For nineteen years, I was the Whitmore daughter. Then Blaire showed up, and suddenly I was the placeholder. Grant—who I thought was mine—tracked her down and brought her home. My parents gave her everything I had. The comments told me I'd grovel, I'd sabotage, I'd lose. They were half right. I did walk away from everything. But I didn't grovel. I didn't sabotage. I packed one suitcase, destroyed the watch I engraved for Grant, and left before sunrise. The engagement I thought was my saving grace was never mine to begin with. I'm not fighting for a man who doesn't choose me. I'm getting on a plane. And I'm never coming back. The moment I found out I was only the adopted daughter, I knew what I had to do: get married before the biological one showed up. I kicked open Grant Prescott's office door. "Hey, fool. Congratulations. I've decided to let you marry me." The second the words left my mouth, comments flooded my vision. [LMAO, the male lead already fell for the biological daughter at first sight. The adopted one looks like such a joke right now.] [The male lead is literally the one who tracked down the biological daughter. He wants someone who matches his status, and he already sent her back to the Whitmores.] [Later she keeps trying to sabotage the biological daughter to win him back. In the end, the male lead and the Whitmores destroy her: they ruin her life and force her to leave everything behind.] Every drop of blood in my body went cold. Grant tipped his chair back, watching me with that lazy half-smile he did so well. "Didn't you tell me you wouldn't marry me if I were the last man alive?" I snapped out of it, snatched the papers off his desk, and hurled them at his face. Then I ran. "God, I was kidding. You actually believed that? You really are a fool." Something behind Grant's eyes went still. ... I made it out of Prescott Tower on shaking legs, one heel catching on the curb. I caught my reflection in the revolving door, pale as a ghost. I yanked out my compact and checked. 8,000,000 followers didn't pay to watch me fall apart in public. Foundation: fine. Lipstick: still perfect. [?? Wait, why'd she bolt? Isn't she supposed to grovel and beg the male lead to marry her?] [She's too proud to beg right now, that's all. Give it three minutes, she'll be back.] [She's got nowhere else to go. The male lead is her only card left.] Cry and beg Grant to marry me? I'm Sienna goddarn Whitmore. I don't beg. My phone buzzed. An email. From admissions. It didn't register at first. Then I read two lines and stopped dead on the sidewalk. One of the top three art schools in the world. Three years I'd been trying to get in. I got in. I read it three more times. My thumb was already hovering over Grant's name before I caught myself. [Too bad. In the original story, she gives it up because she can't stand being away from Grant.] [Her career means nothing to her. The male lead just has to snap his fingers and she'll turn it down herself.] My hand froze over the screen. A horn blared next to me. A black Maybach pulled up to the curb. The window slid down. It was Grant, one hand draped over the wheel, jaw tight. "Get in." One look at his face and I wanted to throw something. "What do you want? Regret turning me down already? Too late." His hand stilled on the wheel. "So you meant it. What you said back there." I hesitated for a beat. Maybe I imagined it, but something flickered in his eyes, almost like hope. "In your dreams, Grant." "Even if I were desperate to get married, you wouldn't be on the list." He didn't answer. A beat passed. He looked away, and when he spoke again, his voice was flat. "Get in. I'll drive you home." I was about to say no when he added: "I'm heading to the Whitmore estate anyway. Blaire just got there." That tiny spark of satisfaction in my chest snuffed out instantly. I got in anyway. A free ride is a free ride. Two blocks in, Grant pulled out a dark blue velvet box. "What do you think?" I popped it open and my breath caught. I knew that necklace. Limited edition. I'd been stalking resale sites for six months trying to find one. I bit down on my smile before it could give me away. "Blaire just moved in, so her welcome gift should be something decent. Think she'll like it?" The smile died on my face. Something sharp and small drove itself right between my ribs. [Here we go. The adopted daughter's about to lose it, right?] [She's been obsessed with that necklace forever. Watch her try to take it, and then the male lead puts her in her place.] I snapped the box shut and tossed it back. "It's gorgeous. She'll love it." [Wait, she didn't take it?? She didn't even flip out??] [That's so OOC for her. She's definitely fuming inside and already scheming to get rid of the biological daughter.] Grant watched me for a long moment. When I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through videos like nothing had happened, he hit the gas a little harder. At the Whitmore estate, Grant unloaded a pile of gifts from the trunk. We barely made it through the door before the velvet box slid out of a gift bag and landed right at Blaire Whitmore's feet. She picked it up, opened it, and her whole face lit up. Then she looked at Grant, hopeful. "Is this for me?" I stopped walking. