Aspyn Guzman glanced at her wrist, her tone flat. "Just an injury."
Grant Guzman opened his mouth, then thought better of it. The sight of that scar—and what it implied—left him unsettled, the words stuck in his throat.
His earlier anger began to fade. He cleared his throat. "Even though you're still on parole, we managed to get you re-enrolled. You can complete registration tomorrow and get back to your classes."
Aspyn was caught off guard. She'd been racking her brain, trying to figure out how to get back into school—she hadn't expected the Guzman family to clear that hurdle for her. Saved her the headache, at least. She'd enroll first, then put in a request to switch her major.
Her real passion was biochemistry, but because of Avayah, she'd ended up in literature. The Guzmans didn't trust Avayah to be alone in the lit department, so they'd switched Aspyn's program without asking. Back then, eager to fit in, she'd reluctantly taken on a double major.
She wouldn't make that mistake again. The sooner she got her hands on lab equipment, the sooner she could get back to her real work—developing pharmaceuticals under the codename "Union."
Years ago, someone had noticed her talent. They'd exchanged messages online a few times, and were supposed to meet about her joining a pharmaceutical research team. Then her life got completely derailed—by her imprisonment.
Now, back to the present. Aspyn was about to thank Grant when Avayah piped up.
"Aspyn, I got into the graduate program at the same university. We can study together now."
Ha.
So that was it.
Aspyn had been wondering what kind of miracle—like the sun rising in the west—had made them so considerate. But no. Of course it was all for Avayah.
They'd only revived her academic status because Avayah was going to grad school. In the old days, she would've been the scholar tagging along with the princess.
For a split second, she'd been naive enough to think they'd finally remembered she was part of the Guzman family too.
Her mother smiled, dropping a piece of pulled pork into her bowl. "Jay's also taken a teaching position at the school, but he'll be busy. We'll need you to keep an eye on Avayah."
Aspyn stared at the food in her bowl. Sweet, sticky, not something she cared for—but it was on the table every single day.
Because Avayah loved it.
She set down her fork and stood. "I'm done. Enjoy your meal."
With that, she turned and headed for her guest room.
She couldn't afford to clash with them right now. She had to endure her first ninety days on parole.
Nobody expected her to bail like that. It wasn't until Aspyn had already climbed the stairs that Ezekiel grumbled, "Did you see that attitude?"
"Let it go, Ezekiel. Aspyn just came back. Cut her some slack," their mother chided.
Avayah chimed in, "I'll go talk to her—maybe discuss tomorrow's school plans."
Her mother looked relieved. "Yes, you two have always gotten along. Go have a chat with her. She's becoming more withdrawn."
Their mother frowned, but then she remembered Aspyn had spent three years in a god-awful place, and she swallowed her irritation.
Upstairs, Aspyn was thinking about visiting Grandma the next day when a knock came at the door. Before she could even answer, the door swung open, and Avayah stepped in.
Aspyn's expression went ice-cold instantly.
"Aspyn…" Avayah started, hesitant. "I just came to see if you need anything. I can have someone get it for you."
Aspyn looked up, her gaze dripping with sarcasm.
Avayah's words only underscored the gap between how they were treated—like a constant reminder of where Aspyn stood.
How absurd. Aspyn was their biological daughter, and yet she was treated like a stranger.
No. Worse than a stranger.
Aspyn replied coolly, "I told you three years ago. Don't call me 'sister.'"
That title had cost her three years in prison. A sibling she could live without.
"Aspyn…" Avayah's eyes welled up. "I know you're angry with me, and I want to make it up to you. I really do…"
Aspyn cut her off. "If you're so sorry, give me money."
"What?"
Avayah froze, her tears momentarily forgotten.
Aspyn gave a humorless smile. "Didn't you say you wanted to make it up to me? How about a million a year? Three million total. Seems fair, right?"
Avayah was completely dumbfounded. She hadn't expected Aspyn to ask for cash.
After a long pause, she finally managed, "Three... three million is too much. I don't have that kind of money."
She was spoiled, sure, had an allowance—but nowhere near millions. Even if she had a few hundred thousand lying around, she wasn't about to hand it over.
"Too much?" Aspyn stared at her. "I did three years for you. Isn't that worth three million?"
"No, that's not—" Avayah bit her lip, looking miserable. "I'll... I'll figure something out."
She scurried out of the room. Not long after, the door slammed open—this time kicked in by Grant, his face thunderous.
"You come back and immediately start trouble in this family. Can't you just keep the peace?"
"You know Avayah's health isn't great, and you go and bully her?"
Aspyn met Grant's gaze coolly. Her brother—who hadn't asked her a single question about what she'd been through, but was quick to come at her like this.
"Why don't you ask what I actually did to her?" Aspyn turned to Avayah, who was hovering behind Grant, looking upset. "Did I insult you? Hit you? Or did I frame you and get you thrown in prison?"
"No, no…"
Avayah shook her head frantically. The words "frame" and "prison" made her panic.
"Grant, she didn't do anything to me. Let's just go."
Seeing Avayah so shaken, Grant's chest tightened. He tried to soothe her. "Don't worry. I'm here. She's not going to mess with you."
Aspyn, arms crossed, leaned against the wall, watching the whole sibling soap opera with bored indifference.
"If you're not here with money, please leave. I need to rest."
"Money? What money?" Grant couldn't help but ask.
Avayah had come to him earlier, eyes red, too upset to explain. Seeing her like that, Grant had just assumed Aspyn was bullying her, and he'd rushed over to intervene.
"Your sister just offered to give me three million."
Years ago, when Aspyn had first been brought into the family, their father had given her a card with a million bucks. She'd given it back then.
At the time, she hadn't wanted the money. She'd wanted family.
She wouldn't be that naive again.
Pride didn't pay the bills. Might as well take what was hers. Those three million? Well-earned.
