The Billionaire's Rejected Daughter

The first time I saw my biological mother in eight years, I was handing out juice boxes at the St. Jude’s Home for Children. A procession of black cars, the kind that usually only appears in movies, had purred to a stop on the gravel driveway, looking completely alien against the backdrop of the worn-out playground.

A woman in a cream-colored pantsuit stepped out of the lead car. "Maya," she said, her voice smooth but unfamiliar. "I told you, didn't I? As soon as Chloe was accepted into college, as soon as she was emotionally secure, I would come for you."

She smiled, a tight, rehearsed expression. "Her acceptance letter from Georgetown arrived yesterday. So, here I am. I've come to take you home."

I just stared at her, a carton of apple juice still in my hand. The name she used—Chloe—meant nothing to me.

She sighed, a theatrical puff of air. "I know you must hate me. But Chloe… well, she always felt so insecure, knowing she wasn't our biological daughter. You, on the other hand, were born to have everything. We were just asking you to wait a little longer to enjoy it."

She took a step closer, the scent of expensive perfume washing over me. "You've had a hard eight years here, I know. But once you're home, we'll make it all up to you." The woman kept talking, a stream of words about not causing friction with this Chloe person.

I held up my free hand, cutting her off. "I'm sorry," I said, my brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who are you?"

The whole situation was utterly bizarre. A complete stranger was telling me she was taking me "home," but I already had a home. My real parents had found me eight years ago.

1

The woman froze, pinned by my blank, unrecognizing stare. Then, a strange laugh escaped her lips.

"Eight years in this place, and you're still as stubborn as ever," she said, shaking her head as if appreciating a private joke. "I suppose that's a good thing. Chloe was… coddled, by her father and me. At least I know you won't let her walk all over you."

Her expression quickly sobered, her tone shifting to one of stern warning. "But Chloe is sensitive. When you get home, you are not to mention a word of this biological nonsense. You are both my daughters. Do you understand?"

She looked at me, expecting a nod. "From now on, you're her older sister. You will look out for her, protect her. In my heart, you are both equally important."

Listening to a statement so transparently biased it was almost comical, the fog in my memory finally began to clear. I knew who she was.

Eleanor Pierce. My biological mother.

Eight years was a lifetime. She was a stranger to me now, and a stranger’s words held no weight.

"Mrs. Pierce," I said, my voice even. "When you left me at this children's home, did it ever occur to you that I might find a new family?"

In the system, a healthy ten-year-old is a prime candidate for adoption.

Eleanor reached out, as if to stroke my hair, but I instinctively recoiled. Her hand fell awkwardly to her side.

"I spoke with the director," she said, her voice tight. "I made it very clear that you were only being fostered here. That you had parents. Who would possibly adopt a child who wasn't an orphan?"

She looked me up and down, a critical glint in her eye. "Besides, you were already ten. A child raised in the mountains, behind in school, with no skills, no polish. You were practically feral. No one would have wanted you." Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as she cataloged my supposed shortcomings. "Now you're eighteen with no elite education. What other option do you have besides coming home? Do you plan to die in this place?"

Her words were a dull echo of the past. When they first discovered the hospital mix-up, Richard and Eleanor Pierce had brought me to their mansion. For one single day, they held me and cooed about how much I must have suffered. The very next day, their precious Chloe—the girl they'd raised as their own—threw a tantrum and threatened to run away. Just like that, I was shipped off to St. Jude's.

It wasn’t that I had some deep, abiding love for them. But they were my blood. They were supposed to be my parents. And they wouldn't even grant me a corner of their home. I fought. I screamed. I pleaded. All it earned me was their disgust.

"This mix-up wasn't Chloe's fault," they'd said. "She's the one who's been by our side, who has loved us all these years. If you move in, people will start asking questions about her parentage. It would be devastating for her mental health."

Then came the final, hollow promise. "You are our daughter. Everything that should be yours, will be yours. Just wait. Wait until Chloe goes to college, until she's no longer so insecure. Then we'll bring you home."

That speech severed the last thread of connection I felt to them. I walked into St. Jude's without looking back.

I didn't expect that Leo Monroe, the son of the wealthiest man in the state, would decide he wanted a sister and pick me out of a lineup.

At that moment, I was pinning down a boy who had been bullying me for weeks.

Leo had pointed at me, a wide grin on his face. "That one," he'd declared. "She's got spark. She's definitely my sister."

And just like that, I became a Monroe.

"You're such a headstrong child," Eleanor was saying now, pulling me from my memories. "You haven't called us once in all these years. But I know, deep down, you were still thinking of your mother and father."