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't sting. Grant's grip tightened on the bags. He looked at me like he was waiting for me to say something. I rolled my eyes. "She's talking to you. Cat got your tongue?" Something shifted in his expression. He turned to Blaire, voice low. "...Yeah. It's yours." Blaire beamed. "Thank you, Grant." At dinner, all eyes were on Blaire. Mom wanted to know her favorite foods. Dad asked about her life before. Grant chimed in here and there. I kept my head down and ate. The ache in my chest had nothing to do with hunger. It used to be me. I always got served first. Mom would always make sure I got my favorite dessert. Dad never made a decision without asking, "What do you think, Sienna?" Now, nobody even looked my way. It was fine. Their own flesh and blood just came home. I would've done the same thing. But there was one thing I wasn't keeping to myself. "I got into Westvale Institute of Art. Classes start next month. I'm going." Mom's fork stopped midair. Dad stared. Grant looked up. He didn't even try to hide his surprise. Then his brow creased. "You're leaving?" The words came out too fast. Like he'd been holding the question in before I even finished speaking. I met his gaze. "Why? Got a problem with it?" He caught himself. Paused. "The Whitmores just brought Blaire home. You take off now, and what does that look like?" "Everyone's going to say your parents dumped the adopted kid the second the biological one showed up. You want to do that to them?" I stared at him. So that's what this was about. Dad was already nodding. "Grant's right." Mom reached for my hand. "Sienna, it doesn't have to be now. I'm not saying never. It's just... the timing..." I looked down and pushed the food around my plate. The ache spread until I couldn't swallow. I didn't say another word. Across the table, Grant's shoulders dropped, just slightly. I set down my fork. "I'm done. Going upstairs." Back in my room, I opened my laptop. My fingers were still cold. At the bottom of the screen, one line waited for me: Confirm your offer. Three years of sleepless nights and obsessive portfolio revisions had earned me that letter. Why the he11 should I give it up? I clicked. Accepted. Mom came in without waiting for an answer, a cup of chamomile tea in her hand. "Sienna, can we talk about something?" She perched on the edge of my bed, not quite meeting my eyes. "Would you mind... letting Blaire have your room?" Something squeezed tight in my chest. She wouldn't look at me. The words came faster. "I know you're comfortable here, but Blaire just moved in. I don't want her feeling like she doesn't belong." She hesitated, then said, "You've had everything since you were little. Blaire's had nothing." [Here it comes!] [She's gonna play the victim and guilt-trip Mrs. Whitmore: "Do you not want me anymore now that you have your biological daughter?"] [Then she'll throw a whole tantrum until Mrs. Whitmore caves.] I didn't even look up from my laptop. "Sure. When do you need it?" If keeping a room meant begging for it, the room wasn't worth keeping. Mom blinked. She clearly hadn't expected a yes. "The one on the third floor is nice too." "What kind of style do you want? I'll have it redecorated for you." I shrugged. "Don't bother. I'll only be there a few days anyway." Something flickered across Mom's face. "Sienna, I'm not pushing you out..." "I know." I cut her off before she could finish. I couldn't stand that look, the one dripping with pity and guilt. It made me feel like a charity case. "It's a room, Mom. Not a banishment." I raised an eyebrow. "I'm still me whether I sleep on the second floor or the third. A different bed doesn't change that." Mom studied my face for a long time. All she said was, "I'll send someone to help you pack." The door clicked shut. My fingers stopped. I looked around the room (my room) slowly, like I was memorizing it. Tears pricked the back of my eyes before I could stop them. Over breakfast the next morning, Dad brought up Blaire's welcome gala. "Sienna, why don't you do Blaire's hair and makeup?" I looked over at Blaire. She was watching me too, braced for a no. "Sure." I took a bite of oatmeal. "But just so we're clear: my rates for commercial glam aren't cheap. Family discount this time. As in, free." Dad said nothing. Blaire's smile went stiff at the edges. "Thank you, Sienna." The day of the gala, I