"Emma Johnson, come out!"

The dim light barely penetrated the shabby living room as Emma trudged out.

She' d just set down her hoe, still clad in an old shirt and black pants spattered with mud. A few straggly hairs stuck to her fair cheeks, and she regarded the well-dressed stranger in the yard with a completely expressionless gaze.

"You deaf, girl?! Didn't you hear the noble calling you?" Lillian Smith planted her hands on her hips, jabbing a finger right at Emma's nose as she shrieked. "Look at you-filthy and stinking, like some beggar! Eighteen years I've raised you, and even a dog would know better than to act like this! Always moping around with that sour face-you jinx!"

The longer she yelled, the more wound up she got, like she was pouring every bit of resentment she'd built up over the years. "Off gallivanting god knows where every day-who knows which bastard you're sneaking around with? You've made me unable to hold my head up in this village! Wasted all these years raising you, and what good are you? Nothing but an ungrateful ingrate!"

Martha Davis looked on coldly, making no move to stop Lillian as she hurled insults at Emma. Only when Lillian was left panting for breath did she slowly pull a checkbook from her elegant crocodile-skin handbag.

"All right, that's enough," Martha interrupted impatiently, her voice laced with a patronizing generosity. "The Johnson family acknowledges your ‘hard work' in raising Emma these eighteen years-we won't shortchange you."

She scribbled a number on the check, then tossed it at Lillian like she was shooing off a beggar.

"Here. Five million. That's more than enough for someone like you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Take the money, sign this 'Foster Care Termination Agreement,' and from this day forward, she'll have no connection to any of you whatsoever."

"Five million?!" Lillian screeched so loud her voice cracked. "What do you think this is, toss scraps to a beggar?! I raised her with my own two hands! That's eighteen years! Every bite of food, every stitch of clothing, every single thing cost money! What about my wasted youth? My mental suffering? All these years, the villagers have jabbed their fingers at my back, calling her a bastard, calling me a fool for raising a money pit! Who's going to make that right? Ten million! Not a cent less!"

Spit flew from her mouth, nearly hitting Martha's face, her greed and madness twisting her already mean face.

Martha had had enough. The woman's unbridled unreason and vulgarity finally ignited her anger.

She snatched the check back with a sharp movement, her gaze slicing through Lillian like a blade. Then it landed on Emma-standing silent as a shadow in the background-and in that look was unapologetic, raw disdain.

"Ten million? Ha." Martha let out a cold, mocking laugh, her voice venomous. "Her? A backwoods hick? That face of hers is the only thing even remotely tolerable-everything else about her is worthless. Crude, ignorant, never even finished a decent education. In the Johnsons, even the lowliest maid has better manners and breeding than she does. Five million is already an act of charity. Don't push your luck."

"You-!" Lillian trembled with rage, ready to unleash another tirade.

"Lillian Smith." A cool, clear voice cut through the chaos-soft, yet sharp as an icicle shattering the noise.

The silence surrounding Emma finally broke-she moved.

She didn't even glance at the check that had just been haggled over like her price tag. She just slowly lifted her gaze, calm and steady. She simply lifted her lids, and those deep, fathomless eyes fixed on her foster mother, calm as a frozen lake. Beneath that calm? A bone-chilling frost that seeped into the marrow."Take the money." She paused, her gaze sweeping over Martha before landing squarely on Lillian, cold and distant in a way that made one's heart clench. "But one more word out of you, and you won't even see a single cent."

That look made Lillian freeze, a chill climbing up from the soles of her feet.

Her lips parted, but the insult stuck in her throat.She dared not let them out.

Since when did this girl... have that kind of stare?

Even Martha was momentarily thrown off by Emma's sudden cold presence. But the dislike in her eyes only deepened - 'absolutely no manners, just like a wild weed from the sticks.'

"Miss Johnson," Martha snapped, forcing down her annoyance, her tone sharp and commanding. "Stop wasting time. Go change out of that mess you're wearing! You think you can walk into the Johnson house dressed like a beggar? Don't drag that stench of poverty in with you-you'll foul the place up."

She bit down hard on the words "mess," "beggar," and "stench," each one meant to humiliate.

Emma didn't spare her so much as a glance, as if she were talking to a wall.

She turned and headed for her tiny, cramped room tucked in the corner.

When she came out a few minutes later, she'd changed into another set of equally faded but clean clothes. A worn-out canvas backpack hung from her shoulders, with corners frayed.

Standing in front of Martha, Emma held out her hand-not for the check, but for the Foster Care Termination Agreement.

There was something in her quiet stare that made Martha's spine tingle. She forced a composed front, shoving the check and pen at Lillian, then slapped the document down hard in Emma's palm.

