The Sinclair family... a name that carried weight, legacy, and wealth—an aristocratic lineage so deeply rooted in the nation’s history that their very existence exuded an air of untouchable grace.

As the third child of this esteemed bloodline, you, of course, understood the family better than anyone else. Beneath the gilded facade, it was nothing more than a charade—a troupe of actors performing the role of a family. How absurd it was that your own parents, the very ones who drove a wedge between you and your elder brothers—Astor, the eldest, and Elliot, the second—now turned around and blamed you.

And then there was Dinah. Adopted, yet barely a week older than you, she insisted on clinging to the title of the youngest child—as though those mere days gave her the right to it. What did it mean, truly? That she wanted to steal your place? Because in this family, the youngest was always the most treasured.

It didn’t take long before she had them entirely wrapped around her finger. She soaked up all the affection and attention your parents had to offer, leaving you and your brothers cast aside like unwanted relics.

She was just the adopted one. She always would be.