Chapter 3: Harris by Name, Family by Choice

The butler worked quickly and soon completed the adoption paperwork for me.

He breezed through the forms, signature after signature, as if he did this every other Thursday. The office at the courthouse smelled like old paper and fresh coffee. The clerk wore a Cubs lanyard and offered me a sticker after stamping the forms.

I also learned the identities of the young man and young woman.

Their names were all over the documents—typed in bold at the top, Harris Family inked underneath. I was officially one of them now, like some long-lost princess.

The most prominent family in Chicago—the Harris family’s twin brother and sister.

Their reputation echoed through every corner of the city. Harris Tower stood like a glass-and-steel monument to money and ambition.

And now, I had become their little sister, Hannah Harris.

The name had a nice ring to it—familiar, safe. I tried it out in my head, picturing it embroidered on a backpack or scrawled on a lunchbox.

Don’t be envious yet—

From the outside, it looked perfect. But not everything is as glossy as it seems.

Because the two of them are the biggest cannon fodder in a childhood-friends-to-lovers counterattack novel.

Behind closed doors, even the biggest mansions have shadows. This one was thick with the kind of tension only a broken family can breed.

They have the family background and the looks, but can’t have a real family.

They had the kind of faces that belonged on magazine covers. But when it came to family dinners or bedtime stories, they were on their own.

After Mr. and Mrs. Harris had them, they divorced and quickly got back together with their old flames.

The gossip rags called it a whirlwind of second chances, but for Ethan and Morgan, it just meant empty seats at every school play and parent-teacher conference.

In their eyes, these kids were just the product of a business arrangement.

Love was measured in trust funds and legal contracts, not bedtime hugs.

So they didn’t care about them at all for years.

No soccer games, no Sunday pancakes, just a rotating door of nannies and housekeepers.

Don’t expect children who have never been loved to grow up into truly kind, well-adjusted people.

They wore their independence like armor, sharp-edged and impenetrable.

In short, Ethan and Morgan Harris’s personalities are each more eccentric and twisted than the other.

Ethan kept his feelings locked up tighter than a Swiss bank vault. Morgan wore hers on her sleeve, but it was always frayed at the edges.

Though they’re siblings by blood, they don’t get along.

Their arguments were legendary—echoing through the marble halls, punctuated by slammed doors and cold shoulders.

Even worse, they crossed paths with the main couple—a pair of childhood friends who crawled out of a rough neighborhood.

The leads had that scrappy determination you only get from growing up with nothing. They knew how to spot opportunity and take it.

The leads deliberately created chances to get close to the siblings, and together they drove a wedge between them.

It was all smoke and mirrors—fake smiles, staged run-ins in the school hallway, whispered secrets designed to sow doubt.

The brother is gloomy and indifferent, attracted to the bright and warm-hearted heroine.

She was sunshine on a cloudy day, and Ethan was a moth drawn to her flame, even if it meant getting burned.

The sister is sensitive and love-starved, willing to give everything for the male lead.

Morgan would have given him the moon if he’d asked. But he only ever wanted her light, never her love.

Little did they know, salvation was a lie; they were just stepping stones on the leads’ path to success.

The world’s cruelest truth: not every hand that reaches out is meant to pull you up. Sometimes it just pushes you down.

In the end, after their remaining value was squeezed out, they were cast aside.

Their names faded from the group chats, their photos quietly deleted from the main couple’s Instagram feeds.

With the non-traditionally righteous protagonists and the mix of real feelings and interests, readers called it a masterpiece and cheered with excitement.

BookTok went wild, praising the twisty narrative and ruthless realism. But living it? Not so glamorous.

Exciting? I don’t feel excited at all now.

No plot twist can make up for real heartbreak. Not when you’re the one at the center of it.

Even the imported formula the nanny carefully prepared tastes bland to me.

I pushed the bottle away with a scowl, my taste buds already craving the comfort of something more familiar—maybe a homemade milkshake or chocolate chip cookie.

Babies are like this—if they’re a little unhappy, they can’t help but cry.

Sometimes all it takes is a bad vibe or an offbeat lullaby to set the waterworks off.

Soon, Ethan and Morgan came over.

Their footsteps echoed in the hallway, deliberate and slow. You could tell by the way they hovered near the nursery door that they were still figuring this whole sibling thing out.

The nanny held me, at her wit’s end.

She jiggled me gently, a practiced smile plastered on her face, but her eyes pleaded for rescue.

“The little miss doesn’t know what’s wrong. Nothing can comfort her.”

She sounded ready to add, "Can we please try an iPad?"

But as soon as Ethan took me, I stopped crying instantly.

His arms were awkward but strong, and the familiarity of his scent—a mix of aftershave and textbooks—calmed me down immediately.

Everyone stared, wide-eyed.

The nanny looked like she’d just witnessed a miracle. Even Morgan’s jaw dropped a little.

The nanny chuckled, “Young man, little miss really clings to you.”

She winked, nudging Ethan like maybe, just maybe, he was good at something after all.

He smiled for a moment, then forced it down.

His lips twitched—barely there—before he clamped down on the emotion. Old habits die hard.

“So annoying. If you make trouble again, I’ll send you back to the trash can.”

Classic big brother defense mechanism: hide your softness behind a wall of sarcasm.

Me: “......”

I pouted, sticking out my lower lip in protest. There’s only so much a baby can do to defend her honor.

So mean!

But deep down, I could tell he didn’t mean it. Not really.

I immediately reached out to Morgan for a hug. She was a bit surprised but carefully stretched out her hands.

She hesitated, then scooped me up, her hands trembling just a bit.

But Ethan held me tight and walked away.

He shot Morgan a look, daring her to challenge him. She glared, but didn’t follow.

“She’s sleepy. You can hold her next time.”

His voice was gentle, almost apologetic, even as he pretended not to care.

Morgan gritted her teeth. “......She clearly wants me to hold her. Give her to me.”

Sibling drama at its finest—if only reality TV cameras could see this.

“You’re so clumsy. What if you drop her and she gets hurt?”

He pulled me closer, as if daring Morgan to prove him wrong.

“Ethan!”

She stomped her foot, but he just kept walking.

......

The tension in the hallway was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Even the family cat knew to steer clear.

Listening to the siblings’ bickering, I gradually closed my eyes in drowsiness, clenching my little fists.

Their voices became a comforting lullaby, the push-and-pull of two people still figuring out what it means to belong.

My brother and sister are both good and kind kids.

No matter what the world said, I knew they deserved better. I was determined to rewrite their story, one bedtime at a time.

I absolutely won’t let the main couple get involved.

Not on my watch. If it took every ounce of baby cuteness I had, I’d keep them safe.