Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 261

"Good thing I've never cared much for those." Adam nodded toward the humming equipment. "While this thing's still doing its job, tell me about little Irene. The version nobody else gets to hear."

Irene played with the dials, watching the lights blink. She rarely talked about her past—even the triplets only knew bits and pieces. But something about the warm glow in the room and the bracelet shining on her wrist made her open up just a little.

"The suburbs weren't exactly Silver City," she finally said, voice dropping to near-whisper. "Always wearing the wrong clothes, stretching every meal, counting pennies."

Adam watched her, fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against his armrest—waiting, not pushing.

"My foster parents were..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "Let's just say I was their free helper. Everything somehow became my job." Her hands stopped moving for a moment. "I used to wonder if life would ever slow down."

"How old were you?" Adam asked quietly.

"Started around eight." She went back to fixing the pads on his legs. "After school, straight to the fast food place, then home to do everyone's laundry before making dinner." Her voice stayed flat, like she was just reading a shopping list. "No breaks allowed."

"That's messed up," Adam said bluntly.

Irene sighed, a short laugh escaping her. "Yeah, it was. Sometimes I'd watch other kids just... being kids. Not working, not constantly exhausted." She swallowed hard. "Usually hungry, occasionally freezing—hard not to feel cheated, you know?"

She wrinkled her nose, voice suddenly lighter. "Plus I looked like hell back then. Grease-splattered uniform, hair always smelling like fries. Nobody looks twice at the invisible girl behind the counter."

What hung unspoken between them was how that same invisibility had greeted her at Sterling Manor—everyone choosing convenient blindness, dumping everything on her shoulders. She'd survived that darkness once; she wouldn't go back.

"You've never been invisible," Adam said simply. The certainty in his voice made her fingers fumble with the electrode.

The soft light caught in her hair, creating shadows that made Adam's fingers itch to touch it.

"Things got better abroad," she shrugged. "But Ethan—he was my lifeline through the worst of it."

Adam caught the instant warmth that transformed her face at the boy's name.

"He'd sneak around doing my chores when no one was looking," her lips curved upward. "Once when I had this raging fever, the kid was six—*six*—and somehow got out at midnight to borrow medicine from a neighbor three blocks over."

She leaned back, rubbing her lower back absently. "Got caught. Got punished. Still grinned that gap-toothed smile and told me it was 'totally worth it.'"

Adam nodded, something shifting behind his eyes. "And now you're there for him."

"Circle of life or whatever." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

He'd never known that kind of struggle—the gnawing hunger, the bone-deep exhaustion, the constant fear. Looking at her now, competent and composed, Adam felt something twist in his chest. The Sterling princess who should have grown up surrounded by luxury had instead been scrubbing floors and flipping burgers.

Ethan had given her warmth when her world was cold. Adam silently promised that from now on, she'd never feel that chill again.

"We're finished here," Irene said, carefully removing the last pad from his leg. She met his eyes with a mix of professional concern and something warmer. "And next time you decide to practice standing, you tell me first. Doctor's orders." Her finger wagged in mock sternness, but her eyes were serious. "I don't want to find you in a heap on the floor because you overdid it. That'd ruin all my hard work."

Adam's lips curved slightly. "Is that concern I hear, Dr. Sterling?"

"That's common sense you hear," she countered, but she couldn't quite hide her smile. "You scared me half to death with that surprise stunt. Amazing as it was."

The next morning arrived with a jarring noise. Irene's phone jolted her awake, her hand fumbling across the nightstand.

"It's Thomas." His voice sounded tired even through the speaker. "The kid's refusing to go home. Barely slept a wink. Says he's too embarrassed to face you—thinks he wrecked your birthday."

She sat bolt upright. "Is he okay? Where?"

"Better than last night, but wants nothing to do with his family. We're at a coffee shop downtown. Been here all morning."

Irene hung up and immediately called Adam.

"I'm coming with you," he cut her off before she could finish explaining. "Ten minutes. Be ready."

Soon they were at the downtown coffee shop, looking through the window at Ethan. The teenager sat hunched in the corner, staring at a full, cold cup like it might somehow solve all his problems.

When the bell chimed above the door, his head snapped up. Something like panic flashed across his face as his eyes darted toward the exit. Thomas shifted slightly, casually blocking the escape route.

Adam's wheelchair stopped beside the table. "Time to come home, kid."

Irene hung back, recognizing this moment might need a different approach than her usual maternal concern.

Ethan's laugh held no humor. "Home? That place?" He shook his head. "That's just a house with people who hate everything I care about." His eyes found Irene's. "Things were rough before, but with you there, sis, even the bad stuff felt manageable."

The raw honesty in his voice made her chest ache.

"And now what—I'm supposed to pretend Anna's my sister?" Disgust twisted his features. "After what she did? She's fake to her core, and I honestly don't get what my parents see in her."

Irene stepped closer. "Ethan—"

"You're good to everyone," he steamrolled over her, voice cracking. "But they treat you like garbage! What did you ever do except work yourself to the bone for them?" His breathing turned ragged. "That's not a home. I'm not going back there."

His words hung in the air—the unfiltered truth of a house without warmth, where speaking up meant consequences, where kindness always came with strings attached.

"Ethan..." Irene's voice softened to nearly nothing.

Something in her tone broke his last defense. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He bit his lip hard, swiping angrily at his face, mortified by his own vulnerability.

Adam watched silently, taking in the raw emotion between them.

"You know what your problem is?" he finally said, voice surprisingly gentle.

Ethan looked up, tear tracks still fresh on his cheeks.

"Nobody's ever taught you the most important lesson." Adam leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked onto Ethan's. "When you grow strong enough, you control everything."

The intensity in his eyes nearly made Ethan flinch.

"*Everything*," Adam repeated quietly. "Including your parents."

Ethan froze, tears forgotten. Something electric had passed between them—a truth that knocked the air from his lungs.

The silence stretched as Adam's words sank in. Slowly, Ethan looked down at his palm before curling his fingers into a tight fist.

He wasn't strong enough—not yet. That's why his sister got hurt while he stood helpless.

When he raised his head, something had fundamentally changed in his eyes. "I'm going to get stronger," he said, newfound determination hardening his voice. "Thank you."

Adam acknowledged with the barest nod, approval flickering across his face.

Irene watched in stunned silence. She'd expected a lecture or empty reassurances—not this raw, honest exchange. Adam hadn't talked down to Ethan or offered meaningless comfort. He'd handed the boy a roadmap to power.

Adam turned, catching her stare. Their eyes locked, and Irene suddenly understood that the two people who mattered most to her had just formed a connection she never could have predicted.

Something shifted in her chest—the pieces of her world rearranging themselves into an entirely new possibility.