"So, what you're saying is... back then, the baby from the Whitmore family and I got switched, and Sylvia Whitmore is your real daughter?"

Giselle Ashford calmly closed the folder, then lifted her eyes to the imposing couple seated at the head of the room.

Looking at the well-bred young lady the Ashford family had spent seventeen years shaping with money, time, and effort, Wendy Monroe gave a quiet "Mm," then rubbed her brow, her expression hard to read.

The girl sitting beside her had a lively ponytail, but she was wearing an old white dress that had yellowed with age. Her hands were clenched tight around the hem, her head lowered, her legs pressed together so stiffly it was obvious she felt completely out of place.

She sniffled softly, her eyes red and swollen, like some fragile little white flower trembling in the wind, and every now and then she stole a timid glance this way.

"I know this must be a huge shock for you, sis. I'm sorry, but I really wanted to come back and acknowledge Dad and Mom—"

Shane Ashford tapped his fingers on the table and cut her off, then looked at Giselle Ashford with cool indifference. "What are you planning to do? Stay here, or should I send money to your biological parents and settle it cleanly?"

The little white flower's face turned paper-white on the spot, and every word she hadn't finished got swallowed back down.

Why would they still let her stay?

A polite but distant smile rested on Giselle Ashford's lips. "No need. Since your real daughter is already back, I don't have any reason to keep taking this place."

In Shane Ashford's view, the Ashford family had done a solid job raising Giselle Ashford. She was efficient, composed, and knew how to handle things neatly. Too bad there was no blood tie. No matter how outstanding she was, she still couldn't match the value of a biological daughter.

So if Giselle Ashford wanted to leave, Shane Ashford naturally had no intention of stopping her.

"Up to you."

That was all he said. Three simple words. He had zero interest in where Giselle Ashford would go.

Wendy Monroe spoke in the same calm tone. "Have the driver take you tomorrow."

It was already too late tonight. If they threw Giselle Ashford out right now, word got out, people would say the Ashford family was cold-blooded as hell.

A few short exchanges, and the matter was settled. Their attitude stayed polite, yet chilly from start to finish. There wasn't even a trace of the bond you'd expect after more than ten years as family. It felt less like talking to a daughter and more like closing some business deal.

Standing there, Giselle Ashford was wearing an ice-blue custom gown. She was the kind of stunning that made people look twice without even trying.

Sylvia Whitmore tugged at her own skirt, but in the end she still couldn't stop herself from speaking, her face full of worry and concern.

"Isn't it too sudden for my sister to leave like this? I just missed Dad and Mom. We could totally all live together."

"Dad, Mom, I'm really fine."

She put on that soft, sweet act again, looking gentle, harmless, even weirdly generous.

But Giselle Ashford simply sidestepped the hand Sylvia Whitmore reached out to her. She gave a faint smile, then turned and headed upstairs without any hesitation.

"I’m just going to pack a few clothes and leave. I’ll have a friend come pick me up."

Sylvia stayed where she was, looking pitiful as she glanced at Wendy Monroe. "Does my sister hate me? I..."

"Enough. Drop the act."

Wendy cut her off on the spot, frowning hard. "You two only met for the first time today. She lived under your identity for over ten years. If you want something, just say it. Why fake this sisterly bond? Nobody’s buying it, and it does absolutely nothing for you."

Shane Ashford looked annoyed too. "Starting tomorrow, the etiquette tutor will be here at eight every morning. On the dot."

Sylvia froze completely, her mind going blank. This was nothing like what she had imagined.

Upstairs, Giselle had already packed and come back down. She only carried a small lambskin bag, with nothing inside except the documents that actually mattered. She was clean and decisive about it, no dragging things out, no looking back.

Did Stella Ashford seriously think the Ashford family was some kind of great place? In this house, a father didn’t act like a father, a mother didn’t act like a mother, and blood ties were nothing more than tools to chase status and profit.

She only hoped Sylvia could stay alive a little longer under the thumb of those lunatics.