue to solve for a billionaire family.

Before Blair could reach for the soft fabric, a harsh voice, cracking with the awkwardness of puberty, rang out from the doorway.

"Nora, what are you saying? When has she ever seen clothes that nice in her whole life?"

Blair recognized the hostile tone instantly. Miles Vance. Her second brother. Bennett, the eldest, was twenty-eight and carried himself with solid, grown-up maturity. He would never blurt out such blatant insults. Bennett's favoritism was silent but ever-present, making Blair feel a false sense of security until the cruel truth struck her. Miles, however, wore his disdain openly.

[Miles stared at you and felt something off,] the System noted. [He thinks you look so much like the family and seem harmless. But you already picked on Serena, and you walked in here acting like you own everything. He feels the intense need to teach you a lesson.]

Blair jerked her head up, studying the teenager. He possessed that unearned, rich-kid confidence. His short hair curled slightly at the ends—a distinct Vance trait they shared. In her previous life, Miles had made her return a living nightmare. He had tossed out clothes that were not even hers just to keep her from wearing them. He had banned her from the second floor where the siblings lived, forbidden her from speaking to him at school, and refused to let her claim the Vance name in public.

Her steady, piercing gaze made Miles snap. "What are you looking at?" he shouted.

He marched forward and snatched the skirt right out of Nora’s hands, gripping the fabric tight. "You cannot wear this! You just got here and you are already stealing Serena’s stuff. Serena is always gonna be my sister."

He spun around on his heel and stormed out into the hallway, the heavy wooden door slamming shut in his wake with a loud crack.

Blair stared at the polished wood of the closed door. The memory crashed over her. In her previous life, she had crumbled right here on these cold tiles. She had felt so small, so unworthy of wearing nice clothes, weeping and asking herself, *Isn't this my home? Isn't Cody my brother?* She had driven herself crazy trying to figure out what she did wrong. Later that night, wearing oversized, cheap clothes borrowed from the maid's daughter, she had sat awkwardly at the grand dining table, watching Serena twirl in a fluffy princess gown, sweet-talking Conrad and Miriam while Blair remained invisible.

Nora wrung her hands, her face pale with worry. "Blair... If it is okay, my daughter has spare clothes here. It is clean. You can wear these for now."

Blair snapped back to the present. The crushing heartbreak of her past life vanished, replaced by a wall of psychological detachment. She ignored the maid's offer and rushed out into the hallway.

"Miss!" Nora shouted in a panic, chasing after her. But Nora could not catch her, too afraid of causing a scene in the quiet house.

Blair slipped upstairs while the corridor was empty. Bypassing Miles's room, she headed straight for Serena’s door. The heavy oak door stood slightly ajar, spilling a slice of warm light onto the carpet.

The conversation inside floated clearly into the hallway. Miriam’s soothing, desperate voice carried the most weight. "Oh, my sweet girl. I promise I will only care for you from now on. Okay? No one is taking Mama away."

Miles chimed in, his tone dripping with protective pride. "Exactly. See, I got your dress back now."

A soft, theatrical sob echoed from Serena. "Miles... don't do that. Blair has nothing to wear."

"No!" Miles insisted stubbornly. "Your stuff is yours. She can buy clothes later. But she cannot touch your things."

"Yes, Miles is right," Miriam coaxed gently. "You are our family’s treasure. No one should hurt you. Come on, stop crying. The cook made your favorite ravioli. Let's go have dinner now."

Standing in the dim hallway, Blair leaned her shoulder against the wall, listening to their conversation. Her expression remained icy and calm, highlighting her profound emotional detachment from her toxic biological family. Hearing the exact same words play out again, she could not help but find the situation deeply, cynically funny.

They spoke of protecting Serena’s precious belongings. They painted Blair as the greedy interloper, stepping in to steal scraps of fabric.

But they did not know how Blair felt when she found that exact dress stuffed into the trash can the very next day. That was the moment Blair learned a harsh truth: Some things were just not meant for her to touch. They would rather throw the dress in the garbage than give it to her.

She stood there quietly in the hallway, the painful memory solidifying her quiet anger, setting a tense, unresolved atmosphere regarding how she would clothe herself for the impending dinner.