Lillian and her husband lunged at the table like hungry wolves, shaking as they scribbled their names, eyes fixed on the check like it might disappear.

Emma didn't even glance at the paper that severed her past. She just folded it and stuffed it into her backpack.

"Get in," Martha barked, pulling the car door open like she couldn't wait to be rid of her.

Emma bent slightly and settled into the cold leather seat.

The engine started up, and the car slowly pulled away from the rundown yard.

She never looked back-not at the two people grinning greedily over the check, their faces twisted with ugly desperation; not at the place she'd lived for eighteen years without ever calling it home.

Her profile glowed faintly in the car window, calm as still water. Yet deep in her eyes, a flicker of icy derision slipped by-swift, subtle, and all but imperceptible.

As the vehicle rumbled down the village road, whispers from nearby neighbors drifted in:

"Damn, five million? The Smiths hit the jackpot!"

"Selling a daughter like that… bet she's not even theirs by blood."

"Whatever. She's headed to some rich family now-could be heaven, could be hell. That housekeeper looked scary."

"From sparrow to phoenix? Nah, looks more like a golden cage to me."

*****

Inside the car, Emma leaned back, half-lazy, drumming her fingers against the window.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She slowly dug it out of her backpack.

Martha, seated up front, caught sight of the brick-like phone in Emma's hand through the rear-view mirror-and a flicker of disdain instantly crossed her eyes.

What era did this girl think it was, clinging to a clunky old phone like that?

Emma answered, her voice cool and even.

"What?"

It was the standard voice of a girl, plain but clear. Not a hint of panic, yet the man on the other end sounded so fired up it didn't even matter."Emma, there's gonna be something awesome at the UN auction tomorrow. You in?"

The guy's voice on the phone was full of excitement, but you could tell he was being extra cautious, as if he were addressing an noble elder.

It was Ethan Thomas-Emma's close buddy. Whenever something big was happening in the auction scene, he was always the first to fill her in. This time was no different. After all, Emma was kinda legendary in that circle.

She frowned. "Not going. No time."

Then she hung up without hesitation.

"Miss Johnson, was that a scam call?" Martha cut in, her voice laced with feigned concern. "Can't say I'm surprised if it was-fraudsters in Veyra City are quite skilled. Someone who's lived in the countryside like you surely hasn't encountered their kind before."

Emma closed her eyes without a word.

fraudsters? And she's even proud of how rampant they are here?

Martha was annoyed as Emma ignoring her. Her voice turned sharper, laced with disdain. "The Johnsons are prominent figures of great standing. If you officially become a member of this family, that phone needs to be changed. Don't embarrass the Johnsons."

Shooting a cold glance at Emma, she noticed the girl with her eyes half-closed, looking like she might doze off at any moment.

It was like talking to a wall.

She raised her voice. "I heard Miss Johnson dropped out after middle school, huh? no doubt the Johnsons' rules mean nothing to you, then."

Emma's eyelids twitched slightly, a faint smirk creeping onto her lips.

"Oh?"

Martha shot back coldly, like she was scolding some uncultured street kid. "Oh? Is that how you talk to elders? Ever heard of basic manners?"

Emma let out a light chuckle but didn't bother replying.

A housekeeper lecturing a Johnson?

That laugh made Martha's chest tighten, like her words were nothing but idle wind.

She drew a steadying breath, belatedly realizing she'd overstepped. And with that, she fell quiet.

*****

At the Johnson residence, lunch was being served in the two-story villa.

Richard Johnson had been managing the family business well over the years, keeping everything in perfect order. Seren Miller, his wife, was once a well-known model who'd since stepped away from the limelight. Their daughter, Chloe Johnson, excelled great both at home and school. She was skilled in piano and painting, and deeply valued by her teachers and the principal.

To outsiders, the Johnsons looked like the perfect family.

That was until Chloe's physical training at school turned up something weird. Her medical examination report said she had type O blood-except both Seren and Richard were AB. There was no way she could be their biological kid.

Turns out, some rookie nurse at the hospital messed up the birth records years ago.

In that moment, a faint cloud of worry hung over every face-each expression distinct, each mind adrift with its own thoughts. No one had the heart for eating. The delicious dishes on the table remained untouched, as if forgotten entirely.

Chloe bit down on her chopsticks before suddenly bursting into tears. Then, she stood abruptly, about to walk out.

"Chloe, where are you going?" Seren got up, blocking her path.

"I'm not your daughter anymore!" Chloe sobbed, barely catching her breath.

Richard walked over and gently stopped her too. "Chloe, what kind of nonsense is that? You'll always be our daughter. Always."