After my parents passed away, I was taken in by Colonel Gerald Sutton, my grandfather’s old comrade. Amara Sutton, twelve years older than me, told me she would take care of me from then on. And she did. She showered me with blatant, unapologetic favoritism. But on the day I finished my college entrance exams, I couldn’t hold back anymore—I confessed to her. Amara pushed me away, disappointment etched on her face. “Get a grip, Cole! I’m twelve years older than you—I’m your guardian!” Later, she brought home Damon Lockhart, the man I had never gotten along with since childhood. And for him, she pushed me off the edge of Ravencliff Canyon. When I woke up in the ambulance, I dialed a number I had been holding onto for a long time. Content The day Amara invited me hiking, rescue workers found me unconscious at the bottom of Ravencliff Canyon. They performed CPR and bandaged my wounds. I finally regained some semblance of consciousness, clawing my way back from the brink. The suffocating sensation of near-death still lingered in my nerves. Thankfully, the canyon wasn’t too deep; I only ended up with minor fractures. But Amara had already left with Damon Lockhart. She didn’t care if I lived or died. All it took was one word from Damon: “Let him see what it feels like to take a fall.” So, she pushed me off. But I had never been alone with Damon. I had no idea how he ended up bruised and battered, rolling down the hill. Damon lay curled up, clutching his leg, trying to appear in agony while stealing glances at me. “Amara, it’s my own clumsiness. Don’t blame anyone else.” Amara immediately decided I was the culprit. “Cole Whitmore, all these years I raised you were a waste. How dare you do something so ungrateful!” Damon was the man she loved most in her life. For him, she would turn on me without hesitation. No matter how hard I tried, I was just the foster son. Her disdain for me must have started on the day of my graduation party. That day, I had too much fun with my classmates, getting drunk for the first time in a karaoke lounge. Amara drove to pick me up, helping me into the passenger seat and leaning over to buckle my seatbelt. Under the influence of alcohol, my mind was filled with thoughts of Amara’s kindness. I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around her neck and whisper my confession into her ear. The object of my twelve-year-long crush was none other than Amara Sutton. Her expression changed instantly. She shoved me away, disappointment clouding her features. “Cole Whitmore! I told you to call me Aunt Amara, not by my name!” “I won’t! Amara is just Amara—not my aunt. We’re not even related by blood. At most, I can call you my sister!” Amara flew into a rage. In her eyes, my defiance was nothing more than teenage rebellion. Our relationship grew more strained by the day. With her looks and charm, plenty of men were eager to court her. Yet she waited until she was 34 to announce her engagement. People whispered that I was the reason she delayed marriage, saying she spent all her time raising a foster son with no room to find love. Things only worsened after Damon Lockhart showed up. Amara’s patience with me wore thinner with every passing day. I knew it was time for me to leave. Resolving myself, I called Mrs. Fiona Ellis, my late mother’s friend. “Mrs. Ellis, I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving to San Francisco and will accept the Prescott family’s proposal.” Her tone was heavy with concern. “Cole, are you okay? This is a lifelong decision. Don’t make it impulsively.” When my parents died, Mrs. Ellis had intended to adopt me. But Colonel Sutton, pitying his comrade’s orphaned grandson, had taken me in first. Before he passed away, he left a will asking Amara to look after me for life. “I’m fine. I’ve thought it through. Once I settle things here, I’ll book a flight for next month.” She was quiet for a moment before replying. “Alright, I’ll support your choice. If you need advice, don’t hesitate to reach out.” “Thank you. Amara is getting married soon. I want to say goodbye properly.” Mrs. Ellis agreed. “She raised you for over a decade. Make sure to thank her—and don’t forget a wedding gift.” Rain fell cold and steady over New York City’s gray skies. I had already decided what wedding gift to give. Back at the Sutton Estate, I found Damon lounging on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other. Amara was kneeling at his feet, gently massaging his ankle. The sight was like a dagger to my heart. When Damon saw me, he greeted me with exaggerated concern. “Cole’s back! You’re not hurt, are you? Amara can be so harsh sometimes…” Amara cut him off with a cold glare. “He brought it on himself.” Her five words shattered what little remained of my resolve. Indeed, it was my fault. I should never have fallen for Amara. I climbed the stairs in silence, pretending not to see their affection. The housekeeper emerged from my art studio, carrying an armful of things, leaving the room nearly empty. She looked uncomfortable as she explained, “Sir, this room has the best lighting. Miss Sutton wants to turn it into a nursery.” I stared at the paintings tossed aside like garbage. Once, Amara had told me I was a genius, a future great artist. She had emptied the best-lit room for me to use as a studio, promising to give me the best the world could offer. Now, the shards of my heart couldn’t even muster pain anymore. I forced a faint smile. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Thank you.” The housekeeper hesitated before finally leaving. Among the remnants were old sketches and carefully framed portraits I had drawn of Amara for her birthdays. Packing them into a large box, I stood to find her suddenly at the door.
