Adopting Billionaires To Fund My Family

I was the prettiest little girl at the Children’s Home, the kind of child people took one look at and assumed was destined for a sweeping suburban estate with marble foyers and private tennis courts. So when the director ushered me into the sunlit parlor to meet two prospective couples, my gaze bypassed the sensible wool coats immediately and locked onto the woman wearing an enormous, gleaming cabochon emerald cuff on her wrist. Then, out of nowhere, glowing letters began to drift across my vision like a live-stream chat hanging in empty air. [Baby girl, do NOT go with the rich couple! They don’t love you! They just want a pretty, moldable accessory to groom for a high-society merger down the road!] [They are freezing cold inside. They already adopted one daughter two years ago, and after realizing they’d completely broken her spirit, now they’re coming for our girl!] [Pick the couple on the left! Their bank account is modest, but their hearts are pure gold!] I glanced at the couple on the left—the woman in her faded knit cardigan, the man in worn leather work boots—and then looked back at that breathtaking emerald cuff. Without a flicker of hesitation, I tilted my chin up, smiled my sweetest, most angelic smile, and gently clasped the woman’s jeweled wrist. "Are you going to be my new mommy?" I cooed. Cynthia Crane looked at me as if I were a masterpiece she had just acquired at auction. Right there in the parlor, she pulled out her smartphone and transferred fifty thousand dollars directly into the savings account linked to my kids' smartwatch. I accepted the transfer instantly. Then, the moment her back was turned, I routed every single cent over to the kind, ordinary couple. I attached a quick memo: [Dear Mr. and Mrs. Warren, I'd much rather have you as my real parents. Take this seed money to grow your business. Once you strike it rich, I'm coming home to be your kid!] The floating chat went dead silent. … [Can she... actually do that...?] [Is our girl really only eight years old?! That is borderline evil genius—why didn't I think of that? High-society funding, blue-collar love, total win-win!] Of course it was. I had known since I was old enough to stand on my tiptoes in front of the nursery mirror: pretty children get the world handed to them on a silver platter. Life had always been smooth sailing for me. Even today, with two eager couples waiting, the shelter director had given me the first pick. I was whisked away into the Cranes' black Lincoln Navigator. My new father was Richard Crane, and my new mother was Cynthia Crane. We pulled through towering wrought-iron gates into a sprawling neoclassical estate where a manicured lawn stretched as far as the eye could see. A uniformed house manager greeted us at the circle drive, and a maid whisked away my solitary duffel bag. Cynthia stroked my curls, practically purring with satisfaction. "Pearl... what an exquisite name. Soft, luminous, pristine." She cupped the back of my head, assessing my posture and bone structure with the sharp eye of an appraiser, the gleam in her eyes deepening. "We have another daughter here, Sadie. She’s rather... ordinary. Lacks presence entirely. You don't need to spend much time with her. If she gets in your way or annoys you, come straight to me, and I will correct her." "Understood, Mommy! You're the best mommy ever!" My voice dripped with pure, sugary innocence. Meanwhile, under the cuff of my coat, my fingers were already tapping my smartwatch, sending a live GPS pin to Maggie Warren. [Mom, this is where I'm staying. Whenever you miss me, you can come pick me up.] On the other side of town, Maggie was staring at her phone screen in utter shock. Fifty thousand dollars dropping out of the clear blue sky was enough to make anyone pass out. She had been frantically looking for the button to refund the money when my message popped up. [Mom, the minute I saw you and Dad today, I knew you were my real family. But I refuse to live in poverty, and I know Dad is trying to get his logistics startup off the ground. This money is for him. You have to work hard for me!] All of that, of course, had been fed to me by the floating text. Maggie agonized over the screen, her heart in her throat, until finally, she took a deep breath and kept it. Truth be told, she had felt an instant, electric bond the moment our eyes met in the parlor, but seeing the Cranes’ sheer wealth had crushed her confidence. How could she compete? She never