The Miner's Daughter Takes Manhatta

"When my birth parents found me, I'd just crawled out of a mine."

I was caked in coal dust, filthy and ragged. The disgust on their faces was obvious—especially my father's. "Get her another car," he snapped. "I won't have her ruining the family vehicle."

My mother forced a sympathetic smile. "Sweetheart, you've been through so much. Once we get home and you're cleaned up, I'll make sure you're taken care of." Then they hurried into their car without another word.

Their adopted son, Alden, was the only one who hesitated. He glanced at me, then at his sleek black Maybach, and sighed. "You can ride with me."

"There's a shower at the mine," I muttered. "I'll clean up first."

After washing off the grime and changing, I slid into Alden's car, and we drove to the Spencer estate.

When we arrived, my so-called parents were nowhere in sight. Instead, I was greeted by Celia—the girl who'd stolen my life.

She beamed at me, grabbing my hand like we were long-lost sisters. "Sherrie, right? So nice to finally meet you! Don't worry, I'm not into that 'real vs. fake daughter' drama. We're family now—let's get along!"

Then, in one smooth motion, she shoved a fruit knife into my palm and yanked my hand toward her.

Seriously? Was this the Spencer family's idea of a welcome?

Luckily, laziness doesn't mean weakness. Celia tugged hard, but I didn't budge. She blinked up at me, all fake innocence, then tried again.

I tapped the phone hanging around my neck. "Always recording."

Her grip instantly loosened.

Just then, Alden walked in. His eyes flicked between the knife in my hand and Celia's terrified expression.

I couldn't be bothered to explain. Tossing the knife back at her, I flopped onto the nearest couch and dug into my backpack for snacks.

"Alden, you're back!" Celia chirped, switching gears fast. "I asked Carol Ann to make your favorite Caprese salad. Let me get it for you!"

"Not hungry," Alden said, then glanced at me. "Sherrie? You want anything?"