"What did you just say?" Russell stared at her like he couldn't believe his ears. Even Wade froze. "I said—why should I apologize? This isn't the Middle Ages. Are you really gonna punish your daughter like a criminal?" Tilda's voice was calm. Too calm. Her eyes were steady and cold, giving away nothing. But deep down, there was a spark—something fierce and untouchable. She'd already stopped caring about the Jensons. When love dies, hatred goes with it. Now, the only person she was angry with… was herself. She thought back to the past. Every time Russell told her to apologize, she did—terrified and desperate. Every time they accused her of something, she tried to explain, over and over, and no one ever listened. Whenever Kyla cried, Wade slapped her without asking a single question. She'd apologized again and again—bloody-mouthed, humiliated—just to avoid being hated. Just to hold on to what little she thought she had. Why? Why had she lived like that—without an ounce of pride? Tilda's fury now was for the girl she used to be. "Well, well," Russell snapped. "Look who's all grown up now—talking back to me, huh?" His temper flared. He raised his hand—ready to strike— But Kyla stepped in. “Dad! No!” Her voice cut through the air like a knife.Blair gasped. "Kyla, you—" Kyla broke down, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. "Don't hit her! Please don't! She's your real daughter!" Those words—your real daughter—stopped Russell cold. He looked at Tilda, his expression twisting with conflict. He didn't want to admit it, but this cold, ungrateful, unrecognizable girl was his flesh and blood. And still… how could she be so heartless? "Let's just talk," Blair said shakily. "No need for this to get ugly." As much as it pained her to see Kyla cry, Tilda was still her biological daughter. "Kyla, you're too good," Wade muttered bitterly. Watching her cry like that, willing to take all the blame just to protect Tilda—it tore him apart. Why couldn't Kyla have been my real sister? Why did it have to be Tilda—the cold one? The cruel one?Russell took a long breath, forcing his temper down. His voice dropped low and heavy. "Tilda, do you even understand what you did wrong?" "Not really." The words landed like a slap. The whole room went silent. This wasn't the girl they knew. She wasn't timid. She wasn't begging for approval. She wasn't bending anymore. She was different. "You don't know?" Russell repeated, each word sharp as glass. "I don't," Tilda said again—steady, unflinching. If he wanted her to repeat it, she would. As many times as it took. Her dark eyes locked on his—calm, bottomless. For a moment, Russell felt something cold slide down his spine.That look… that wasn't the same girl. That wasn't his daughter. He'd spent decades as the powerful chairman of the Jenson Group, a man who'd stared down ruthless businessmen and world-class sharks. Even now, in retirement, his instincts hadn't dulled. And those instincts told him something: This girl standing in front of him was no longer someone he could control. "Mom, Dad, please stop," Kyla whispered through her tears, moving toward Tilda. "Kyla, stay away from her!" Russell barked, reaching for her like he was afraid Tilda might lash out. Something tugged in Tilda's chest—but she let it ache. Wounds healed. Eventually. She'd finally seen this family for what it was. She wasn't hoping for love anymore. And she wasn't bending ever again. "Tilda," Kyla sobbed, turning toward her. "I know you're the real daughter. I'm so sorry! You've had to live here pretending to be some distant relative because of me. I'm sorry you couldn't even use your real name!" Her voice broke. "You can have it all back—your name, your place, everything! If my being here makes you uncomfortable, I'll leave. I'll move out. I'll disappear! You'll never have to see me again!" Her tears fell fast, glimmering under the light. She looked fragile, heartbroken. Blair's eyes went red. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. "No one's kicking you out," Russell said firmly. "Kyla, I don't care if Tilda's my biological daughter—you're my daughter too. Blood doesn't change that. You'll always be a Jenson." "Dad!" Kyla cried, collapsing into his arms. "Dad, I'm scared! I'm so scared!" "It's okay," Russell murmured, holding her close. "I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you." Then he turned—his gaze slicing straight to Tilda. Whatever guilt had flickered before was gone, replaced by pure, blazing rage.But Tilda didn't even flinch. She stood there, silent and detached, like she was watching strangers on a stage perform a bad play. "Tilda!" Wade snapped. "Do you even have a heart? Can't you see what's happening? Don't you think you owe Kyla an apology? Tell her you're sorry—now!" He stepped forward, eyes burning, fists clenched. Tilda almost laughed. Her eyes—cold, sharp, mocking—met his. She didn't have to say a word. Her look said it all. And Wade felt it. He felt judged. Insulted. Small. She was the sister he'd never accepted—the one he'd wished was dead. Furious, he yanked his phone from his pocket and shoved it in her face. “Look! Look at what you did! Don't act like we're blaming you for nothing!" A bold headline filled the screen: "Jenson's Real Heiress Revealed — Tilda Jenson's True Identity Exposed" The article detailed everything—how Tilda had been stolen as a baby, missing for nineteen years, and finally found. Photos followed: Tilda entering and leaving the Jenson villa, pictures from campus, family events. Then came another headline: "What Happens to the Adopted Daughter Now?" The internet had gone wild: "Real heiress vs. fake heiress—now this is drama." "Rich people problems, man." "Can't believe Jenson Group's stock is rising over this." "Kyla's a total sweetheart. Always so classy." "The real one's pretty too, but she looks… rough. Guess nineteen years in the wild'll do that." Tilda glanced at the screen once, expressionless. "So what?" she said flatly.