was up at five. By seven, I had Blaire in my chair. Her skin was flawless. That part was easy. Her brows and eyes needed work, though. I snatched her contour, pinned her hair up, and when I stepped back, even I had to look twice. She looked stunning. God, I was good. Blaire stared at her reflection, genuinely shocked. "Sienna, you're insane at this." "Obviously." I dropped the brush back in my kit. "This face pays half my bills. These hands pay the rest." She grinned. "No wonder you have so many followers." I liked hearing that. Maybe Blaire wasn't so bad after all. At least so far, she hadn't given me a reason to dislike her. Grant showed up while I was swapping earrings on the third floor. Out of habit, he went straight to the second floor. I heard him through the stairwell. "Where's Sienna?" "She moved to the third floor." When I came down, he was standing in front of my old room, jaw set, looking like he wanted to put a fist through something. He turned the second he heard my heels. "Why aren't you in your room?" "None of your darn business." He looked ready to march downstairs and raise he11 on my behalf. I had to fight to keep the smile off my face. But I'd already shut him down, so he had nowhere to aim it. In the car, Blaire pressed her fingertips to her temple and softened her voice. "Sienna, I get a little carsick. Would it be okay if I sat up front? If it's a big deal, I totally don't have to." [HERE IT COMES. The front seat drama!] [Sienna's claimed front seat since she was a kid.] [Last time Grant's cousin sat there, Sienna threw a fit about it for THREE MONTHS. The male lead got so sick of it he left town on a business trip and ghosted her for days.] [No way she lets this slide.] I said nothing. How did they remember every embarrassing thing I'd ever done? Grant was already watching me, arms crossed. Something in his expression said he was waiting for me to say no too. "Go ahead." I pulled open the back door. Blaire froze. I slid in, dug a mint out of my bag, and tossed it to her. "If you're actually carsick, take this. Throw up in this car and we'll never get the smell out." Blaire managed a "...Thanks." Grant's jaw flexed. He slammed his door without a word. Blaire peppered him with questions about the gala the whole way. He answered in fragments. Barely. At the hotel entrance, Blaire caught his arm. "Grant, I've never been to anything like this before. I'm kind of freaking out. Can you stay with me the whole night?" Grant looked at me. And in that moment, God, I wanted to be the one standing next to him. We'd been going to these things together since we were kids. He used to gripe about how slow I walked in heels, but he always waited, muttering the whole time about what a pain I was. Now someone else was taking my spot. The taste in the back of my throat was something I couldn't swallow down. I gathered my dress in one hand. "You two take your time." I walked inside before either of them could respond, heels clicking fast against the marble. Any slower and I would've turned back. I found a corner at the gala and buried myself in my enrollment paperwork. Two women behind me were talking. I caught every word. "I always figured Miss Whitmore and the Prescott boy were a done deal. Childhood sweethearts, an arranged match, the whole thing." "Well, turns out there's another Miss Whitmore now." "Isn't that convenient? Now he can marry the one who actually belongs." "Credit to the Whitmores, though. They still let the adopted one show up tonight." "Well, after nineteen years of raising her, they can't exactly toss her out on the street." My fingers stopped on the keyboard. It landed somewhere deep, the kind of pain that doesn't let you cry; it just sits there. I'd spent ninety minutes on this face. Two gossiping nobodies weren't worth ruining it. I looked down and kept typing. Then Grant's voice cut through the noise behind me, cold enough to freeze the room. "Since when are the Whitmores' private affairs any of your business?" I whipped around. Grant stood there, one hand in his pocket, looking like he was two seconds from ending someone's social career. Both women went pale. "Mr. Prescott, we were just..." Grant didn't let her finish. "And since when does either of you get a vote on who a Prescott marries?" I stared at him. Something cracked open in my chest, and every hurt I'd swallowed that night rushed up at once. For one second, I wanted to cross the room, loop my arm through his, and pretend nothing had changed. I wanted to tell him. Those women were talking about me. They were tearing me apart. But then Blaire's voice floated over from across the room. "Grant." He turned. Whatever had risen in my chest settled back down, heavy and quiet. I called Mom and told her I wasn't feeling well. The party noise was loud on her end. She said, "Have the