The Real Heiress Didn’t Want Her Brothers—She Wanted Her Mother

My call rang out, sharp and clear, and everyone in the hall froze.

The eight brothers looked at me with even greater disdain.

Patrick Shaw frowned. “Melody, where are your manners? Mother is of such noble status. How dare you offend her like this?”

Linus Shaw sneered. “A country girl will always be a country girl. The moment she steps through the door, she latches onto Mother, terrified someone might not realize she is after wealth and status.”

Ivy Shaw stood sheltered behind them, her face pale as she gently tugged at Patrick’s sleeve.

She said nothing, only looked at me with reddened eyes.

Comments flashed across my vision:

[Here they come—the Eight Brothers’ Sister Protection Squad has arrived.]

[Female lead, don’t confront them head-on. The Princess Regent hates people with no manners.]

[She’s done for. She already stepped on a land mine the moment they met.]

I ignored them.

The only person I could see was the woman standing at the entrance.

The Princess Regent, Priscilla King.

She wore a deep navy court gown, her features cool and composed, a black rosary bracelet looped three times around her wrist. Without saying a word, she commanded silence throughout the hall.

The gleaming golden words above her head were still there.

Favorability: 60!

I spent fifteen years trying to please my adoptive mother, yet her favorability had not budged an inch, as if I owed her a small fortune.

But my real mother’s favorability was already sixty the instant she saw me.

What was this?

This was where a mother’s favorite reigned supreme!

My eyes reddened at once. I rushed forward in three quick steps, then stopped precisely three feet away from her amid everyone’s sharp intakes of breath and knelt properly.

“Mother, I pay my respects.”

As I dropped into a deep curtsy before Mother, my voice trembled just enough.

“I never knew I had a mother of my own. To finally meet you fills me with such joy. If my excitement has made me forget myself, you may reprimand me as you see fit.”

Priscilla merely looked down at me for a moment before I straightened.

Patrick’s frown deepened. “Mother, she is skilled at pretending to be pitiful. The moment she entered, she pressured Ivy...”

“Enough.”

Priscilla only said that one word and the hall fell completely silent.

Patrick’s face turned pale, and he immediately lowered his head. “Yes, Mother.”

I let out a silent wow.

Was this what having a real mother felt like?

Was this what it felt like to have a mother who ruled over everyone else?

I loved it.

Priscilla stepped toward me and made a small gesture, acknowledging my greeting.

I did not move closer or presume upon her kindness. Instead, I simply stepped back half a pace and lowered my gaze.

Rule one in becoming Mother’s favorite: she could indulge you, but you could never become a burden to her.

She did not need a daughter who threw herself at her, crying and making a fuss. She needed a daughter who knew her place, understood her needs, and looked at her as though she were the whole world.

I looked up at her, tears brimming but not falling.

“Mother, you have only just arrived. Are you cold? Your fingertips look pale. Has the cold been troubling you again?”

My third brother, George Shaw, said coldly, “What nonsense are you talking about? Mother has always been in excellent health.”

But Priscilla looked at me.

The favorability above her head gave a small flicker.

[61]

My eyes brightened even more.

Just as I thought!

Fifteen years at my adoptive mother’s side had taught me to read a person’s face, notice the slightest change in their temperature, and recognize pain before it was spoken of. It had become second nature to me.

Priscilla’s left thumb kept pressing unconsciously against the bone of her wrist, and her breathing was half a beat lighter than normal.

She was not simply holding herself with poise; she was suppressing the ache caused by the cold.

I said softly, “I used to make hand warmers for my family. If Mother would permit it, I can make one for you as well. It may not be much, but it will keep your hands warm.”

Ivy suddenly began to cough.

Her eyes reddened at the corners as she coughed, looking as though a gust of wind might shatter her.

“Mother, Melody has only just returned, yet she is already so devoted to you. I am truly happy for you.”

Then she lowered her head again.

“I was simply too thoughtless. I never realized you’re troubled by the cold.”

A perfectly chosen remark.

It made her sound wounded, while quietly implying that I had barely arrived and was already trying to win Mother’s favor.

Sure enough, several of my brothers immediately felt sorry for her.

My fourth brother, Jayden Shaw, said at once, “Ivy has stayed by Mother’s side every day all these years. Mother knows how delicate her health is. How could she make Ivy worry about such trivial matters?”

I nodded earnestly. “Jayden is right. Ivy is delicate; naturally, she should not have to concern herself with such matters.”

Ivy’s expression froze.

I turned to Priscilla, looking up at her eagerly. “Mother, I am strong. I can look after these things for you.”

For a moment, the comment feed went quiet. Then it exploded.

[She’s so good at this!]

[Wow! She’s completely devoted to her mother!]

[Oh god! She isn’t fighting the fake heiress for her brothers; she’s only fighting for her mother!]

The corner of Priscilla’s lips barely moved.

[Favorability: 63]

Fireworks exploded in my chest.

The pitiful single-digit favorability ratings above my brothers’ heads were completely forgotten.

What were they, anyway?

Just scraps Mother had produced along the way.