Six-Year-Old Devil Joins Rich Clan

At the height of my little menace era, I'm busy pinning Marlon Briggs to the ground and making him lick my shoes for stealing my milk. Just then, a dozen luxury cars roll up and completely block the entrance to the orphanage. A tycoon crouches down in front of me, his hand trembling with emotion as he reaches out to pat my head. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I found you too late. You've suffered so much." A chubby girl with a runny nose from the next class shivers and mutters under her breath, "Suffered? Yesterday, he used a slingshot to make a bunch of troublemakers kneel on the ground and beg him for mercy…'" I take a sip from the nearly empty juice box in my hand, meanwhile calculating how many juice boxes I can buy if I pawn the watch on my new dad's wrist. At that moment, New Dad's assistant answers a phone call and immediately breaks out in a sweat. "Mr. Sterling, we have a problem. Ms. Sterling snuck out because she wanted to meet her brother. She somehow ended up with a fever and passed out. "And the new Mrs. Sterling wants to know when you're coming home. She says it doesn't matter if we can't find your son. She can always give you another one…" It's bad enough that I have a sister. But I have a stepmom too? I toss my empty juice box into a trash can 30 feet away with perfect accuracy, dust off my hands, and climb straight into the back seat of the limousine. "Drive. We're going home." It's not that I'm eager to reunite with my long-lost family. It's just that I can't stand people causing trouble on my turf. Chapter 1 "Drive. We're going home." The moment the words left my mouth, hurried footsteps came rushing up outside the car. The orphanage director, Carol Willick, ran over, panting as she held out a faded canvas backpack that contained everything I owned. She pulled open the car door with surprising ease and speed, as if she'd rehearsed this scene in her mind every day, waiting for this exact moment. Pulling me toward the doorway, her eyes reddened, and her voice trembled. "Ethan, this is your real father. This time… This time, you won't be sent back again. You won't have to protect yourself by fighting anymore. You'll have a thousand times more love than before. Our little Ethan finally has a family…" I looked into Carol's eyes. They were filled with worry and hesitance. I didn't understand love. In my world, there was only right and wrong. But Carol was the only person who'd ever seen me grind Marlon Briggs' face into the dirt for bullying me and, instead of calling me a monster, handed me an extra carton of milk. Tilting my head, I frowned. Then, I raised my small fist and lightly tapped her over her heart. "Take care," I said expressionlessly. Carol froze. Covering her mouth, she burst into tears. She clearly hadn't expected this from the child every caretaker secretly called the cold-blooded little monster. The car door closed, and the Maybach pulled away from the orphanage. Francis Sterling stared at my face. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then spoke in a low voice, "You look… just like her. Ethan, I'm your dad. From now on, no one will ever hurt you again." I didn't respond. But he seemed to have a lot of things he wanted to tell me. "You should be six years old this year. If Wendy could see that I've finally found our son, she'd be so happy up in heaven. Oh, right. Your full name is Ethan Sterling. How's that sound?" Bored, I stared at the stitching on the leather seat. My mind drifted through memories of me bouncing between orphanages and foster homes. The families that adopted me never kept me for long. The longest record was three months. Every one of them was more than happy to pay the penalty to get rid of me. When I was four years old, my first foster father got drunk and tried to whip me with a belt. I didn't cry or throw a tantrum. Instead, after he passed out, I dismantled his precious gold watch into a dozen tiny pieces and dumped them into the glass of water he was going to drink the next morning. When I was five years old, my second foster mother locked me in a windowless room without food for an entire day because I broke a bowl. The next afternoon, while she was napping, I picked the lock with a piece of wire. Then, I dragged her into the kennel she'd built for her Mastiff, locked the cage, and tossed the key down the drain. Afterward, I dragged over a stool and sat outside the kennel. Expressionless, I watched her spend the entire night trapped inside with the dog, crying hysterically. They all called me a monster, saying I was the devil himself. I never understood why people made relationships so complicated or why they had to pretend