My Freedom For His Life

We arrived home in silence.

Victor offered me dinner, Nathan suggested tea, and Brandon—who had stayed home—tried to coax me into watching a movie, promising I could pick whatever we watched.

I looked at them. My chosen family.

I was eight when I snuck onto their military base to copy the recruits' drills. Victor hadn't punished me; he corrected my stance. Nathan patched my scraped knees and eventually taught me to read medical texts and synthesize compounds. Brandon, an elite pilot, was the first to claim me as his little sister.

Alexander and Francis, specialists in computer intelligence and weapons, were away on assignment. The moment news of the airport reached them, my phone would explode.

All five brothers had built high-ranking careers by their twenties, yet they had poured their time and resources into getting me emancipated, helping me earn a living, and building a sanctuary for me in their home.

And I had dragged their names into a public scandal. The crushing weight of guilt eclipsed even the sting of Ethan's betrayal.

I declined their offers, hugged all three of them tightly, and locked myself in my room. I couldn't bear to listen through the door as Victor and Nathan explained the airport incident to Brandon. He couldn't afford the stress—not with his health failing.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring blindly at the ceiling as my mind short-circuited under the fallout. In under two hours, my boyfriend, my childhood memory of him, my clean record, and my dream had all evaporated.

The next morning, Nathan’s gentle knock shattered my isolation.

"Jasmine? We have visitors. A social worker... and someone claiming to be your grandmother."

His grave tone sent a chill down my spine.

As I washed my face and headed downstairs, a foolish fantasy flared in my chest. For one desperate second, I imagined a warm woman embracing me, grieving the years we lost.

The reality standing in our living room killed that hope instantly.

Victor stood by the window, a wall of tension. Brandon sat on the couch, pale and drained. Opposite them sat a woman in a sharp gray suit alongside an elderly woman with immaculate silver hair, rigid posture, and glaringly expensive jewelry.

"Miss Hayes? I'm Mrs. Collins, from Social Services," the social worker began, gesturing to the papers in her lap.

The older woman surveyed me with cool, clinical contempt. I felt like a stray pet brought in off the street.

"I'm Emodine Marsh. Your paternal grandmother."

As in Vivienne Marsh. The realization hit like ice water.

"We've reviewed their documents," Victor said, his tone icy as he crossed his arms. "They appear legitimate, but we're arranging independent DNA testing."

"That won't be necessary," Madam Marsh countered smoothly.

"It is to us," the four of us answered in unison, our voices blending in absolute solidarity.

Mrs. Collins broke the tense quiet. "Miss Hayes, the records indicate that your biological father was Stephan Marsh—Madam Marsh’s late son. He passed away several years ago."

Hearing his name for the first time felt hollow. "And my mother?" I asked softly.

"Her identity remains unconfirmed due to incomplete birth records," Mrs. Collins admitted.

I turned to Madam Marsh, a silent plea rising in my chest. I craved a single crumb of my history—some proof that I hadn't simply been unwanted.

Instead, she weaponized it.

"Your mother's identity is a private family matter," Madam Marsh stated coldly. "We will discuss her only after you agree to return to the Marsh family estate where you belong."

Anger flared through my grief. "I already have a real family," I snapped, gesturing to my brothers. "I don't need your name to know who I am."

"As a Marsh, you cannot hide behind young men you share no blood with," Madam Marsh replied. "There are responsibilities that come with the name."

"Mrs. Marsh," Mrs. Collins cut in firmly. "Miss Hayes is legally emancipated. The court will not tolerate coercion, nor will it overturn an emancipation order simply because a blood relative resurfaces."

"They're not blood," Madam Marsh said dismissively, brushing off Mrs. Collins with a wave of her gloved hand. "These men could never replace your true lineage."

My blood ran hot. I stepped directly between her and my brothers. "They raised me. They protected me. You don't get to walk in here after seventeen years and rewrite my life."

Seeing she couldn't break my resolve through status, Madam Marsh pivoted smoothly to leverage.

"You are Stephan’s sole biological heir," she announced. "As such, you inherit a longstanding family agreement: a daughter of the Marsh bloodline must be betrothed to one of the Sterling family successors."

Mrs. Collins stopped writing mid-sentence, frowning. "Madam Marsh, using a custody petition to force an emancipated young woman into an arranged marriage will give Social Services immediate grounds to dismiss your objection on the spot."

