They Wanted Family Drama And I Wanted A Property Deed Chapter 02
As the car pulled out of the old lane in Fairhaven, Eleanor stood at the gate and waved.
The weather was perfect that day. White walls, dark roofs. Small boats drifting slowly along the creek.
I thought to myself, no matter how much money the Harts had, they couldn’t buy the last twenty years of my confidence.
Two hours later, the car stopped in front of the Hart Estate.
The butler opened my door.
I looked up at the giant European fountain and the gaudy gold Roman columns. I stayed silent for three full seconds.
“Did your interior decorator lose a fight with Versailles?”
The butler’s lip twitched.
I carried my bag and walked inside. Before I even reached the living room, I heard it—a soft, delicate little cry.
“Dad, Mom… now that she’s back, should I just leave?”
I froze mid-step.
Well, well, well. There it was. The innocent act was brewing. But it didn’t quite land. Not as clean as the Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee back home.
Four people sat in the living room.
My biological parents, my biological brother, and the fake heiress the Harts had raised for twenty years—Sophia.
Sophia wore a white dress and cried like she’d just stepped off the set of a soap opera.
The second she saw me, she shot up, eyes all red, and called out, “Lena.”
I nodded. “Hey.”
She blinked. Like she hadn’t expected me to be so calm.
Catherine held Sophia’s hand and looked at me with a complicated expression.
“Lena, I’m glad you’re back. But let me make something clear. Sophia isn’t our biological daughter, but we’ve loved her for twenty years.”
I smiled. “I get it.”
Catherine let out a breath.
Richard spoke up. “So don’t come back thinking you’re going to fight for a position. The Harts won’t shortchange you. But you can’t bully Sophia.”
I kept nodding. “Got it.”
Bennett frowned at me, his voice cold. “You better mean that. Sophia’s health is fragile. She can’t handle stress.”
Sophia looked down and said softly, “Bennett, don’t talk to her like that. She just got here. It’s okay if she’s upset.”
Then she added, “If Lena wants my room, I can move to the attic.”
I finally looked at her. “Which room do you have?”
Sophia’s eyes lit up a little, like she’d been waiting for that exact line. “The one facing south on the second floor. It was supposed to be yours.”
Catherine immediately squeezed her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s your room.”
Bennett’s voice went cold again. “Lena, don’t start taking Sophia’s things the second you walk in.”
I blinked. “Did I say I wanted it?”
The room went quiet.
Sophia bit her lip. “I just didn’t want you to feel bad.”
I laughed. “Sophia, you’re so good at feeling bad for other people in advance. Back in Fairhaven, they’d hire you as a tour guide. Tourists wouldn’t even have to ask—you’d already tell them where to go.”
Bennett’s face darkened. “Do you always have to come at me like that?”
“Not really,” I said, my voice totally sincere. “I’m just an only-child from a wealthy suburban background. I know how to set boundaries.”
Then I added, “You guys keep acting out some soap opera in front of me. I don’t understand the script. Maybe slow it down.”
Richard frowned. “Lena, you just got here. Don’t rock the boat.”
I looked at them, all circling the wagons. I wasn’t even that upset.
I knew before I came—the Harts weren’t welcoming a daughter. They were filling a position they could control.
Too bad I wasn’t that cooperative.
The butler took me to see the room.
Sophia followed the whole way. At the end of the hallway on the second floor, she pushed open a small door.
Dust hit me in the face.
Inside: old picture frames, broken lamps, a few cardboard boxes. The curtains were gray—you couldn’t even tell what color they used to be.
Sophia covered her mouth, looking apologetic. “Lena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it wasn’t cleaned yet. I can move out tonight. You can have my room.”
I glanced at the dirty bed frame, then turned to the butler. “This is what you prepared for your biological daughter?”
The butler shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. and Mrs. Hart said for now…”
I held up a hand to stop him, pulled out my phone, and took a few pictures.
Bennett smirked. “What, you’re gonna post on Instagram pity points?”
I looked up at him. “No. I’m sending these to my mom. Let her see the one-star review for this ‘luxury’ experience.”
