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Chapter 1: Kicked Out
The rain had been relentless all day in Southdale, leaving the roads slick and glistening under the gray sky. Wynter’s backpack was unceremoniously thrown out of the gate by the family’s butler, Glen Clark.
“Ms. Quinnell, Mr. Yates will not be coming. Let me handle some things on his behalf. Your biological parents live in the countryside, with the last name Quinnell. The Yates family mistakenly thought you were their daughter. Now that they’ve found Yvette, we hope you’ll be sensible and stop contacting them,” Glen stated coldly.
He handed her a card, continuing, “This is ten thousand dollars. Mr. Yates asked me to give it to you as compensation.”
Wynter didn’t even glance at the card. Her gaze remained steady as she lifted her black bag and turned her back to him.
Glen’s frustration grew. She didn’t even want the money? Was she trying to act as though she didn’t need it? Ridiculous. It was clear that she had no future with the Yates family, not now that they had found their true daughter. After all, she was nothing more than a poor village girl—too lowly to ascend their social ladder.
“Well then, Ms. Quinnell, please see yourself out,” Glen said, slamming the gate shut with finality.
Ignoring him, Wynter walked away from the Yates estate. She carried nothing but the black bag on her shoulder, her posture straight and elegant despite the downpour. She left exactly as she had arrived—apart from a few damp strands of hair and rain-speckled clothing.
From the windows above, the sounds of laughter echoed, their mockery unmistakable.
“She’s finally gone.”
“I was worried she’d stick around, never returning to the countryside.”
Wynter didn’t even flinch at their words. A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Should she tell them that the Yates family had failed to recognize a good thing when they had it? Clearly, they hadn’t.
At the same time, in a courtyard in Kingbourne, the Quinnell family held an important meeting. Fabian Quinnell sat at the head of the table, his imposing presence amplified by the dragon staff he gripped in his hand.
“So many years have passed. There’s still no news of your sister?” Fabian asked, addressing his six grandsons, his voice tinged with disappointment.
The six sons of the wealthiest man in Kingbourne, the Quinnell family, were all highly regarded elites in their respective fields. Yet, today, their expressions were clouded with melancholy, their eyes reflecting the loss of their youngest sibling.
Eighteen years ago, their seventh sister had disappeared—a baby at the time, sweet and calm, never crying or fussing. The family had been searching for her ever since. The last lead had been in a small mountain village, where they lost track of her to human traffickers.
“Grandfather, we will continue searching. We will find her!” one of the grandsons vowed.
Just then, a portly man rushed into the room, papers clutched in his hand. Panting, he announced, “Mr. Quinnell! We found Ms. Quinnell!”
Fabian, always composed, stood up so quickly that his hands trembled. His heart raced in anticipation.
“Where is she? Arrange for someone to bring her back immediately!” he ordered.
The man handed him the documents. “She’s in Southdale. We’re still confirming her exact location.”
“Then prepare for Southdale,” Fabian replied eagerly. “Get the car ready!”
Meanwhile, Wynter was already on her way home. By the time the rain stopped, she had returned to her modest residence in an unremarkable neighborhood. As she parked her car, someone greeted her warmly.
“Welcome back, Wynter.”
“I’m back,” she replied with a small, pleasant smile.
The local fruit seller, a friendly old man, handed her an apple. “I haven’t seen you in half a month. Nobody’s been around to help me. My hands shake too much to play chess properly.”
Wynter smiled, taking the apple and offering a few kind words in return. She was well-known around the Harmony Community. Retired officials, chess players, and other local figures often chatted with her. Despite her simple appearance, there were more layers to her life than anyone could imagine. Secrets lingered beneath the surface, just like the elderly chess player who had once competed on a national stage.
But Wynter never pried into the identities of her neighbors. She didn’t care about their pasts—she was simply here for some peace and quiet.