Madam Marsh didn't even bat an eye. "It is not coercion, Mrs. Collins. It is her birthright. And her duty."

"What about Vivienne?" I interjected. "I want nothing to do with your family."

Madam Marsh frowned. "Vivienne was rejected by the Sterling family once it was confirmed she does not carry Marsh blood. But you do, Jasmine."

A wave of nausea washed over me. I was just a bartering chip to her, a replacement after the Sterlings rejected Vivienne.

Before I could tell her to leave, Madam Marsh reached into her handbag and laid two items on the coffee table.

The first was an official acceptance letter securing me a place in the elite Special Operations Intelligence Program—a better spot than the one Vivienne had stolen from me.

Then she pushed the second document forward: a high-resolution photograph of a plant with silver-patterned leaves. A mutated milk thistle.

My heart stopped.

We had spent agonizing months hunting for this exact mutation. Its rare chemical compounds were the missing element Nathan needed to synthesize a cure for Brandon.

Brandon had been poisoned on a mission, and despite Nathan’s care, he was deteriorating rapidly. The tremors in his hands were getting worse; his strength was slipping away day by day. This plant was our only hope.

"Can you obtain it?" I whispered, my cold composure crumbling.

"I have found two specimens," Madam Marsh said, her eyes gleaming with calculated victory. "I can deliver them to your brother's lab within forty-eight hours—provided you meet the Sterling successors today and accept the betrothal."

Nathan snatched the photo to inspect it, his eyes widening. Victor stepped forward, terrifyingly rigid. "You're using my brother's life to broker a deal?"

Madam Marsh simply smiled. "I'm offering her a chance to save him."

I looked down at Brandon. His hands were shaking violently in his lap. Catching my eye, he shoved them into his pockets and forced a weak smile.

"I'm fine, Jazz," he rasped softly. "Don't agree to anything because of me."

Watching the brother who had fiercely shielded my childhood try to play the hero while his body failed him tore me apart. Any hesitation left in my soul vanished. I would hand over my freedom if it meant keeping him alive.

"I'll meet them here, today. Nothing else," I said, forcing my voice into a flat, steady line. "No promises, no signed papers. Nathan gets the plant samples tested before anything is finalized."

Madam Marsh gave a single, stiff nod. "Agreed. I will bring the Sterling successors to this house at three o'clock."

The Sterling successors arrived that afternoon.

I was still wearing jeans and a simple blouse when Victor informed me three young men were waiting in the living room. Madam Marsh had returned with them—no social worker to supervise her this time.

When I entered, all three young men stood to greet me.

I noticed the one near the window immediately. Dark hair, striking features, and an intensely handsome face. He was watching me with a focus that made the room feel small. Something about him felt strangely familiar, as though we'd met somewhere I couldn't quite place.

Then he smiled.

My stomach did an unexpected flip. I looked away instantly, heat rising to my face. I was accustomed to evaluating people by their posture and tactics, not getting thrown off because someone was exceptionally attractive.

Madam Marsh stepped forward. "Gentlemen, this is Jasmine Marsh, the heir to the Marsh family. She has agreed to keep an open mind regarding an engagement to one of you. Remember that your futures are on the line as well."

"Cesar Sterling." A tall, impeccably dressed young man stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over me with blatant evaluation. "So you're the missing Marsh heiress. At least you're gorgeous. That's a plus."

I disliked him instantly.

"Sebastian Sterling." The second young man looked thoroughly bored, leaning back with a lazy stance. "Hello," he offered quietly.

"Hello," I replied. At least he seemed low-maintenance.

"And this is Noah Sterling."

I turned back toward the young man by the window. Noah Sterling. An eighteen-year-old rising star taking the entertainment industry by storm—his face had been on billboards nationwide.

But screen fame didn't explain why he felt familiar in a way television couldn't account for, or why looking at him made me hyper-aware of my own breathing. He was still watching me, his dark eyes filled with a quiet emotion I couldn't identify.

Cesar smirked. Sebastian looked like he wanted a nap.

But Noah stepped forward, his eyes locked onto mine, completely ignoring everyone else in the room.

"Jasmine?" he asked softly.

"Yes?"

He studied my face for a long, quiet moment, a tender smile breaking across his lips.

"So you really don't remember me."