When the Lyon family’s attorney found me, I was buried under a mountain of SAT practice tests and National Merit Scholarship applications. My tiny studio apartment in a run-down part of Brooklyn was like an oven, the only fan rattling as if it were on its last breath.

“Miss Grace, we’re here to take you home.”

A man in a bespoke suit looked around my cramped room with an expression I couldn’t quite place. Pity, perhaps? He handed me a business card: The Lyon Group, Chief Counsel.

“You have the wrong person,” I said, adjusting my glasses. “I’m an orphan.”

“No mistake,” he explained patiently. “Eighteen years ago, there was a mix-up at the hospital. You are the biological daughter of the Lyon family.”

I didn’t jump for joy. My only reaction was checking my watch—he’d just wasted fifteen minutes of my precious study break. “Why now?” I asked. “If they cared, they wouldn’t have waited until I was eighteen to find me.”

The lawyer was taken aback by my coldness. “The Lyons want a reunion. Also, there is a matter concerning your status. The Lyons and the Coltons have a long-standing marriage pact. The heir to the Colton empire, Chase, is to marry the biological daughter of the Lyon family.”

I smirked. I see. Amber, the “fake” daughter living in luxury, wasn’t eligible for this corporate merger of a marriage. I was the missing key to a multi-billion dollar partnership.

“My conditions,” I stated. “Legal residency in Manhattan, a transfer to St. Jude’s Academy, and absolute silence while I study for my finals. Everything else, I’ll earn myself.”

Walking into the Lyon mansion felt like entering a palace. Amber, dressed like a princess in designer silk, ran toward me with crocodile tears. “Sister, you’re finally home!”

A middle-aged woman dripping in diamonds, Mrs. Lyon, hugged Amber tightly. “Amber, don’t cry. You’ll always be my daughter.” She looked at me with more scrutiny than affection. “Grace, you’re back. That’s… good.”

Her son, Leo, stood behind Amber with a warning look in his eyes. It was a classic setup: the loving mother, the stern father, the protective brother, and the “innocent” sister. They wanted me to know that even if I had the bloodline, Amber had their hearts.

“I need to finish two practice exams before dinner,” I said, ignoring their drama. “Where is my room?”

The family froze. Amber’s fake smile faltered. They expected me to be grateful or intimidated, but I only cared about my GPA.

At St. Jude’s Academy, the atmosphere was suffocatingly elitist. Amber arrived in a chauffeured Bentley, while I took the subway. She tried to embarrass me in front of her friends: “Grace, did you take the train? You should have waited for us! Leo would have been so worried.”

“I prefer being independent, Amber,” I replied with a plastic smile and headed to the bulletin board.

I was placed in the “Regular” track, far from Amber’s “Elite” honors classes. The principal introduced me as a “distant relative staying with the Lyons”—a lie clearly whispered by Amber to label me as a charity case.

In my first Advanced Calculus class, the room went silent. Chase Colton walked in. He was devastatingly handsome with a cold, regal aura. He sat right next to me.

The teacher announced a surprise 15-minute quiz using problems from the Math Olympiad. While the rest of the class groaned, I finished in twelve minutes.

Chase didn’t even pick up a pen. He just watched me. “Interesting logic on that combinatorics problem,” he whispered as the bell rang.

Word spread that the “charity case” got a perfect score on an Olympiad-level test. At lunch, Amber confronted me, surrounded by her clique. “Grace, you’re so lucky! You must have seen those problems before.”

“Luck?” I looked her in the eyes. “Is solving five national-level problems in twelve minutes luck? No, Amber. That’s eighteen years of grinding while you were playing dress-up.”

Amber started her usual act—tears. Her friend, Chloe, slammed the table. “Who do you think you are? Amber is the Queen Bee here. You’re just a lucky peasant.”

“Is that so?” a cold voice interrupted. Chase stood behind them. “Then how did your ‘Queen Bee’ do on the quiz? Zero?”

He sat next to me and placed a carton of milk on the table. “Drink up. Brain power uses a lot of energy.”

The cafeteria exploded in whispers. Chase, the untouchable heir, was showing interest in the new girl.

“I don’t take things from strangers,” I said, pushing it back.

“A stranger? To your own fiancé?” Chase smirked.

The silence was deafening. Amber looked like she’d been slapped.

Chase drove me home. “What do you want?” I asked.

“An alliance,” he said. “I hate this arranged marriage as much as you do. My family wants a puppet they can control—someone like Amber. I want someone who can stand beside me, someone cold and brilliant.”

“My terms,” I said. “No feelings. Don’t interfere with my studies. And when the time comes, you help me take back what the Lyons owe me.”

“Deal,” Chase said, shaking my hand.

The Lyons tried to frame me for cheating during the midterms. Amber orchestrated a scene where a proctor accused me of having notes. But they underestimated me. I demanded the school check the security footage.

With Chase’s help, I got the video: Amber handing her phone to her friend Chloe, who then met with the proctor in the restroom. I didn’t just report it; I leaked it to the school’s anonymous forum.

The “Perfect Angel” Amber was exposed. The school board had no choice but to sanction her. She had to give a public apology in front of the entire student body. Her reputation was in tatters.

On the eve of the Ivy League admissions results, Mr. Lyon called me into his study. “Don’t embarrass the family name,” was all he said.

The next morning, Chase picked me up. “748,” he said, showing me the screen. “Highest score in the country. Congratulations, partner. You’re the National Valedictorian.”

That night, the Lyons threw a massive gala. Mr. Lyon stood on stage, beaming at the cameras. “This is my biological daughter, Grace. The pride of the Lyon family!”

I took the microphone from him. The room went quiet.

“I am the Valedictorian,” I said clearly. “But my success has nothing to do with the Lyons. I grew up in a foster system. I studied on scholarships. The Lyons didn’t find me out of love; they found me because they needed a pawn for a merger.”

I dropped a folder on the table. “These are legal papers renouncing the Lyon name and any inheritance. I am done with you.”

I looked at Chase. He nodded. “As for the Colton marriage pact, I believe Mr. Colton has no interest in an obsolete contract.”

I walked out of the mansion, breathing the fresh night air. The Bentley pulled up.

“Where to?” Chase asked.

“Harvard,” I smiled. “My era is just beginning.”