driver bring you home," and hung up before I could respond. I didn't call the driver. I walked out of the hotel and hailed a cab. "The 24-hour FedEx on 4th, please. I have enrollment papers to overnight." A few days later, I was sorting through my visa application when the watch boutique called. "Miss Whitmore, your custom order is ready. Are you able to pick it up today?" I didn't answer right away. I'd almost forgotten. Grant's birthday was coming up. At the boutique, the associate lifted the lid, and I couldn't stop staring. The engraving on the back hit me like a slap. Property of Sienna Whitmore. Forever. I'd designed it myself. Changed the font six times. Back then, I thought it was the most romantic thing in the world. Now it just made me feel... Humiliated. Completely, pathetically humiliated. [Here it comes. The adopted daughter's gonna try to buy his love with a birthday gift. Again.] [Why even bother with a custom watch? The male lead couldn't care less about her.] [She literally tries to use this gift to win him back later. I can't.] I closed my eyes. Then I closed the box. "Destroy it." The associate stared. "Are you sure?" "I'm sure." [WHAT. Did she just say DESTROY IT?!] [That watch is worth like 140K!] [She's just being dramatic. Counting to three... she'll come crawling back for it.] I didn't look back. I walked out of the boutique, crossed the avenue, and bought a fountain pen instead. Grant's birthday. Private room at an exclusive club, packed wall to wall. Blaire gave her gift first: a set of limited-edition cuff links. Everyone started teasing them. Blaire's cheeks went pink, and she looked up at Grant with shy, hopeful eyes. Grant barely reacted. His gaze found me instead, expectant. I tossed my gift at him. "Happy birthday, fool. Another year older, fool." He opened it. The second he saw the fountain pen, his face went dark. "Where's the watch?" That stare almost cracked me. I held my ground anyway. "What, a pen's not good enough for you?" Grant dropped the pen back in the box like it burned him. He didn't say another word to me for the rest of the night. Near the end of the party, the Prescott family's butler appeared to remind Grant about the family dinner. I reached for my purse without thinking. Habit. Every year, the Prescotts held a private family dinner for his birthday. Immediate family only. I'd been invited to every single one. Then Grant turned to Blaire. "Come with me." The room went dead quiet. Blaire blinked. "Me? But that's your family's private dinner. I thought it was strictly family. Except for Sienna." "Let's go." He said it to Blaire, but his eyes were on me. [Oh, she's DONE. That family dinner is basically a stamp of approval from the Prescotts. He just replaced her in front of everyone. That's a public humiliation.] [He's stripping every privilege she had. No way she keeps it together this time.] My hand had already clenched into a fist. Grant hadn't looked away. Slowly, I uncurled my fingers. Before, I'd been pushed out of his life. This time, I was the one walking away. Maybe all we were ever meant to be was friends. I slung my bag over my shoulder. "I'll head out, then." Grant's whole face locked up. For half a second, he looked afraid. His mouth opened, but I was already through the door. Someone caught up to me outside the club. "Sienna." I turned. He looked like he was choosing his words carefully. "Look, I know this sounds bad, but everyone knows you're not a biological Whitmore anymore. Grant's the best thing you've got. Don't let go of that." "Thanks. But I can hold myself up." I flagged a cab and climbed in. My phone lit up with a notification. [Your visa has been approved.] I stared at those words for a long time. The ache in my chest, for the first time all night, started to ease. At least I still had somewhere to go. Back at the house, I started packing. My phone buzzed again. A friend I'd asked for a favor had finally texted back. [Hey, Sienna, it's kind of a bad time for me. Sorry about that.] I stared at the screen. People were already distancing themselves. That fast. At eleven, Blaire showed up at my door with her arms full of gifts. "Sienna, the Prescotts gave me so much stuff. I wanted to share some with you." She pulled out a limited-edition handbag. Then a set of lipsticks. "Grant got me the entire collection. Which shade do you want?" I waited for it to hurt. It didn't. I picked a warm red. "Thanks." Blaire's smile faltered. She lingered for a moment. "Well... good night, Sienna." "Night." I shut the door, opened my laptop, and pulled up flights. Tomorrow. 7 a.m. I was up before sunrise, dragging my suitcase down the stairs. Past the gates, I stopped and looked back at the house, the only home I'd known for twenty years. Then I turned around and kept walking.
Not enough history yet to show a trend.