The Shameless and Invincible True Heir

As Ryan Sanders ran his fingers over the gift box stamped with the Harrington Group logo, his eyes practically sparkled with pride.

He even tried to play humble.

"Pete, don't worry about it. Honestly… I always figured this match was supposed to be yours. After all, you're Mom and Dad's real son. It's my fault—I've been in this scene so long, Sophia just assumed it should be me. If it makes you uncomfortable, the gift's yours."

I watched his little performance and nearly laughed out loud.

Sophia—the little terror herself? Everyone knew she was obsessively detail-oriented, borderline insane. She'd make someone redo a presentation three times over a single misplaced comma.

If Ryan wanted to walk straight into the fire, who was I to stop him?

Biting back a grin, I waved him off. "Don't sweat it. Keep it. I don't need that kind of luck anyway."

His face tightened. He'd expected me to turn green with jealousy, but instead, it was like punching a pillow.

"Pete, you're being… very generous," he said through gritted teeth, turning to our parents. "Mom, Dad, it's getting late. I'll take Pete upstairs to rest."

They were still riding high on the prospect of latching onto the Harrington family and readily agreed.

But the second we reached the second floor, Ryan's smile dropped.

He stopped, leaned against the wall, and shot me a cold sneer, "Pete, don't act like you don't care. You're dying of jealousy, aren't you?"

Excuse me? I already said I don't care—does this guy have short-term memory loss?

"Let me make this clear—no matter what, this family and even the Harrington marriage are mine! You're just some hick from nowhere. The only thing you're good for is licking my boots!"

Then, without warning, he lunged toward my shoulder and let himself tumble backward.

"Pete! Why'd you push me?"

The move was so slick you'd think he'd starred in a dozen soap operas.

Too bad he was dealing with me.

The moment he hit the floor, I planted my feet, drew in a breath, and let out a yell ten times louder than his, "Ryan! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Before he could react, I was on top of him, swinging both fists left and right, hammering that pretty-boy face.

Whack! Whack!

Each blow landed sharp and solid—no mistaking the force behind them. I shouted in fake panic as I swung, "Ryan! Don't scare me like this! Wake up! If anything happens to you, how am I supposed to face Mom and Dad?!"

"Pete, you—!"

He tried to push himself up, but I landed two more slaps. Whatever he meant to scream got knocked right back down his throat. His cheeks were already starting to swell under the hits.

Hearing the commotion, Mom and Dad came running up in a panic.

"What's going on?! What happened?!"

Ryan tried desperately to open his eyes a sliver, mumbling incoherently, "Mom… he hit me…"