Money Is The Only Loyal Love

She always told me that family, friendship, and lovethey will all betray you. Only money never will.
So the moment I returned to the Prescott family estate, I made a decision.
I would become the master of the Prescott house.
1
I never knew my father. It was just my mother and me, living in a small, forgotten hollow deep in the country.
The town was poor. Everyone, from the toddlers to the great-grandmothers, had to work. The phrase they loved to repeat was, Poor children learn to run the house early.
But my mother was different.
She never taught me how to work the land or keep a home.
From the time I could understand, she drilled into me that the world was cruel and offered no fairness.
When Mrs. Gable taught her daughter to be kind and gentle, my mother demanded I shed any excess goodness. Claw your way up by any means necessary the moment you see an opening.
When Mr. Jones taught his son that kinship and family were everything, she taught me that family, friendship, and love would all betray me. Only money never would.
She taught me to observe, to be sweet-tongued on the surface, and ruthless underneath.
She showed me, through her own actions, that cold, hard cash was the only loyal thing on this earth.
When I was fifteen, my biological father showed up.
He wore a tailored suit and his hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. His polished leather shoes, reflecting the sunlight, looked absurdly out of place on our cracked concrete porch.
Mrs. Gable teased me, "Well, girl, looks like youre finally going to have a good life."
I sat on the steps, staring absently at the gleaming hood ornament on his cara silent signal of a world I didn't know.
I knew better. Good fortune doesn't just crash down on you for free.
That day, I was driven in the expensive sedan straight to a hospital.
The driver oversaw a full physical exam and several vials of blood drawn. When we were done, I was dropped back in the hollow.
My mother said nothing, just told me to wait.
Ten days later, the man returned.
His brow was relaxed; he seemed to be in a much better mood than the last time. He wanted me to stay outside, but my mother insisted I remain in the room and listen to their conversation.
"The matching results are in. It's a half-match."
My mother seemed unsurprised, her expression tranquil.
But I saw the truth. Her facade of calm was paper-thin. Her hand, clutching mine, was trembling.
At fifteen, I didn't know what a half-match meant.
That day, the two people with the closest blood tie to me negotiated for three hours in my presence.
In the end, I went home with my biological father. My mother walked away with Five Million Dollars.
My bone marrow. Thats what she sold for the price of a house.
2
Alistair Prescott didn't like my mother, and he certainly didn't like me.
On the drive away from the hollow, I listened to him vent to the driver.
My mother, it turned out, was a "mistake" from his youth.
He said that if he hadn't thought she was young, pretty, and easily controlled, he never would have slept with her. He never expected her to be so calculating, running off once she realized she was pregnant.
From his tirade, I gathered he had a devoted wife, Sylvie.
A daughter, Sierra, who had been raised like a princess.
And a son, Remy, who had leukemia.
If his son didn't desperately need a bone marrow transplant, he would never have dragged me into the Prescott family's life.
Alistair dozed off mid-sentence.
The space in the luxury car was vast, yet I felt cramped and suffocated.
After what felt like forever, the car stopped outside a stunning, columned mansion.
Smack.
I was still climbing out when the slap landed. I hadn't even had a chance to register the house.
The sudden blow, combined with the stiffness from the long drive, sent me sprawling onto the driveway. My cheek was a sheet of stinging heat.
"Sierra! What in God's name are you doing?"
Facing her father's reprimand, the girlmy half-sisterpouted. "Daddy, don't you love me anymore?"
Alistair sighed, already melting. "Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart. I was just worried you'd hurt your hand."
Sierra instantly brightened. She hooked her arm through his, staring down at me with an air of pure, arrogant disdain.
"Hitting her dirties my hands. Dad, she's ruined my mood on her very first day. Can we at least make her kneel in the solarium and pray for Remy? Please?"
Alistair glanced down at me, then affectionately ruffled Sierras perfect blonde waves.
"You're impossible, kid. Fine. You win."
As they turned away, Sierra's shimmery, designer dress caught the light, a spectacular, dazzling thing made of a fabric I'd never seen before.
I knelt for five hours that day.
It wasn't until late that night that I met Sylvie, Alistairs wife.
She was immaculately maintained, but her face was etched with a permanent, profound worry. She barely spared me a look before ordering a housekeeper to take me away.
I was settled in the staff quarters, sharing a room with Mrs. Lewis, the senior housekeeper.
Mrs. Lewis brought me a plate of food.
The rice was dry, and on the side were two cold, greasy pieces of pot roast. The first bite was heavy and oily, coating my mouth with fat.
I smiled brightly. "Thank you, ma'am. This is very good."
She just looked at me and said nothing.
I knew everyone here disliked me, the bastard daughter dragged in from the backwoods.
But if I was going to survive here, I had to change their minds.
A few days later, I was taken to see my half-brother, Remy.
His face was ghostly pale, as if he might crumble at any moment. When he saw me, there was no hostility, only a quiet emptiness.
But when he heard I was his donor, his eyelashes flickered.
3
The doctors opted for a bone marrow biopsy and stem cell harvest.