She smiled, a knowing, self-satisfied look on her face. "Otherwise, why would you have knitted this scarf and sent it to me? You do still care."

I almost laughed out loud. St. Jude's was heavily funded by charitable donations, the Monroe family being the largest benefactor. The Pierces were donors, too. Every year, the children here made handcrafted gifts as a thank-you to the patrons. I did knit a scarf my first winter here, but it was just an assignment. The director must have passed it off as a personal gift from me, a gentle nudge hoping they might finally take me back.

I realized I had nothing more to say to a woman I hadn't seen in nearly a decade.

Eleanor, however, interpreted my silence as shyness.

"You've waited eight long years for this reunion. You must be ecstatic," she prattled on. "Your father and I have been looking forward to this day for so long."

She paused, looking at her watch. "Chloe's graduation party is next week. As soon as it's over, I'll be back to pick you up."

The home's director, Mrs. Gable, had rushed over and was hovering nearby, trying and failing to find a moment to interrupt.

Eleanor ignored her, signaling for her driver to unload gifts from the trunk of the car. Piles of glossy boxes and bags were placed on the gravel.

"And do try to dress up a bit," she said, her eyes flicking over my comfortable, dirt-smudged track pants and t-shirt. "You look like a beggar."

I glanced down at my clothes, perfect for playing with kids and gardening. A beggar?

The motorcade finally purred away, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

Mrs. Gable let out a long breath. "Didn't Mrs. Pierce get my messages? I sent her the official adoption notice years ago."

I shrugged, continuing to hand out the last of the snacks. "It doesn't matter. She's a stranger."

I turned to our director. "Mrs. Gable, can we put all these gifts in the pantry? The kids could use the extra treats."

After finishing my volunteer shift, I remembered that the custom birthday gift I’d ordered for my mom was ready.

There are only a handful of truly high-end jewelers in the city. I never imagined I’d run into Eleanor Pierce at Belmont Jewelers of all places.

She was seated on a velvet sofa, listening to the store manager present a tray of diamonds. When she saw me walk in, her face lit up with a surprised smile.

"Maya, darling! Were you thinking about me? Are you afraid I won't come back for you? Did you follow me here for reassurance?"

I felt a headache coming on. Had she developed this habit of narrating her own strange reality recently? Had she seen a doctor?

I decided the best course of action was to ignore her and walk directly to the counter to pick up my order. She moved to block my path.

"Maya, we need to talk about your presentation," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "When you're in a place like this, you must pay attention to your attire. Why aren't you wearing any of the clothes I brought you this morning? Coming here dressed like that… it's embarrassing for me. It shows a complete lack of proper upbringing."

A hot flash of anger shot through me. No one, in my entire life, had ever questioned my upbringing.

My voice went cold. "What I wear is my business. My family doesn't have a problem with it, so why should you? Now please, move. I'm here to pick up a piece of jewelry."

Eleanor's face tightened, her pleasant demeanor cracking. "So, you are still bitter about us leaving you at the home? We already explained the situation. There's no need for this passive-aggressive attitude. It's so… ungracious."

She shook her head slowly. "You're nothing like Chloe."

"Mom."

A perfectly manicured hand linked through Eleanor's arm. A striking young woman appeared at her side, radiating the effortless confidence that comes from a life of privilege.

"So, this is my sister, Maya?" Chloe's eyes scanned me from head to toe. "I was just wondering, what school do you go to? What are your talents? I'm not a prodigy or anything, but I've dabbled in piano, ballet, painting… you know."

She paused, a small, pitying smile on her lips. "Oh, my goodness, I completely forgot. You grew up in a children's home. It must have been a struggle just to get into any college at all."

Her tone was a masterclass in feigned sympathy and overt condescension.

"I don't recall having a sister," I said flatly, looking at the woman who was a stranger to me, yet wore a face that held a faint, unsettling echo of my own. "You might want to be careful who you claim as family."

Just then, the manager emerged from the back room with a velvet-lined box. I pushed past Chloe to get to the counter. I didn't use much force, but she stumbled dramatically, crying out in pain as she crumpled to the floor.

Eleanor looked at me, her face a mask of disbelief. "After eight years, your temper has only gotten worse! You'd push her before you're even officially back in the family. If we had let you come home eight years ago, would you be a murderer by now?!"

This was insane. They were the ones blocking my way, spouting nonsense.

"Mrs. Pierce, I was adopted by another family eight years ago. Today, I am simply here to pick up a piece of jewelry. I did not come here looking for you," I stated clearly. "My parents are wonderful to me. They treat me like their own daughter. I have absolutely no desire to be yours."

