The Stranger My Heart Belonged To

SADIE SUMMER

I wrapped my fingers around a warm cup of tea, eyes drifting to the garden beyond the window — the garden I now owned. Even now, seated in a grand mansion, dressed in clothes finer than I ever imagined, I could hardly believe this life belonged to me.

No, I wasn’t born into privilege. Life had never been kind, not until recently.

I was a nobody. An orphan. I never knew who my parents were, or why they abandoned me at the orphanage when I was just a baby. I searched for answers once. But even as a child, I understood — some truths are better left untouched.

They named me Sadie Summer. I never liked the name.

Sadie, to me, always sounded like sad—as if I was born to carry it. Later, I found out Sadie meant princess. That only made me feel worse. There was nothing remotely princess-like about my life in the orphanage.

The whispers came and went—the kind of things people say when they think you’re not listening. About where I came from. About why I was left behind. Why I was unwanted. And though I eventually discovered the reason behind my last name, Summer, I reached a point where none of it really mattered.

Whatever the truth was, it wouldn’t change anything. Not who I was. And certainly not how I felt about myself.

Oh, and yes— Sadie Summer technically meant Princess of Summer. I was found on the doorstep during the summertime. If I’m being generous, maybe the caregivers thought they were giving me something sweet—something hopeful.

Maybe, just maybe, I was someone’s little princess, even if only for a moment.

I was adopted when I was eight.

At first, I thought it was a dream come true — that finally, someone had picked me, wanted me. But even fairytales have shadows. It didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t chosen out of love. I was taken in out of convenience.

They needed help, not a daughter.

The older I grew, the more I understood. I was the quiet one in the corner, the invisible thread holding the household together. They wanted the best of me, demanded it, but gave nothing back. They expected me to become the provider, yet never offered even the basics — not even a hand to guide me toward college.

Lucky me, right? I thought, with a soft smile as I gazed outside.

The garden swayed gently under the late morning sun. Butterflies drifted through the blooms. The sky stretched out endlessly above it all. In that fragile moment of peace, I let myself believe — just for a second — that I was someone else. Someone who had made it through the storm.

Cinderella, maybe.

Alone, yes. But alive.

And maybe, just maybe… this was the chapter before the love story began.

The part where I paused, breathed, and opened my heart — not because I was waiting to be rescued… but because somewhere out there, love might finally find its way to me.

Even if I was Cinderella without her prince — for now

12 Years ago.

Prince Office building.

SADIE'S POV

“So, Sadie,” my supervisor began, folding his hands on the desk with a slight smile, “you’ve shown impressive work ethic as an intern these past two years. Do you think you’re ready to step up as one of the executive assistants?”

At twenty, with no college degree, I was finally being offered the one thing I’d been silently hoping for—the chance to prove I was more than my past. The question hit me like a mix of thunder and sunlight—thrilling and terrifying all at once.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I glanced down at my skirt and brushed it with my palms—an old, nervous habit I hadn’t quite grown out of.

Confidence didn’t come naturally to me. Not after everything.

Before this job at Prince & Co, I’d waited tables, cleaned houses, taken whatever work I could find just to get by. Most of what I earned never even stayed in my pocket. It went straight to my adoptive parents—who said it was payment for raising me. For giving me a roof. A name.

Their version of love came with invoices.

So yes, I’d taken every honest job thrown at me. Even when it left me sleepless, even when it left me aching.

With no degree and barely any savings, renting a decent place to live wasn’t even a realistic option. It often felt like they’d planned it that way—to keep me dependent, to make sure I never left.

My adopted sister, after all, lived a life so different it almost seemed scripted. But not mine. Mine was a life I was still clawing out of.

And maybe—just maybe—this was the door I’d been waiting to pry open.

My adopted sister, Angelica Birshe, had a degree in business from the most prestigious university in the country. A framed piece of paper she wore like a crown.

Too bad her character never quite lived up to her credentials. Spoiled, impatient, and allergic to hard work, Angelica seemed to crumble the moment things didn’t go her way. One probation period after another, she failed to hold her ground in any of the jobs handed to her.

So, naturally, three months after I started working as a junior executive assistant, my mother called and asked if I could put in a good word for Angelica at the same company. I wasn’t even surprised. Angelica had always been handed the silver platter that I was expected to polish.

If I had something good, it was only a matter of time before it became hers.

I stalled. I deflected. I prayed that the universe would step in and spare me from this looming disaster. But there was only so much I could do. I couldn’t take down every job vacancy Prince Company posted, could I?

And just like that, Angelica was hired—almost overnight. Her degree gave her an automatic pass, and the cherry on top? She became an executive assistant reporting directly to the COO.

Meanwhile, I’d been here two years, working late, proving myself, biting my tongue—still stuck with the “junior” title like a badge of shame.

What once felt like a dream job started to feel far too familiar. Like home. And not in a good way.

Angelica, with her saccharine smile and fake charm, quickly found her targets—the people she could manipulate into liking her or doing her work for her. And when all else failed? She had me.

She never missed a chance to pass off her tasks to me or humiliate me with subtle jabs dressed as jokes. Her friends only made it easier for her, always laughing along, never questioning her cruelty.

Some days, I wondered if they knew the truth—or if they were just as blind as I used to be here…