The day my mother died so unexpectedly, when I was cast out of the Harrington estate, I would have been left homeless if not for you. I might not have even had the chance to hold her hand one last time.

But my words did little to ease Benjamin's guilt. He shook his head, his expression heavy. "I still failed you. I couldn't protect you then, and I can't protect you now. My mentor—your mother—was dying, and I had no idea."

I reached out, my voice soft. "Benjamin, none of this was your fault. You can't blame yourself for what you didn't know."

My mother had concealed her illness from everyone. She had sent me to live with the Harringtons, ensuring I wouldn't suspect a thing.

Unlike the tragic tales you hear, we never struggled financially. We lived comfortably—more than comfortably. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to support Benjamin’s education as well.

Before leaving the Harringtons, my mother had taken a substantial sum with her. A gifted violinist, she earned well from performances and private students. Because of her, I never wanted for anything.

She always gave me the finest—food, clothes, experiences. When I was older, I tried to refuse, telling her I didn’t need extravagance. But she insisted. "I want you to have the best so no man can dazzle you with empty gestures. I want you to know your worth."

We traveled often, attended fashion shows, concerts. Yet for all her generosity, she was equally demanding. My skill with the violin didn’t excuse laxness in studies.

Like my friend Liam, I grew up fluent in multiple languages. Once in school, I consistently ranked at the top. My mother enrolled me in everything—painting, etiquette, calligraphy—my teenage years were a whirlwind of lessons. Dating? Impossible. There simply wasn’t time.

Back then, I never understood her strictness. But after returning to the Harringtons, it all made sense.

She had raised me to be polished, poised, unshakable. She had shown me the world so I would never settle for less.

I used to think my life was privileged—until I stepped back into the Harrington manor. Only then did I grasp what true wealth looked like.

My bedroom alone was larger than our entire old house. A casually placed vase in the corner was worth millions. The estate wasn’t just a mansion—it was a sprawling fortress. The driveway from the gates to the main house took twenty minutes to traverse. The grounds were beyond imagination.

My mother had built my confidence carefully, ensuring I never felt inferior—until I returned to the Harringtons.

Unlike Nathan, who made his disdain obvious, my three older brothers and half-sister never spoke a cruel word to me. But their polite distance, the way they doted on Aurora while keeping me at arm’s length, said everything: I would never truly belong. To them, I was just a stranger who shared their blood.

But the moment that shattered even that fragile illusion came later. And it changed everything...