imagined that while I walked out with the rich couple, my heart had stayed behind with them. [Pearl, sweetheart, don't worry,] she wrote back, tears clearly behind the words. [Your dad and I will work day and night. We are going to bring you home as fast as we can!] I tapped the watch shut, deeply satisfied. I looked up at the empty air and flashed a smug little wink. "See? Brains, beauty, money, and love. I'm taking the whole package." My sparse belongings were carried up to a sprawling third-floor suite draped in blush silk, and a nanny helped me change into a custom satin nightgown. When I was led down to the cavernous mahogany dining table, I kept my eyes wide with curiosity, studying the girl sitting two chairs away from me. The floating text was right. That was Sadie. She looked to be about ten, two years older than me, with rounded, defensive shoulders and skittish eyes. The moment she realized I was looking at her, she flinched and dropped her chin, staring into her lap. Cynthia’s tone cooled by twenty degrees. "Pearl is your sister now, Sadie. You've spent two years in this house acting like a frightened mouse, so I don't expect you to take care of her—she's far more charming than you'll ever be. Just stay out of her way." "Yes, Mother." Sadie’s voice was so faint it nearly cracked. Her thin arms hovered over her plate, barely nudging the food before her throat closed up entirely. But she didn't dare leave the table. Cynthia rolled her eyes in visible irritation, then turned back to me, her face softening into an effortless, polished smile. "Pearl, darling, do you like the roasted quail? Oh, and by the way, your private ballet and classical piano tutors arrive tomorrow. There will be an evaluation every two weeks. You won't let Mommy down, will you?" "Never! The teachers at the home always said I was the smartest girl in the building!" My cheerful, confident declaration made Cynthia laugh out loud. Delighted, she tapped her phone beneath the table, and my watch chimed with another fifty-thousand-dollar deposit. "Our little prodigy. Here’s some pocket money. Have the nanny take you to the boutique district tomorrow for whatever toys you want." My smile turned genuinely radiant. I threw my arms around Cynthia's neck and planted a loud, sweet kiss on her cheek. "I love you so much, Mommy!" From across the table, Sadie watched us, her small fingers twisting into the fabric of her skirt, shrinking further into the shadows. Past midnight, the muffled sound of crying drifted down the hall. Cynthia was obsessed with appearances and had declared that young ladies must watch their silhouettes, meaning my dinner portions had been tiny. My eight-year-old stomach had spent the last three hours rumbling in protest, so I had finally snuck down to raid the pantry. On my way back, arms loaded with snacks, I heard Sadie sobbing behind her door. I tapped on the wood with my elbow. The weeping stopped abruptly. There was a frantic scramble inside, the sound of someone stumbling, and then the door cracked open. Sadie stood there with swollen, red-rimmed eyes, wearing a panicked, appeasing smile. "Pearl? D-do you need something?" "You've been crying," I stated bluntly. Her face burned. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the hitch in her breath gave her away. "Here," I said, shoving past her before she could invite me in. "I raided the kitchen. You barely ate dinner either. Let's feast." I flopped onto her velvet settee and tore open a bag of sour-cream-and-onion chips with a loud "CRACK". Sadie turned ghostly pale. "Y-you can't eat those! If Mother finds out, she'll give you that awful, cold look and ignore you for an entire week!" I chewed loudly. "So what?" "What do you mean, "so what"?" "We just don't let her find out. We eat everything tonight, stuff the empty bags into my backpack, and throw them away at school tomorrow." Sadie stared at me, her mouth slightly agape, as if I had just introduced her to an alien language. But the terror didn't leave her eyes. "Mother says junk food makes us sluggish and chubby..." Mother already despised her. If she disobeyed, she was terrified of being discarded entirely. I picked out an especially large, crispy chip and shoved it directly into her mouth. "If she doesn't like you," I said between chews, "then you just stop liking her back. Simple. I already have another set of parents lined up anyway. When the time is right, I'll introduce you." "What...?" Sadie chewed mechanically, her little brain