“Are you running a fever?” Amara Sutton frowned as she walked toward me. The glass window reflected my face, pale and sickly. I had been dizzy all afternoon, my forehead burning. I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.” Better than giving her a reason to call me spoiled. Damon Lockhart was temporarily resting in her bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Amara’s hand rise slightly before dropping back down. Her face remained cold as she reprimanded me. “Learn your lesson this time. Don’t do anything so stupid again.” “You’re an adult. Acting jealous is just childish.” Amara knew I had feelings for her. She had no trouble dismissing my sincerity as meaningless. I pressed my lips together, refusing to admit any fault. Her patience grew thinner. “Damon and I are getting married next month. Don’t create any trouble for me.” “If something like today happens again, you can pack your things and leave.” She left me with that cruel warning and walked away, her figure disappearing down the hallway. The Amara I once knew—gentle, patient, protective—was long gone. There was a time when Amara would have charged into my school to defend me. When classmates bullied me, she showed up in the principal’s office, raising hell. She even sent one of their parents to the hospital. She didn’t care about paying for medical expenses—she just wanted justice for me. When I was sick and needed surgery, she stayed by my bedside for days without sleeping. She even gave up a multimillion-dollar contract to make sure I was safe. Back then, she would light candles in church, praying for my health and well-being. Now, I carried the box of what little remained of my belongings down the stairs. I tossed it into the trash, staring at the pieces of my past. What was the point of keeping photos and gifts? Amara no longer belonged to me. That day, they were going to pick up a car—a wedding gift from Amara to Damon. Damon, always eager to show his dominance, called out to me deliberately in front of her. “Hey, Cole, why don’t you join us?” “I could use your opinion. I might not have the best eye for these things.” He wanted me there, not for advice, but to rub salt in my wounds. I kept my composure and smiled. “I think I’ll pass. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time together.” Besides, I was busy erasing every trace of my existence from the Sutton Estate. I needed to save up enough to repay the years of kindness I owed Amara and finally leave for good. Amara looked at me with a sharp, lingering gaze, as if daring me to hold onto some shred of hope. “Get in the back seat,” she ordered firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Be good, Cole. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Reluctantly, I followed them to the dealership. Damon drove, chatting and laughing with Amara the entire way. At a red light, she peeled an orange for him, feeding him a piece. I remember how much she hated the smell of oranges. But now, she didn’t even flinch, methodically peeling one after another for him. Turning away, I stared out the window, catching a glimpse of Damon’s smug grin reflected in the glass. “Hey, Cole, what do you think? The first one, or this one here?” This dealership was one of the most exclusive in New York City. The price tags on their cars started at seven figures. It was clear how much Amara cared for him. “They’re both fine,” I replied, unwilling to commit. My hesitation seemed to satisfy Damon. “What about you, babe? What do you think?” Amara, distracted by her phone, took a few moments before answering. “The first one,” she said simply. Damon beamed. “Alright, let’s take another look at your pick.” “Why don’t you sit in the passenger seat with me, Amara? I’m worried I might scratch it.” Despite my reluctance, Amara’s stern gaze forced me to join them for the test drive. The car started moving slowly. I barely had time to help Damon adjust his mirrors before we heard a loud crash. The car had backed into a pillar. “Dammit!” Damon shrieked, his voice trembling. Amara rushed over, her expression darkening as she looked at the damaged car, then back at us. “What happened?”
