A False Heiress's Guide to Love and Power

I have a little sister now. Unlike the other newborns I’ve seen–wrinkled, red–faced, and frankly a bit ugly–she’s actually cute. The prettiest baby I’ve ever laid eyes on.

That’s what Max wrote in his journal on the day Alessia was born.

“What’s her name?” he asked, leaning over the crib, wiggling his finger in front of the swaddled infant.

“Your dad said she was born at night, so he picked Alessia,” someone replied.

Max snorted. “That’s a pretty half–hearted name,” he muttered under his breath.

Yvonne Sullivan was discharged from the hospital in less than three days, and during that time, Scott only dropped by out of obligation—a quick visit, a glance, and that was it. He didn’t spare Alessia a second look. After checking in on Yvonne’s condition, he made his excuses about work and left in a hurry..

Once back home, Yvonne didn’t linger on motherly duties. Not even a week into her recovery, she was already trailing after Scott from meeting to meeting, hustling for business.

So in that cramped, rundown apartment, there was just a little boy, not yet old enough for grade school, and a newborn who could do nothing but gurgle and wail.

It wasn’t as if Scott and Yvonne had entirely forgotten about their children. At least they left some cash with the neighbor–a woman who’d just had a baby herself–to look in on the kids from time to time.

07:45

time, It was just the two of them alone in

knocked on the door, holding a

the neighbor’s daughter, a

always Marian who brought Max his meals. After the baby arrived, her mother, needing

over with food

Max

around, Max sometimes became the target of the neighborhood kids‘ mischief. He was tough, though–he fought

the other kids learned not to mess with him. Still, the neighbors looked at Max with a mix

Marian was always kind. She spoke softly, tended his bruises when he came home

remembered every kindness. He was always polite to Marian, never taking

your sister was born, I see you a lot

were gone, Max was rarely home–he’d vanish for hours, only coming back to grab a bite

street. It was a shabby spot, filled with

born, he’d barely visited the store.

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