The operating room was freezing.
Even through the anesthesia, I felt the pain. An insidious, deep ache.
That was the first time I cried since I came back to the Prescotts.
I missed my mother.
I wanted to ask her why it hurt so much.
Remys recovery went smoothly enough.
Alistairs attitude toward me softened slightly. He even enrolled me in the same elite private school as Sierra.
But even though I had saved her brother's life, she still hated me.
The news of my illegitimate status spread through the school instantly.
Sierra led the charge to isolate me.
My freshman year was a cycle of finding spiders in my desk, razor blades in my water bottle, and the constant threat of a burnt scalp from a hurled curling iron or a stapler puncture.
I was hit, cursed, threatened, and shunned.
Whether I was drenched in cold water or locked in the storage closet for the night, I always faced them with a smile.
I never told on them. I certainly never cried.
I started eating all the heaviest, unhealthiest food I could find.
I gained weight, my face broke out with teenage acne, and I wore the baggiest, most shapeless clothes. I was utterly, deliberately forgettable.
My mother had taught me: When you are dull and without light, fewer people will bother to look your way.
After a while, my complete lack of resistance bored Sierra.
She stopped constantly monitoring me.
I finally got the breathing room I needed to study.
I kept my grades consistently low, always positioning myself at the bottom of the class roster to act as a buffer for Sierra's terrible scores.
In the second half of sophomore year, Remys rejection symptoms became severe.
I went in for another bone marrow harvest.
It was more painful than the last time.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let a single sound escape. Crying is a currency, and I had already spent mine long ago.
After that procedure, I was moved into a small, independent room.
It had the worst light in the entire villa, but for the first time, I had a space that was just mine.
Mrs. Lewis secretly made me a dish of livergood for the blood.
She watched me eat, then turned her back to discreetly wipe away tears. Having shared a room with me for over a year, she knew exactly how often I came back with new bruises.
Her initial disgust for the "bastard child" had transformed into pity.
She once asked me, Dont you resent them?
I offered her a silent, weary smile.
After youve walked too many helpless miles alone, resentment simply turns into calculation.
4
Senior year arrived.
Sierras grades were a lost cause, so Alistair had already arranged for her to study abroad.
Naturally, I, with my equally poor grades, had no such luxury.
I had to remain in Avery Metropolitan, ready for the next bone marrow call.
Sierra had already flown to Switzerland when I took my college entrance exams.
Over the summer, her social media feed was full of the Swiss Alps, the Greek Islands, and spectacular skydiving videos.
Life is an open frontier, her captions declared.
A few weeks later, my scores came in.
I had completely over-performed, scoring high enough to get into one of the top public universities in Avery Metropolitan.
It was the first time Alistair had ever truly seen me as a daughter.
Before that, he didnt even know what schools Id applied to.
He actually called me to the main dining table for dinner.
At the table, he said he would grant me one wish.
Even Sylvie looked at me with an uncharacteristic flicker of warmth.
Seeing their expectant faces, I let the tears fall, one by one.
I told them I had only one wish: I hoped Remy would get well soon.
My sincerity wasn't questioned.
They both knew I visited Remy twice a week. The stack of handwritten prayers I copied for Remy in the solarium was thicker than anything Sierra, his biological sister, had ever done.
Alistairs eyes misted over. He patted my shoulder. "It will happen, Rowan. I promise."
Sylvies expression was complex. After a long moment, she reached over and put a piece of tender sea bass on my plate.
I had earned my seat at the table.
I spent most of the summer vacation at the hospital, caring for Remy.
Remy was a quiet boy, and perhaps because I was his literal lifeline, he didn't resist my presence.
To an outsider, we looked like a genuinely devoted brother and sister.
Sylvie was almost always there, too.
She had grown used to my presence, occasionally even offering a word of genuine concern.
On the day my freshman year began, Alistair sent a driver and Mrs. Lewis to accompany me to campus.
Everyone in the household had noticed the shift in my status.
Everyone, that is, except Sierra, who was still abroad.
5
College life was better than I could have imagined.
I joined the university's competitive math society and met Rhys Easton, a student two years ahead of me.
He was honest and gentle, completely unlike a rat like me who had spent her life crawling in the gutter.
He was a sun, and I couldn't help but orbit him.
I liked him.
By a stroke of beautiful luck, he liked me, too.
On a perfect, sun-drenched afternoon, he held a bouquet of flowers and asked me to be his girlfriend.
The friends hed enlisted cheered and wished us well.
Rhys placed a light, tender kiss on the back of my hand.
He tilted his head back, his smile open and radiant. Watching the small tear-mole beneath his eye, my heart melted into something soft and unrecognizable.
I was, however briefly, living a beautiful life.
During my first college break, Sierra didn't return.
She went to Iceland and chased the Northern Lights.
Sylvie didn't say much, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes.
I had long realized that Sylvie favored Remy. She was traditionally biased toward her son, and his leukemia had only intensified that focus.
She was visibly upset that Sierra hadn't returned to check on Remy.
