Chapter 2: A Birthday No One Remembered

Finding a job wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped.

I was still a few days shy of eighteen, and most places turned me away.

Luckily, a nice restaurant was willing to give me a chance.

The owner saw I was only days away from being a legal adult and told me I could start on my birthday.

On my birthday, I woke up early.

The moment I came downstairs, I ran into my mom, who was on her way out.

When she saw me, her expression flickered with sudden recollection.

“Adriana, Rhys’s birthday is next month. Make sure you get his gift sorted out early.”

She frowned.

“And don’t buy anything cheap. What you gave him last year was an embarrassment. It looked like you couldn’t be bothered.”

“It’s not like you don’t get an allowance. Why do you always have to make things so difficult? I have to go. I need to pick out Rhys’s gift.”

With that, she hurried out the door.

I had wanted to stop her, just to hear her say “happy birthday.”

But she was already gone.

The housekeeper saw me and smiled warmly. “Happy birthday, Miss Adriana.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t just her. The kitchen staff and the gardeners remembered, too.

I thanked each of them, but the kindness left a hollow ache in my chest.

On my first birthday in the Wells' house, Mr. Wells had wanted to throw me a huge party.

Rhys had refused, point-blank.

He’d even threatened to ruin the whole thing if they went ahead with it.

In the end, my birthday passed without any celebration at all.

After that, Rhys got a lavish party every year.

Mine were simply ignored.

A lot of people assumed my mother had married into the Wells family by breaking up a marriage.

After all, how could a girl who stole her stepbrother’s expensive watch possibly have a respectable mother?

I used to defend her, arguing with classmates, even getting into fights.

Until the day my mom slapped me for it.

“What are you making a scene for? Let them think what they want. They’re talking about me, not you.”

After that, I stopped trying to explain.

At school, it became an accepted fact that I was the daughter of a homewrecker.

And by extension, I was an illegitimate child, a thief, and fair game for anyone’s cruelty.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from the restaurant owner.

He wished me a happy birthday.

Looking at the message, I felt a sudden, sharp urge to cry.

But I refused to cry on my birthday.

My wish was simple.

Earn enough money to get out of this house and never look back.