Damon Lockhart’s voice trembled. “Amara, if you don’t want me to take the car, I won’t. But why would you—” A dealership employee rushed over, gasping at the crumpled rear end. “Miss Sutton, look at this!” The air grew heavy with silence. Then came the slap, loud and stinging. My cheek burned hot, and I stared at Amara, stunned. “It wasn’t me…” I muttered. Her fury was unrelenting. “Enough! There were only two of you in the car. How much longer are you going to deny it?” “To stoop to such petty tricks… you’ve really let me down, Cole. Apologize to Damon right now!” She was convinced my jealousy had driven me to destroy the luxury car she had chosen for Damon. “This has nothing to do with me, and I won’t apologize.” I held my head high, refusing to let my tears fall as I faced her wrath. Her hand rose again, but Damon stepped in with faux concern. “That’s enough, babe. Just make him pay for the damages. No need to mess up his face any further.” Reluctantly, Amara let the matter drop, leaving me behind. “If you’re bold enough to cause trouble, you can handle the consequences.” She drove away with Damon, her sports car roaring as they sped off. The bill came next—a staggering $888,000. The guards by the door made it clear: if I didn’t pay in full, I wasn’t leaving. Clenching my jaw, I handed over my card, watching as my savings evaporated. I had been carefully setting aside money to repay Amara the $5 million I owed for my upbringing. This incident set me back even further, forcing me to work even harder to make up for the loss. After graduation, I co-founded a company with friends. Amara had tried to pull me into Sutton Enterprises, but I declined. Had I joined, severing ties with her would’ve been impossible. The company became my escape. I poured myself into it—late nights, endless meetings, constant hustling to land deals and build partnerships. For months, I avoided speaking to Amara entirely. Then one night, I saw her through the glass window of a karaoke lounge. She sat at the center of a crowd, surrounded by laughter and admiration. Damon sat beside her, their chairs too close for comfort. The group egged them on, demanding they toast together. Damon turned to her expectantly, his eyes gleaming. Amara hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the door. I ducked behind the wall, holding my breath. Moments later, her voice floated out—soft, yet firm. “Alright.” The crowd erupted into cheers, celebrating their “perfect love story.” By the time I returned to my seat, my phone was lighting up with social media notifications. Photos of them drinking together, Damon’s hand on her wrist, even a candid of him leaning in to kiss her. I hit “like” on the post, my expression unreadable. Turning back to my clients, I smiled, pouring drinks and singing to close the deal. When I finally walked out with the signed contract, I felt a strange sense of relief. The money was enough to settle my debt with Amara. I stumbled into the Sutton Estate, drunk and exhausted. The house was dark, but her silhouette was unmistakable, her piercing eyes cutting through the gloom. “What kind of business requires you to be in a place like that?” Her tone was cold, accusatory. “And what kind of place would that be?” I asked, smirking. Her expression hardened. She thought I had been following her. “Why can you go there, but I can’t?” The alcohol loosened my tongue, making my voice sharper than intended. She blinked, taken aback. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from shady crowds like that?” “I must’ve forgotten,” I replied, brushing past her. “Cole Whitmore!” The sound of shattering glass echoed behind me. Shards of the tea cup skittered across the floor, cutting into my leg and drawing blood. “Stop trying to get my attention,” she snapped. “It’s useless. All you’re doing is humiliating yourself.” She stormed off, slamming her door behind her. I sighed, cleaning and bandaging the cut before collapsing onto my bed. Maybe it was the fall at Ravencliff Canyon, or the alcohol, but my body burned with fever that night. In my haze, I thought I saw her sitting by my bedside.
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