Sylvie was aging. Stress had started to thread grey through her hair. The constant surgeries and stress over the years had made her anxious and quick-tempered.
The day before New Years Eve, Remys condition suddenly deteriorated, and he was rushed into the ICU.
Alistair was out of town and couldn't make it back. The staff were all busy at the estate preparing for the holiday.
It was just Sylvie and me at the hospital.
Outside the operating room, Sylvie gripped my hand tightly, staring at the closed doors.
In that moment of extreme vulnerability, I, the bastard daughter, was her only comfort.
Thankfully, it was a false alarm. Remy was stabilized.
The overwhelming relief of not losing him caused Sylvie to forget herself. She threw her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably.
She cried, and I cried with her.
I whispered, "Please, take my bone marrow again. Ill do anything to make Remy better."
She patted my head, a shaky, tearful gesture. "Sweet child, it's not that simple anymore."
After that scare, Sylvie became terrified of losing Remy.
She moved all her personal belongings to the hospital, including the small chapel paraphernalia she used for prayer.
She swore off meat to pray for Remy, and I quietly began eating only vegetables with her.
She gradually grew more fragile, and her arguments with Alistair grew explosive.
Alistairs company was demanding, and I knew he maintained several mistresses.
His sick son and his increasingly hysterical wife were wearing him down.
Alistairs absence during Remys rush to the ICU became the final flashpoint, and their marriage crisis exploded.
6
The villas foyer was littered with broken glass and porcelain.
Sylvie had stormed out, slamming the door.
Alistair slumped onto the sofa, resting his head in his hands. The overflowing ashtray spoke volumes about his frustration.
I brought him a cup of calming herbal tea, cautiously offering comfort.
"Please don't be angry, Dad. Sylvie is just so worried about Remy."
Alistair lifted his eyes, accepted the mug, and sighed deeply.
He looked me over, his gaze assessing, before changing the subject.
"How are things at school?"
I pressed my lips together and smiled. "Thank you for asking, Dad. The students are friendly, and my professors are wonderful."
He nodded, his eyes drifting to my worn, faded jeans.
"I'll have my assistant wire you some money. Youre an adult now. Buy some nice clothes."
He stood up, ready to leave.
I walked him to the car.
Before the door closed, he said, "I'm busy. When you have time, go check on your brother for me."
Until the semester started, Alistair only visited the hospital once.
Sylvie handed me one of her credit cards, putting me in charge of the household expenses and staff payroll.
Neither she nor Alistair returned to the villa frequently.
Everything in the house was now my responsibility.
My bedroom was moved from the small, badly lit staff room to a large, sunny suite on the second floor.
If Sierra were here, she would have slapped me and accused me of stealing her life.
The following summer, Sierra returned for one week.
I conveniently managed to miss her, taking a trip to the coast with Rhys.
Rhys was a man of integrity. He never pressured me to do anything I wasnt ready for.
Our relationship was still confined to hand-holding and embracing.
But the shared trip brought our hearts closer.
After the vacation, Rhys began an internship at his family's company.
While he hadn't made a big show of it, he hadn't hidden his identity, either.
He was the only son of Silas Easton, the famously ruthless real estate developer in Avery City.
Our time together became shorter.
But no matter how busy he was, Rhys still came to see me every single day.
When midterms arrived, I applied to participate in a math competition in New York to bolster my application for a post-grad scholarship.
It was my first time traveling abroad. Rhys arranged to attend as an administrative assistant, just to be with me.
The competition went well. I didnt win the top prize, but I ranked well.
Afterward, Rhys suggested we celebrate.
He mentioned that his sister went to college nearby and could recommend a good restaurant.
Walking down a New York street, he held my hand.
"Funny enough," he said, turning his black eyes, bright as sunlight, to mine, "my sister shares your last name."
Rhys was beautiful.
Even lost in a throng of people, he shone.
A moment later, I spotted Sierra.
We hadn't seen each other in over a year.
In that year, I had lost fifteen pounds, traded my heavy bangs and black-rimmed glasses for a sleek, long haircut, and my acne had vanished.
Sierra didn't recognize me.
That didn't stop her immediate, knee-jerk hostility.
"Sierra, this is Rowan, my girlfriend."
"Ugh, did you get a girlfriend and forget about your sister, Rhys? You haven't checked on me in ages." Sierra cut him off, clearly annoyed.
Rhys shot her a look of resignation, then turned back to me, but his expression froze.
My face was paper-white. Cold sweat coated my palms. My body was shaking uncontrollably.
"Rowan? What is it?"
Sierras impatient gaze finally landed on me. She frowned.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I was shaking, staring at her.
"Si...erra..."
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
She lunged, grabbing my arm.
"Rowan Prescott! You! How DARE you!"
"Stop it! Let her go. Show some respect," Rhys demanded.
Sierra looked infuriated. She grabbed a fistful of my hair.
"Respect this tramp? This bastard spawn of my father's mistake? You don't know, do you? Shes Alistair Prescott's filthy illegitimate daughter!"

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