short-circuiting. "Another set of parents? You're allowed to have backups?" I tossed a pack of strawberry chews into her lap. "Of course. They decided they weren't satisfied with you and brought me in, right? So why can't we decide we aren't satisfied with them and find someone better?" Sadie’s jaw worked slowly on the chip. Her mind spun in wild circles. Then, very slowly, she gave a firm, solemn nod. Sadie was timid, but she was wonderfully loyal once she trusted you. The next day, after the administrative school transfers were completed, I took her straight to Hank and Maggie’s house. Cynthia hadn't bothered to accompany us to the school board; she had simply dispatched the house nanny and a driver. I turned to our nanny, putting on my most polished grown-up voice. "Susannah, I'm taking Sadie over to a school friend's house for a playdate. Come back for us in three hours. Here's a thousand dollars for overtime. Not a word to Mother, okay?" I tapped the screen and sent the transfer. Sadie held her breath. At the Crane estate, the household staff acted as Cynthia's personal surveillance network, and Sadie lived in constant fear of their reports. But money talks. The floating text had already told me Susannah only made about three thousand a month. Sure enough, Susannah's face broke into a broad, conspiratorial smile. She pocketed her phone, smoothed down the collar of my designer coat, and escorted us right to the front walk. "Mom, open up! We're here!" Maggie yanked the door open, wiping her hands on a floral apron, her eyes shining with unshed tears. The second we crossed the threshold, she gathered me into a crushing hug and pressed a giant plush squishmallow into my arms. The apartment was modest, but the small living room had been freshly painted in a warm, welcoming pastel. A magnificent strawberry shortcake sat in the center of the kitchen table, and Hank—broad-shouldered, gentle-eyed Hank—was red-faced and sweating, trying desperately to twist long latex balloons into princess crowns for our heads. Their hands were warm, calloused, and real when they touched our hair. "Pearl! Sweetheart! I wasn't sure what you loved most, so I spent all night looking up kid-friendly recipes online. Come on in, sit down, tell me if it tastes right!" Maggie’s gaze drifted over to Sadie, softening instantly. "And this must be Sadie! Oh, aren't you a darling? Come sit, honey, there's cake and fruit, but save room for dinner!" From the moment we walked through that door, their attention never wavered from us. Just as the floating text had promised: they were parents who genuinely, instinctively knew how to love. "Mom, Dad," I announced, holding Sadie's hand proudly, "Sadie is your daughter now too. Once we extract enough capital from the Cranes, we're moving in with you for good!" Maggie’s eyes welled with tears, and Hank swallowed hard. "Oh, you sweet babies... Are they treating you badly over there? If you ever feel uncomfortable, you don't wait. You come straight here. We don't need fancy money to raise you two. You shouldn't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders." Sadie swallowed a forkful of sweet cream, a strange, burning warmth spreading through her chest. She wanted to cry, but for the first time in years, it wasn't from fear. "So this was what real parents felt like." Because Cynthia was always busy maintaining her social calendar and Richard was an apparition who only existed on wire transfers, Sadie and I spent every single afternoon at the Warrens' kitchen table. We ate dinner there and only slipped back into the Crane estate right before bedtime. Nobody ever noticed. Sadie bloomed. The hollow, hunted look in her eyes vanished, replaced by a healthy, rosy glow. Then came the weekend. Cynthia was home. Warned by Susannah in advance, Sadie and I sat obediently on the velvet sofa in the sitting room, waiting. The moment Cynthia entered, her eyes curved into a practiced smile. "Pearl, darling, your piano tutor tells me your finger technique is coming along beautifully. Such an obedient girl. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm hosting a reception here in your honor so you can begin making the right social connections." "Social connections?" The floating text flared across the air in urgent, neon letters: [She's parading our baby girl around to charm the wealthy heirs! Gross! She's only eight years old!] [She wants to lock down a high-society betrothal while Pearl is still young and malleable!] "Gross is right." Sadie looked at me with pure dread in her eyes. She had been subjected to one of those receptions once before. She remembered the stiff, scratchy tulle of an uncomfortable dress, the cold, judging eyes of wealthy adults, being forced to perform on command, and Cynthia roughly pushing her toward haughty little boys who sneered at her. She had been miserable. She had frozen up, embarrassed Cynthia, and paid for it for months. Was Pearl about to go through the exact same nightmare? "I'd love to, Mommy!" I chirped, beaming like sunshine. "You have to dress me up like a real princess!" Sunday arrived. Naturally, nobody asked what I actually wanted to wear. At five in the morning, Sadie and I were hauled out of bed like porcelain mannequins. We were laced into bespoke, stiff silk gowns with petticoats that scratched our thighs, and our hair was tortured into rigid, lacquered ringlets. Cynthia even made me wear pristine white satin gloves that turned my palms clammy within minutes. Cynthia was utterly delighted. She paraded me through the drawing room, laughing musically, showing me off to wives of hedge-fund managers and real estate moguls. My cheeks ached from holding a picture-perfect smile until she finally steered me toward a corner of the veranda. "Pearl, this is Theo Carlisle. He's ten, two years older than you. Why don't you two run along and get to know each other?" Theo Carlisle was impeccably groomed, far handsomer than any boy at the shelter, dressed in a sharp junior navy blazer. His chin, however, was tilted at a haughty forty-five-degree angle, and his gaze was frigid. I played my part, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. "Hi, Theo! Want to go grab some cupcakes from the buffet?" Cynthia beamed, satisfied with my social compliance, and turned back to her champagne flute. The second we were out of earshot, Theo yanked his arm away as if I carried a plague. "Don't touch me! I know what you are. You're just an adopted stray. A girl from an orphanage could never be my friend." Arrogant little snob. I dropped the act immediately. I peeled off the suffocating satin gloves, balled them up, and wiped my sweaty palms directly across the front of my designer dress. Then, looking him dead in the face, I let out a loud, theatrical "pbbbt!" in his direction. "You're disgusting." "What did you say?!" Theo’s pale face flushed a furious, mottled red. "You're not even their real daughter! I'm telling the truth! Your mother dragged you over here to set us up, but I would never like someone like you!" I stepped directly into his personal space, squared my shoulders, and locked my gaze onto his. "I wouldn't like you either. You're ugly, and your breath smells like garbage." Theo froze. For three agonizing seconds, his brain completely failed to process the insult. Then, his face exploded into mortified scarlet, his lower lip began to tremble violently, and tears spilled over his eyelashes. "Pearl? Where are you girls?" Cynthia’s sharp heels clicked across the stone terrace. Panic spiked in my chest. If Cynthia caught me making the Carlisle heir cry, hell would break loose. Sadie was already shaking beside me. "Pearl, Mother's coming! What are we going to do?!" Cynthia rounded the topiaries, her sharp eyes locking onto Theo’s wet, trembling face. Her polished composure shattered instantly into panic. "What on earth happened?! Theo, darling, did Pearl upset you?! Pearl Crane, apologize to Master Theo this instant!" A knot of pure bitterness tightened in my chest. She hadn't asked what happened. She hadn't asked if I was okay. Instant blame, instant condemnation. Even the matrons at the shelter listened to both sides before handing down a punishment. And she was supposed to be my mother. When I refused to move, Cynthia's eyes narrowed, all warmth vanishing into sheer malice. "Did you hear me speak to you?! Who do you think you are, and who do you think he is?! Get over here before I make you regret it!" Sadie burst into tears and threw herself between us. "Mother, it was me! Don't yell at Pearl! It was my fault!" "You?!" Cynthia sneered, her manicured nail jabbing inches from Sadie's face. "Growing a spine now, are we? It wasn't enough to be a pathetic, useless shadow in my house—now you have to embarrass me in public?!" I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. I was about to scream at her when— "Is this the little Pearl you were telling me about? My, what a spirited young lady." A gravelly, distinguished voice cut through the courtyard air.