to be nice. If someone hurt me, I'd hurt them back. Wasn't that the most basic rule of survival? Seeing that I hadn't spoken a word, Francis assumed I was afraid. He reached out and gently stroked my hair again, then began describing the family. "You have a younger sister, Emily. You two are twins. A year ago, I remarried. Her name is Barbara Bush. She's very kind and gentle. She'll take good care of you and Emily…" I remained silent and let him keep patting my head. Chapter 2 The car drove through an enormous gated luxury community before finally stopping in front of a villa. The moment the car door opened, a woman in a flowing white dress hurried over. She had on a pitiful expression, and her eyes were red. She looked fragile and harmless. This had to be the "kind and gentle Barbara Bush" Francis had mentioned. Barbara crouched down and pulled me into a tight embrace. Her voice trembled with emotion, while her tears fell on cue. "Ethan, my poor child. You're finally home. From now on, I'll be your mom. I'll spend the rest of my life loving you…" The heartfelt display moved Francis deeply. Standing nearby, he repeatedly exclaimed that he had married such a good woman. I stood stiffly and let Barbara hold me. I remembered the advice Carol had given me before leaving the orphanage. "Ethan, hug people more. Talk more. Tell them what you're thinking. That's how people grow to like you." Fine. Hug we should, then. Slowly, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around Barbara's neck. But just as Francis headed to the trunk to grab his suitcase and wasn't watching, Barbara's hand on my back suddenly moved toward the soft flesh beneath my arm. Her fingers clamped down on my skin, then twisted hard. Pain shot through my arm, but I gritted my teeth and didn't make a sound. Barbara leaned in close to my ear and whispered through clenched teeth, "You little bastard! You picked a great time to come back and fight for the inheritance, huh? If you don't do exactly as I say, I'll make sure you regret ever setting foot in this house!" The vicious malice in her tone was a stark contrast from her sweet, innocent face. She wanted to challenge me, huh? A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. My eyes turned cold. A blade I used for sharpening pencils slipped out from my right sleeve. With a nimble flick of my wrist, the blade disappeared into my palm. With a swish, the blade sliced cleanly across Barbara's waist, cutting through her white dress all the way down to her upper thigh. If she hadn't felt the sudden chill against her stomach and instinctively recoiled, I could've sliced open her stomach right then and there. "Ah!" Barbara shrieked and collapsed to the ground, clutching her ripped dress. Her face was deathly pale as she stared at me. Hearing the commotion, Francis spun around. "What happened? Barb, are you okay?" Just as Barbara opened her mouth to answer, I lifted up my sleeve to reveal the ugly purple bruise with nail marks on my arm where she'd just pinched me. I didn't cry. I simply looked at Barbara with an icy, guarded glare and asked Francis in a hoarse voice, "Dad, is this what you meant when you said nobody would hurt me anymore? Why did Barbara pinch me? I don't want to be sent back to the orphanage again." My fists were clenched tightly. My small body was tense with vigilance. Francis' gaze landed on the bruise. His expression changed instantly. He turned sharply toward Barbara, suspicion flashing across his face. Barbara panicked. Forcing down the fear and resentment in her eyes, she immediately put on a wounded smile. "Francis, you've got it all wrong! That must be an old bruise Ethan got from another kid at the orphanage. "He was trying to hug me just now and accidentally tore my dress with a toy. The poor child just got here and feels insecure. He's just looking for attention and reassurance…" Francis looked at me and sighed heavily. The suspicion faded from his face, replaced by deep sympathy. "Come on, Ethan. Let's put some ointment on that." He scooped me into his arms and carried me toward the house. Without even glancing back, he said to Barbara, "Go change your clothes. We'll bring Ethan to meet Emily in a bit." Resting against Francis' broad shoulder, I withdrew my cold stare. I looked over his shoulder to see Barbara climbing to her feet and flashed her the friendliest smile imaginable. Round one: She lost. Chapter 3 The villa was so enormous that it felt like a maze. Francis carried me upstairs and pushed open the door to a south-facing children's bedroom. Thick blackout curtains covered the windows, and the air was filled with the smell of medicine. I immediately spotted the little girl hiding behind