"If that's how you feel, then there's nothing left to say."

"The house, the payout—divide it however you want. I don't want any of it. Never did."

My sister scoffed.

"See, Mom? You were right about her. Always putting on an act."

"Our house is worth five million in demolition money. If you weren't sniffing around for your cut, why else would you suddenly show up now?"

Mom looked me up and down with open contempt, nodding along.

"Exactly. Standing there playing the wounded martyr, pretending you don't care—you just want me to feel sorry for you and hand over some cash."

"Let me make this crystal clear: everything I have goes to your sister. Stop dreaming."

Watching the two of them united against a common enemy—me—I couldn't help but laugh.

"Since you're both so terrified I'll take a single cent, let's make it official. Starting today, we're done."

"From now on, I have nothing to do with either of you."

Mom and my sister froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily.

But a heartbeat later—as if afraid I'd change my mind—they scrambled to draft a severance letter.

Mom signed her name with a flourish, then shoved the paper at me.

"This was your idea. From now on, you have no claim to anything in this family!"

I signed without hesitation.

"Of course. And from now on, you have no claim to anything of mine."

I'd actually been planning to split my fifty-million-dollar prize with them.

Now? No need.

The ink barely dry, I turned and walked out without looking back.

I hadn't made it far when I nearly collided with my uncle, aunt, and cousin—they lived nearby.

Philip James spotted me first. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Well, well. If it isn't my brilliant college-graduate cousin."

"Heard you landed yourself a decent job after graduation?" He let out a mocking laugh. "Too bad my family's about to cash in on demolition money. Five million! How many lifetimes would you have to work for that?"

Philip had been a dropout and a delinquent for as long as I could remember, always drifting from one scheme to another. He'd never hidden his disdain for anyone who actually studied.

When we were kids, I never understood why he'd team up with my sister to torment me every time he visited—tearing up my homework, hiding my pens.

Now, seeing that smug, untouchable arrogance, it finally clicked.

He'd always known Mom didn't love me. That's why he'd never bothered holding back.