I had been missing for twenty-five years when the Whitmore family finally found me. My mother sobbed in my arms. Vivienne told me she had never stopped searching. My father promised that Whitmore House would always be my home. I believed them. I gave up the career I had built and moved to Boston. I never resented them for continuing to love Sebastian. For twenty-five years, while everyone believed I was dead, he had been the son who stayed by their side. But they soon learned that all they had to say was, “You’re stronger than he is,” and I would step aside. So Sebastian remained the heir. He kept the East Wing and used my work to secure his place on the board. I lived in the guest suite and waited for promises that were always supposed to be fulfilled later. Then, at the dinner formally welcoming me home, the family attorney handed me a trust agreement. All I had to do was sign away any future claim to the inheritance, shares, and voting rights, ensuring that my return would never threaten anything Sebastian already had. My mother took my hand. “You wouldn’t take away the only home he’s known for twenty-five years over a piece of paper, would you?” They expected me to understand, just as I had for the past year. Instead, I returned the unsigned agreement to the attorney. “I came back because you said you loved me, not because I wanted to take anything from him.” “But if your love always requires me to be the one who gives way—” I stood. “Then I don’t want this family anymore.
