The limousine door opened, and I stared up at the Zhao mansion like it was a dragon’s mouth waiting to swallow me whole. My hands trembled around the fake birth certificate in my coat pocket. One week ago, I was folding towels at the Grand Jade Hotel. Now? I was Lily Zhao, long-lost granddaughter, returning to comfort a dying man’s soul.

William stood at the top of the marble steps, arms crossed, his tailored suit sharp enough to cut glass. "You’re late," he said, voice colder than the winter wind slicing through my thin dress. "Grandfather expects tears. Do you even know how to cry on command?"

I forced a smile. "Only when I’m scared. Or lying."

His eyes narrowed. Inside, chandeliers blazed like frozen stars. Portraits of ancestors glared down. And then, from the hallway, a weak voice called, "Lily? Is that my girl?"

My breath caught. This was it. No more rehearsals. No safety net. One misstep, and I’d lose everything—including the strange pull I already felt toward the brother who didn’t trust me.