Chapter 1: The Prodigal Sister Returns

When my mom's call came, I was still down by the Seattle waterfront, tossing fries to the seagulls and watching them squabble under the heavy October clouds. The cold wind bit at my cheeks, the air thick with the smell of salt and fried food.

My half-brother—from a different mother—was completely under the spell of his secretary, a real piece of work. Not only was she demanding ten million dollars as a dowry—a number that sounded insane outside a soap opera—but she’d almost convinced him to hand over the entire hundred-million-dollar family fortune. The whole situation felt ripped from a trashy reality show.

And me? His so-called big sister—the one he could never have, the one he chased in every girlfriend since, like some ghost he couldn’t shake.

My mom sounded truly desperate: "I'd rather see all this family wealth go to you than let it fall into an outsider's hands." Her voice quivered over the line, and I could just picture her pacing her marble kitchen, nails clicking anxiously against granite countertops.

I sneered, watching a particularly bold seagull snatch a french fry from a tourist's hand. My grip tightened on the paper bag, grease staining my fingers. After all these years, now she needed me. "So now you remember I'm family."

I'd dated Mason before.

Both my mom and Mason's dad knew about it. Hell, the whole neighborhood probably knew by the time their screaming matches echoed down the street.

But they'd treated our relationship like a dirty secret, ruthlessly erasing every trace. They burned photos, deleted messages, acted like those three years of teenage love never happened.

I challenged them: "What makes you think I'd help you? You haven't cared if I lived or died all these years." Ten years of radio silence, and suddenly I was useful?

Did they still think I was obsessed with Mason after all this time? That I was still that desperate seventeen-year-old girl who’d do anything for his smile?

My mom went silent, her shaky breath and the tick of her grandfather clock the only sounds across the miles. "Don't you want your grandmother's house in Oregon? Keep that gold-digger out of our family, and the house is yours."

I curved my lips into a smile, watching the Seattle skyline blur through sudden tears I refused to acknowledge. "Deal. If I let her in, I’ll take your last name."

Mason had always been a hopeless romantic—I’d known that forever. When he was younger, he’d nearly cut ties with his family over me, even going on a hunger strike for three days and nights. I remembered bringing him water, begging him to stop, his fever-bright eyes so stubborn and desperate.

Now he was ready to throw away the family fortune for his girlfriend, Jessica Winters. History repeating itself, but this time I wasn’t the girl he was fighting for.

But when I saw them in the private dining room—their parents haggling over the ten-million-dollar wedding settlement while Mason frowned and comforted his pouting fiancée, who’d turned away in a huff over the “insufficient” payment—I felt an inexplicable rage with nowhere to go. The restaurant was one of Chicago’s finest, all dark wood, crystal chandeliers, and the hush of old money. A waiter hovered nearby, refilling water glasses with practiced indifference.

Had my little brother completely lost his mind? Or was this just his pattern—throwing everything away for love, no matter the cost?

Jessica’s parents didn’t even try to hide their greed. Her father’s cheap suit screamed outlet mall, and her mother’s fake designer bag fooled no one. "Come on, in-laws, is the wedding settlement we’re asking really that much? It’s not even ten percent of your wealth. Our Jessica’s been with your son for five years."

My mom’s voice went ice-cold, that corporate edge coming out. "We’ve already agreed to the ten-million-dollar dowry. Charter flights, five-star hotels. But a hundred-thousand-dollar 'name-changing fee' for each relative? Do you think money grows on trees?"

Jessica’s mother waved her off, her acrylic nails glinting under the chandelier. "That’s harsh. Isn’t our Jessica’s five years of youth worth this money? She could have married anyone—a doctor, a lawyer, someone with old money."

Jessica’s brother chimed in, barely looking up from his phone, probably already shopping for sports cars. "Exactly, exactly."

The Mitchell fortune had climbed over a hundred million, but their liquid assets were just in the tens of millions. Coming up with ten million for a dowry was already a stretch, requiring them to sell off properties.

