Chapter 1: Four Years After Imprisonment

In Jexburgh, during the depths of winter, the biting cold felt like being trapped in an ice cellar. Inside the women’s prison workshop, Raylee Somers, clad in her prison uniform, sewed shoes. Her hands, swollen and red from chilblains and blisters, ached unbearably. A prison guard approached, calling out, “Raylee Somers, the Goodridge family has arranged for your bail. You’re free to leave now.” The mention of the Goodridges sparked instinctive fear, momentarily confusing her.

Four years ago, her life had dramatically changed. On her eighteenth birthday, she’d transitioned from wealthy heiress to convicted thief. Her biological mother, a housekeeper, had secretly switched her identity with the true Goodridge daughter. When the housekeeper demanded money, the deception was revealed. Raylee’s life became bleak. She watched the Goodridge family embrace, their affection a stark contrast to her awkward isolation. She faced a harsh reality: the parents she’d known for eighteen years were not hers.

Finally, Alaric Goodridge noticed her. After a long pause, he said, “Ray-Ray, even if Waverly returns, you will always be the eldest daughter of the Goodridge family. From this day forward, Waverly will be your little sister.” Harriet Carraway, acknowledging her neglect, added, “Ray-Ray, I will continue to love and care for you as if you were my own daughter.” Raylee believed them. But humiliation followed swiftly.

The Goodridges were invited to Tiffany Lorimer’s birthday banquet. There, they witnessed Waverly stealing Tiffany’s necklace and her friend accusing her of theft. Tiffany raged, threatening the police. Silently, they let Raylee take the blame. Despite her innocence, her pleas were futile; the world seemed against her. She was imprisoned, realizing she had no parents.

“Hey, she’s off to enjoy the good life, huh? Ladies, do you think she’ll forget about us once she’s out?” the prison bully sneered. Raylee instinctively knelt, pleading, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was wrong. Please don’t hit me.” The guard impatiently urged, “Raylee Somers, come out!”

Realization dawned: she was free. The bully’s threat was gone. Under the bully’s gaze, Raylee lowered her head and departed. After completing her release, she put on her thin, worn clothes and a guard escorted her to the gates. In the distance, a tall, slender figure leaned against a luxury car—a man in a glossy black satin shirt, buttons undone, piercing black eyes radiating authority. Raylee felt no joy, only fear. Her injured leg throbbed.

It was Samuel Goodridge, her brother for eighteen years. To appease the Lorimers, he’d ensured the bully’s “special attention.” He was the source of her suffering. The wind bit; the chill in Raylee’s heart was colder than winter. Four years had passed. She believed her heart was numb, but sorrow lingered. She fought back tears. As she suppressed her emotions, Samuel approached. Terrified, she couldn't hide; evasion would only invite more abuse. The prison's conditioning remained.

“It’s been a while. I’m sorry,” she bowed, her voice laced with fear and detachment. Samuel was stunned. The haughty princess apologized. He'd expected an outburst, a demand for justice, but she slumped, fearful—exactly as he’d hoped four years ago. Her sincerity overwhelmed him. Melancholy surged. He felt like a defeated lion, alone in the cold.

Samuel breathed deeply, saying slowly, “Grandma missed you terribly. Given her age and illness, Mrs. Lorimer signed a letter of forgiveness to secure your early release.” He realized his tone was insufficiently warm. He moved to embrace her, but she avoided him. Stunned, he softened his voice: “It’s all in the past now. I’m still your brother. Come with me.”

He’s still my brother? She’d waited an eternity for these words. In prison, she’d waited for his rescue. She couldn’t believe his heartlessness. Hope had led to despair. She had no family. Samuel’s rescue was a dead end. Numb, she stepped back, bowing again. “Thank you, Mrs. Lorimer, for signing the letter of forgiveness. And thank you, Old Mrs. Goodridge, for keeping me, an ex-convict, in your thoughts.” Respect, not warmth, marked her words.

Samuel, agitated by the distance, pinched his nose. “Even though you’ve spent four years in prison, Dad said you’re still the daughter of the Goodridge family. You don’t need to dwell too much on your past imprisonment.” To him, she wasn't an ex-convict. To her, his words were cruel. Four years of degrading labor, hunger, sickness, punishment, and torment—a fate worse than death. Being a Goodridge seemed to only worsen her treatment.

Seeing her sorrow, Samuel patted her shoulder, his tone softening. “Let’s go to the hospital to visit Grandma. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.” He walked towards the car. He glanced back; she followed, maintaining distance.

What’s the matter? Am I a monster? Does she really need to stay far away from me? He remembered her playful clinging, intensifying his longing. He quickened his pace.

Four years had taught Raylee a harsh lesson. She dared not upset the Goodridges. Despite excruciating pain in her leg, she couldn’t delay. She stumbled, quickly rising to continue. Samuel was already in the car. Gavin Whitlock, the driver, greeted her, “Hello, Ms. Goodridge,” and opened the back door. Raylee opened the passenger door instead. The driver was startled. Samuel yanked her out, throwing her to the ground.

“If you find me so displeasing, then don’t consider me your brother anymore!” Her ankle twisted. He continued, “Raylee, I thought you had matured, but you’re still so naive. You think sitting in the passenger seat can hurt anyone? It only shows you’re hopelessly degrading yourself! How dare you show me attitude? It seems you haven’t fully grasped your own status! Don’t bother with the car. Just walk home yourself! I’m warning you, when you visit Grandma at the hospital, don’t wear such a gloomy expression. I don’t want to upset her!” He told the driver, “Drive!”

Gavin, concerned, dared not disobey. The car disappeared. Raylee felt nothing; she’d already tasted betrayal. She understood her status; Samuel had forgotten they’d forced her back, ironically blaming her for not recognizing it. Clenching her fists, she rose, needing to catch up.

After a short distance, the car returned, stopping before her. The window lowered, Samuel’s furious eyes boring into her. “Get in!”