Chapter 1 At Dad's funeral, my brother stood up in front of everyone and reail the will- Three houses, two storefronts, thirty percent of the company, plus every penny in the bank all going to my brother Marcus Hartwell The relatives gasped while Marcus couldn't hide that smug grin. Then the lawyer handed me an envelope. "Miss Hartwell, your father left this just for you." My hands shook as I opened it. Dad's handwriting stared back at me: [Sweetie, you're the best daughter and married so well. Your brother's got nothing going for him-don't fight him for the family money, okay? Love, Dad-Robert Hartwell) My mind went BLANK. Dad always loved me more than Marcus. Everyone knew that. So why did this feel like the biggest lie he'd ever told me? the paper was thin, but each word burned through me like a red-hot poker. looked up. Marcus deared his throat, his smug expression forming a cruel contrast with Dad's kind black-and-white photo on the casket. Well, everyone gets what Dad meant." He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on me with something like pity mixed with charity. Sweetie, don't blame Dad for playing favorites. You married Blake Morrison, and Blake's dad is the chief surgeon at St. Mary's Medical Center. You're set for life. Me? I'm a total screw-up who can't get his shit together. If Dad didn't leave me extra, how the hell would I survive?" He spoke like I'd hit the goddamn lottery. The relatives started their whispered gossip: Yeah, Marcus really is a screw-up-Robert didn't have much choice." Riley lucked out with Blake though. Guy's loaded-she doesn't need this stuff anyway." Still though, that's pretty harsh, don't you think? Not giving your daughter a single dime? That's just cold." Their chatter felt like tiny needles pricking my exposed skin. My husband Blake took my hand-his palm warm and dry, his voice steady as always: "Come on, don't think about it. Let's go home." le pulled me up from the chair and gave everyone a polite nod-proper but distant: "Hey everyone, I'm taking Riley home-she's totally drained. My dad's got some emergency thing at the hospital, so we gotta run." See? This was my husband who'd "married so well." Handsome, respectable, successful-always knew exactly what to say and do in any situation. He tucked me into his white BMW, shutting out all the chaos from the funeral home. The car was quiet. I clutched that letter, my nails almost digging into my palms. Blake fired up the car and said flatly: "Dad had his reasons, trust me. You know what your brother's like-complete gambling junkie. Doesn't matter how much cash he gets, it's all gonna be gone. Dad probably figured Marcus would keep bugging you for money, so he did this." I spun around to look at him, my voice trembling: "So Dad basically used everything we had to buy me some peace?!" "Blake, that was my DAD! He adored me-knew exactly which bakery had my favorite cupcakes, knew I got terrible cramps, always had hot tea or soup ready before I even asked. How could he... how could he do this to me?" I wasn't obsessing over money, but let's be real-where someone puts their money is where their heart is. Chapter 1 I couldn't believe Dad didn't care about me at all. Blake sighed and patted my knee like he was soothing a bratty kid. "Sweetie, respect the dead. This was your dad's final wish-just let it go." "Let it go." Those three words again. Dad said them in his letter, now my husband was saying them too. Like if I showed even a hint of resentment, I'd be some ungrateful monster. But did any of them know that I'd been filling Marcus's bottomless pit with my own salary and dowry for YEARS? That Dad's company only survived because I pulled all-nighters with him, chased down clients with him? The city lights blurred past the window as my tears finally came, dropping onto tmy hands one by one. Back home, Blake hung up his suit jacket and handed me a glass of warm water. I get that you're hurt," he sat across from me, voice calm, "but we don't need that money. Fighting with your brother over this stuff, disturbing your dad's peace-it's not worth it." I said nothing, just stared at him. My stare made him uncomfortable. He frowned: "Why are you looking at me like that? Am I wrong? If your brother starts shit, it affects MY reputation. What would people say? That I, a department chief, let my wife go back home fighting over inheritance? Sweetie, we're classy people. Let's not do anything trashy." That's when something inside me shattered. He didn't give a damn about my pain-only his reputation, his image. suddenly felt freezing cold, the kind that seeps into my bones. laughed bitterly and tossed the letter onto the coffee table. "You're absolutely right. We're classy people." stood and walked toward the bedroom: "I'm tired. Need some sleep." I closed the door and slid down against it, sitting on the floor. Was Dad really that heartless? couldn't believe it. Over and over, I replayed every memory from when he was alive-the father who'd bring me midnight snacks when I worked late, who'd pat my shoulder after lifficult clients gave me hell and say "My daughter's the best." Something didn't add up. jumped up and rushed to the study, opening the computer Dad had set up for me. he password was our birthdays combined. opened an encrypted folder where Dad stored the company's most important files. Only he and I knew the password. nside, among various contracts and financial reports, was a document titled "My Little Princess." My heart skipped. I clicked it open. Just a few short lines, but they hit me like lightning. Sweetie, if you're reading this, Daddy's probably gone. Don't trust that will, and don't trust anyone. Go to my safety deposit box at Citibank-the password is your birthday. That's where I left you the real truth. 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