Chapter 1

The moment my flight touched down in New York and I turned on my phsone, a flood of notifications almost crashed my screen.

[Is Vivian really back? Right now? Chloe, the newly found biological heiress of the Sinclair family, must be losing her mind!]

[Losing her mind is an understatement. I heard Carter Montgomery went to pick her up at the airport himself. Oh, the drama is about to be delicious!]

[Carter? Isn't he basically forced by his family to marry Chloe now? Why is he picking up Vivian? Is this a second-chance romance in the making, or is he just rubbing it in her face?]

I scrolled through the gossip on Snapchat, my fingers icy cold. I locked my screen.

Walking out of the VIP exit, I spotted Carter in the crowd immediately.

It had been three years. He had lost some of his youthful innocence, replaced by the sharp, intimidating edge of a seasoned CEO.

It seemed the rumors on my phone were true.

Too bad for them. I didn’t come back for him.

I came back for the girl my grandfather had spent twenty years looking for—the biological granddaughter who had just been brought home.

"Vivian," Carter called out. He stepped forward, naturally reaching for my suitcase.

I smoothly pivoted, dodging his hand.

"Mr. Montgomery. Good to see you."

My tone was polite but freezing, as if that professional title was the only thing left between us.

His hand froze in mid-air for a second before he pulled it back. Behind his designer glasses, his dark eyes scanned my face intensely.

"You haven’t changed at all. I thought you’d choose to stay at the European branch until you retired."

He paused, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Is this because of Chloe Vance—or should I say, Chloe Sinclair?"

"I didn't know you could actually feel threatened, Vivian."

"Are you afraid she’s going to take away the Sinclair empire you spent years building and protecting?"

I rolled my suitcase past him, heading straight for the backseat of his car. My voice didn't waver.

"You’re overthinking, Mr. Montgomery. I am only here to do the job my grandfather assigned to me."

Carter’s eyes were full of doubt and confusion, but he said nothing. He silently got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

Once inside, I opened my laptop, popped in my AirPods, and started speaking in fluent, rapid-fire business English, running a remote board meeting.

Carter watched me through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowing deeper by the second.

Maybe he was used to dealing with fragile women who cried and begged for his pity.

But he had forgotten one thing. I, Vivian Sinclair, had never been one of them.

The car pulled smoothly into the Sinclair estate in Greenwich.

The moment I stepped out of the car, a sharp, whiny voice echoed from inside the mansion.

"How hard is it to get things right? I explicitly said I wanted fresh roses flown in from France! Why did you try to fool me with these cheap local ones? Do you even know who I am?"

I walked into the living room. A girl in a pink designer dress was standing with her hands on her hips, screaming at a group of trembling maids.

She had delicate features, and I could see a faint resemblance to the Sinclair family in her eyes. But her cheap, petty arrogance completely ruined any elegance her bloodline was supposed to bring.

This was Chloe. The biological daughter who had spent twenty years living in the slums before being found.

Seeing me, she instantly dropped her loud act. She shrunk back, putting on a victimized, fragile posture, while eyeing me like a threatened cat.

"Are you Vivian?" Her voice carried an instant, raw hostility.

"Yes, I am." I nodded calmly, letting my gaze linger on her for exactly three seconds.

First impression: Unqualified.

Chloe squirmed under my gaze. She puffed out her chest, trying to force an air of authority.

"Why are you here? Grandpa said everything in the Sinclair family belongs to me. You’re just an adopted daughter. You’ve occupied my spot for so many years. Are you back to steal my inheritance now?"

I didn't want to waste my breath arguing with her. I simply opened my briefcase, pulled out a thick folder, and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of her.

"Chloe... dear," I paused, changing my form of address, though my tone sounded like a boss delivering a performance review.

"Grandpa decided that, starting today, I will oversee your training and integration into the Sinclair Group. I will be conducting a three-month evaluation of your capabilities and submitting a formal report to the board."

I watched her face turn pale as I added, "This report will directly determine whether you have the capability to inherit the Sinclair Group."

"So, I hope your performance won't disappoint Grandpa."

She instantly shrieked, "What right do you have to evaluate me? You’re not even a real Sinclair! You’re just a fake!"

Chloe stood tall, her face filled with arrogant pride.

"I am the real heiress. You don't get a say in my family's business."

I frowned, looking at the sheer, naive stupidity in her eyes.

In my mind, I checked the box for "fail."

Before I could speak, Carter’s cold voice cut through the room.

"She has the right because she personally led the Sinclair Group’s transition from traditional manufacturing to high-tech green energy. She cleared over two billion dollars in debt and pushed the company into the elite Big Four of the Upper East Side. She has the right because she holds 30% of the company's shares, making her the largest individual shareholder besides your grandfather."

With every word Carter spoke, the color drained from Chloe's face.

"Chloe," Carter’s voice was ice-cold. "If you want to run the Sinclair Group, a birth certificate alone won't cut it."

I glanced at Carter, slightly surprised.

I thought he would enjoy watching Chloe and me tear each other apart so he could reap the benefits.

But his words weren't really helping me. They were a warning to Chloe.

To the Montgomery family, a useless heiress had zero value for a strategic marriage.

Chloe’s face flushed red and white. Her lips trembled, but she couldn't find a single word to fight back.

Finally, she stamped her foot in frustration, burst into tears of humiliation, and ran back up to her room.

The living room fell into dead silence.

Just then, a raspy but authoritative voice spoke from the top of the stairs.

"Vivian, you're home."

I looked up to see my grandfather slowly walking down, supported by his butler. He looked older than when I had left, but his eyes were still incredibly sharp.

"Grandpa," I bowed my head slightly, hiding my sharp edges.

"Good job." He patted the back of my hand, then looked toward the stairs where Chloe had run off. He sighed. "Chloe... she suffered a lot out there for twenty years. She's a bit wild. Be patient with her. She is your sister, after all. Our family owes her."

And there it was. The guilt-trip, right on schedule.

I laughed coldly inside, but my face remained perfectly neutral. "Don't worry, Grandpa. I'll do my best to teach her."

As for whether she wanted to learn, or was even capable of learning—that was entirely out of my hands.