Their Loss: My Adoption by Billionaire Father
After reuniting with my birth family, my wealthy biological father tossed me a black card and laid down one rule: I could spend as much as I wanted, but I was never to call him Dad—that title belonged only to his adoptive daughter.
Clutching the black card, I cautiously bought myself a two-dollar-fifty ice cream cone.
Just as I was happily licking the sweet ice cream, the adoptive daughter dropped to her knees before me. "Alice, are you mocking me because I can't even afford something that costs two-fifty in the future?"
My brother immediately slapped me twice. "You have money now, but you can't split love. Natalie is my one and only sister!"
Then my father splashed boiling water onto my face. "No disgraceful wretch deserves to be a Gervais."
To punish me, they sent me off to Rimala, forced to work as a child laborer in the mines.
Ten years later, I walked into a grand banquet hall with an ice cream in hand and came face-to-face with my brother, Ansel Gervais, dressed in a hand-tailored suit.
"All these years and you're still a disgrace," he sneered, but I couldn't be bothered to argue. "Let go. My dad's waiting for me—and if I'm any later, the ice cream's going to melt."
He looked down at me with contempt. "Dad? Who gave you permission to call him that? Natalie will forever be the only Gervais girl—no one can take that away from her!"
I rolled my eyes. Who said I was talking about that cheap excuse for a father? I was talking about my adoptive father—the oil tycoon with an incurable sweet tooth. I was in a hurry to let him taste some ice cream.