But apparently, that wasn’t enough. It never was with people like this.

I crossed my arms and watched this circus from outside the door, my reflection in the glass showing a woman I barely recognized—polished, cold, expensive.

I knocked gently on the private room door, the sound slicing through their argument like a knife.

My heels echoed off the hardwood, every eye in the room pinning me in place. I straightened my shoulders, chin high—if they wanted a show, I’d give them one.

"Sorry to interrupt."

I strode up to Mason and Jessica, signaling the waiter to bring another chair with the casual authority of someone used to being obeyed.

I reached out and ruffled Mason’s hair, the same gesture from when we were kids, back when everything was simple.

"Mase, long time no see."

Ten years later, Mason’s eyes suddenly reddened as he stared at me, mouth slightly open, looking exactly like the boy who used to wait for me after school. He blinked hard, jaw flexing, like he was fighting off a memory he didn’t want anyone to see.

All the boyishness from his youth had faded—he was all grown up now. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, but those eyes… those eyes hadn’t changed.

He murmured, "Grace, you… you came back."

Jessica instantly went on high alert, her perfectly contoured face tightening, grip on Mason’s arm going possessive.

"Mason honey, who is this?"

I gave her a cool, practiced smile—the kind that wins boardroom wars. "Sorry, forgot to introduce myself. I’m Grace Mitchell, Mason’s older sister—well, half-sister."

Jessica’s eyes looked remarkably like mine, and she seemed to realize it too. Same almond shape, same long lashes—no wonder Mason noticed her.

She was like a substitute lead in a soap, and my arrival forced her to snap to attention. I could see her recalculating, reassessing the threat.

Jessica called softly to Mason, her voice dripping honey. "Mason honey, today’s our families’ first meeting. Since your sister’s here, let’s not talk about unpleasant things. Let’s have a nice family meal and set a wedding date."

My mom responded smoothly, her timing flawless. "Since we haven’t settled on the wedding settlement, let’s not rush to set a date. It’d be embarrassing if the engagement falls through."

Jessica’s mother, for once, agreed with my mom, greed winning out over manners. "Yes, rushing into a family before the dowry is settled—what a waste."

Jessica frantically tugged at her mother’s sleeve, nearly in tears, her makeup starting to crack at the edges.

Her mother didn’t care—the money was for Jessica’s brother to get married. Always about the money.

Only then did Mason snap back, suddenly aware of the awkwardness. He moved to embrace Jessica and turned to me. "Sister… this is my girlfriend, Jessica Winters—no, I should say fiancée."

Jessica’s mother looked even more justified, mentally spending the money, and Jessica blushed, curling into Mason like a cat marking her territory.

Jessica’s brother jumped in again, not even pretending to pay attention to the tension. "Hey, since I’m basically family now, think you could hook me up with a manager gig? Something with a corner office, maybe?"

My mom and Mason’s dad turned green with anger, the vein in my stepfather’s temple throbbing.

I smiled sweetly at Mason and nodded, my voice light as champagne bubbles. "Good taste."

With Mason’s protection, Jessica straightened her spine. "Hello, sister. Why haven’t I heard Mason mention having an older sister? Mason honey, how could you not tell me about such a beautiful sister?"

"I didn’t stay at the Mitchell family very long. Kids forget things." I paused, letting the words land. "But not inviting me to your wedding, Mase? That’s cold."

I rested my chin on my hand, face pleasant, tone ice-cold. The room’s temperature dropped.

Mason frowned and shot back, "It wasn’t necessary."

You could almost hear the static between us, ten years of words we never said hanging in the air.

My mom, ever the diplomat, smoothed things over. "Since Grace is back, let’s not discuss unpleasant things during this meal. We’ll talk about the dowry another time. Today, let’s treat this as a welcome dinner for Grace."

I’d turned their engagement dinner into my welcome banquet. Point to me.

Mason looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.

My stepfather looked ready to explode, fists clenching and unclenching under the table.