Eleanor’s face went rigid. "Don't say such ridiculous things. Your mother is standing right here. There's a limit to these jokes."

But I could see a flicker of panic in her eyes. For the first time, she seemed to realize she had no control over this daughter she hadn't seen in eight years. Something was slipping from her grasp.

Seeing she was being ignored, Chloe climbed to her feet. "Mom, maybe I shouldn't be at home anymore," she sniffled, her eyes welling up. "The Pierce family isn't my real family. I've stolen everything that should have been my sister's. I should give it all back."

She began frantically removing her jewelry. "Here, take it," she said, her voice trembling. "This is all yours. I only ask for one small thing… can I please, please still be your daughter?" Her performance was worthy of an Oscar.

Eleanor's expression melted into pure, unadulterated sympathy. "That's enough," she snapped, turning her fury on me. "Chloe is humbling herself like this, and what more do you want? She just wants to be part of our family, she can't bear to leave us. Why can't you find it in your heart to accept her?"

Her voice rose. "You haven't even called me 'Mom' once! I've tried to be patient with you, but you show Chloe no respect! I can see you've been thoroughly ruined!"

Chloe rushed to Eleanor's side, grabbing her arm as if to restrain her. Then, with a look of profound sorrow, she held out the collection of discarded earrings, necklaces, and rings to me.

"Sister, you've probably never seen such beautiful things before," she said, her voice dripping with pity. "Any one of these pieces is worth more than you could earn in a lifetime of working. I'm not trying to show off how much Mom and Dad love me. I just… you're coming home soon. You shouldn't make Mom so angry."

The implication was clear: I was just a gold-digger making a scene for money.

I glanced down at the pile of jewelry. My brother, Leo, could buy me a roomful of better stuff. This wasn't worth fighting over.

I motioned for the manager to hand me my package. I opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a custom-made brooch: a delicate, openwork design of gold leaves entwined around a magnificent, deep green emerald.

I nodded, satisfied. It had taken me visits to several auctions just to acquire a stone of this quality—a true imperial emerald. The intricate openwork design was incredibly difficult and wasteful of the raw material. It had cost me years of my allowance, but my mom deserved the absolute best.

"Ms. Monroe," the manager said with an enthusiastic smile, "are you pleased with 'The Evergreen,' custom-designed for your mother?" He slid the receipt toward me.

Just as I was about to sign, a hand snatched the brooch from the box.

"So, it was for me," Eleanor said, her mood miraculously improving.

Chloe chimed in immediately. "I'm surprised this store works with glass now. It looks almost real." She turned to me. "Mom, even though my sister's gift is… inexpensive, it's the thought that counts."

I was stunned. My flawless imperial emerald… was glass? Was it so perfect it looked fake?

Chloe reached for the brooch, intending to pin it on herself. There was no way I was letting her touch a gift meant for my mother.

"Give it back!" I snapped.

In the ensuing struggle, Chloe, with her back to her mother, shot me a sly, triumphant smirk. Then, she let go.

Years of reflexes kicked in. I lunged forward and caught the brooch an inch before it hit the marble floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sister," she began, her eyes wide with fake innocence. "I didn't mean to lose my grip—"

Her words were cut short by the sharp crack of my palm against her cheek. A tooth flew from her mouth. The smirk was gone.

Eleanor lunged at me, her hand raised to strike, but I shoved her back onto the velvet sofa.

"It's just a pin! What's the big deal if your sister wears it?" she shrieked, all pretense of the graceful socialite gone. "It was meant for me anyway, and what's mine is Chloe's!"

I took the silk cloth offered by the manager and began carefully polishing the brooch. "Is your name engraved on it? No? Then stop being so delusional."

Eleanor stared at me, bewildered. "But he said it was custom-made for your mother. Who else could your mother be but me?"

I didn't answer. My phone rang, and I picked it up. "Hey, Mom. I'm on my way home now. No, don't worry about picking me up."

I quickly signed the receipt, took my package, and turned to leave.

"Maya Pierce!"

Eleanor grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. "You called someone else 'Mom'? Did you really find new parents? Why didn't the director tell me? Looking at how you dress, they must not be wealthy. A working-class couple making five thousand a month, barely scraping by?"

She was practically seething, her eyes filled with a strange hatred. "You will cut ties with those… people immediately. It's utterly humiliating. Including those peasants in the mountains, you'll have had three sets of parents. What respectable girl has three sets of parents?"

Her voice dropped, cold and menacing. "If you don't end it cleanly, don't blame me for using other means to set things right."

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