Chapter1

I am the family’s adopted daughter—and the prettiest decorative painting hanging on their wall.

At the family’s IPO charity gala, I exposed the truth to everyone: the “masterpiece” being auctioned for twenty million was a fake—and the real one was in my hands.

This wasn’t just about exposing art fraud. It was about avenging my mother, who died in a “freak fire” fifteen years ago—after she uncovered the family’s money-laundering scheme and was silenced forever.

……

My name is Leanne Vanderbilt, the adopted daughter of this family, and the prettiest piece of decoration hanging on their wall.

Tonight's grand charity gala is to celebrate the family conglomerate going public.

I stand in the corner, like a piece of forgotten furniture.

My adoptive mother, Eleanor, walks over. That perfectly fake smile is plastered across her face. She takes my hand, her icy fingertips resting on my wrist.

"Darling, come here."

She pulls me to the center of the hall, where all those suited men and women turn to look.

Her hand lands on my neck, her fingertips lifting the antique sapphire necklace I've always worn.

"Look," she says to everyone, her voice as sweet as syrup, "look how much we love this child. This generosity is the symbol of our family."

Applause erupts. Polite. Perfunctory. A few women make admiring sounds.

Eleanor gently pushes on my back. It's my turn to speak.

My turn to smile and say thank you, thank you for their generosity, thank you for giving me a home.

I don't smile.

I look into her carefully made-up eyes, then turn and walk toward the enormous display platform in the banquet hall.

On the platform sits tonight's star—an oil painting in an ornate frame.

The auctioneer is introducing it with an excited voice: "...a masterpiece missing for half a century! A treasure from the Vanderbilt family collection! Starting bid, twenty million!"

The spotlight shines on the painting. My adoptive father, Robert, stands beside it, his back ramrod straight, basking in the envious gazes. The black lens of the livestream camera points directly at all of this.

I stop at the edge of the spotlight.

"Leanne?" Eleanor's voice comes from behind me, carrying a barely perceptible warning.

I raise my hand, not to touch the sapphire at my neck, but to point straight at that painting.

I take a breath and hear my own voice ring out in the vast space, terrifyingly calm:

"I'm grateful for the Vanderbilt family's 'generous' upbringing."

I pause for a second, making sure every word reaches the livestream microphone clearly.

"But regarding generosity, I have a different perspective."

I turn toward the painting, my finger pointing steadily at it.

"Especially concerning this 'family glory' being auctioned at astronomical prices." My gaze sweeps over my adoptive father's suddenly rigid face, over my adoptive mother's shocked expression, finally settling on the red dot of the livestream camera. "Because this painting is a fake."

A deathly silence instantly swallows the entire banquet hall. I can hear people gasping.

Then, boom—the whole hall explodes.

Exclamations, whispers, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

Robert's face turns deathly pale in an instant. Eleanor covers her mouth.

My adoptive brother Chris is the first to rush over. He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh with frightening strength. "What the fuck are you saying!" He lowers his voice, hot breath spraying in my ear, filled with rage and panic, "Shut your mouth right now! Get out!"

He yanks at me, trying to drag me away from the spotlight, out of this hall.

I stumble from his pulling, but I wrench my hand free.

I straighten up, facing my stone-faced adoptive father, my stunned adoptive mother, the agitated crowd and those cameras recording everything.

"The fake is on your display platform." I raise my voice, making sure every word is crystal clear. "And the original," I pause, looking into Robert's eyes, "is in my hands."

"Leanne, you're insane!" He forces the words through clenched teeth, "Shut up right now and leave!"

He tries to pull me away from the spotlight, away from those suddenly burning, suspicious, excited stares.

I'm being pulled and pushed, but I twist my head, locking eyes with my pale-faced adoptive father.

The show has only just begun.

They thought I would obediently play the grateful puppet until I was completely used up.

I shake off Chris's hand, and before he can forcibly drag me away, I use all my strength to shout my next words at the nearest livestream camera.

"Want proof? Connect the projector—I'll show you!"