the curtains, trembling from head to toe. That was my twin sister, Emily Sterling. She had soft, fair skin and features so strikingly similar to mine. Her face was flushed bright red with a fever, and damp strands of hair clung to her forehead. The moment she saw Francis carrying me inside, she stumbled forward on her unsteady little legs. She seemed eager to get closer to see me properly, yet she didn't dare to approach. Her large eyes fixed on me with intense longing. "Emily, why are you burning up so badly? Where's the nanny? Martha!" Francis touched Emily's forehead and instantly panicked, shouting for the help. Several nannies rushed into the room, frantically preparing to carry Emily to the medical room for a fever shot. As one of them lifted Emily into her arms, Emily struggled and stretched a hand toward me, as if she wanted to grab onto me. As her sleeve slid down, I briefly caught sight of her arm. It was fair and delicate but covered in purple bruises. There were also pinch marks and even tiny needle marks. I looked away after a single glance. It was not my problem. I didn't understand sympathy. My logic was that the strong preyed on the weak. That was just natural order. As long as nobody bothered me, I couldn't be bothered to get involved. After Emily was carried away, the room fell quiet. Francis set me down on a couch and carefully began applying ointment to the "old bruise" on my arm. As he did that, his gaze gradually grew sorrowful. "Ethan, Emily is your twin sister." His voice grew hoarse, as though he were reliving an agonizing memory. "When your mother gave birth to you two, she suffered excessive blood loss and died. At the same time, my company was under attack by rivals. Everything was chaotic. Those people took advantage of the situation and broke into the hospital, wanting to take both of you. "The security only managed to save Emily. And you… You were taken. I spent six years looking for you. It wasn't until recent DNA database matching that I finally found you." With that, he walked to a safe and pulled out an old photograph that had been preserved with great care. He handed it to me, saying, "This is your mother, Wendy White. You look exactly like her." I lowered my eyes to the photo. The woman in it wore a gentle smile. Her eyes and features were indeed very similar to mine and that weak Emily's. But what interested me more was that she also looked somewhat like Barbara, the stepmother downstairs whose dress I'd just sliced. I raised my head and looked past Francis' shoulder toward the half-open door. Standing in the shadows of the hallway was Barbara. At some point, she'd already changed her clothes. Her eyes were locked on the photograph in Francis' hand, then on me. The sweetness had vanished from her face, replaced by unconcealable resentment and jealousy. I met her gaze without expression. This family seemed even more entertaining than I'd expected. … For the next two weeks, Barbara played the role of a loving stepmother perfectly whenever Francis was around. I found myself wondering whether she had given up on playing games with me. At night, I often heard noises coming from the master bedroom. Barbara always wore revealing nightgowns and tried every trick imaginable to seduce Francis. She clearly was desperate to have a child of her own so that she could secure her place in the family. Chapter 4 The turning point came on the second day after Francis left for a business trip to Efrida. With him gone, the house became Barbara's kingdom. She sent all the household staff away and had me locked in the villa's basement. "Stay down there and think about what you've done, you little brat. When Francis comes back, I'll tell him you ran away from home." She sneered from the other side of the door. The basement was cold, damp, and pitch black. I sat quietly on a torn-up cardboard box in the corner, closing my eyes and resting. Honestly, was that the best she could do? This game was boring. Around midnight, I heard faint footsteps outside. "Ethan… Ethan, are you in there?" It was Emily. Her voice was shaky and tearful. Through the gap beneath the door, she managed to push a crushed cookie and a small bottle of water. "Ethan, I snuck out to see you. Don't be scared," Emily sobbed and muttered. "When I found out I had a brother, I was so happy. But I was worried too. I was afraid that bad woman would hurt you too. "Whenever Dad isn't home, she locks me in dark rooms, forces me to eat leftovers that I'm allergic to, and makes me wear clothes with needles hidden inside them. And she doesn't allow me to tell Dad… I can't fight back, and Dad always believes her. "Ethan, I've been saying money in my piggy bank. When I have a hundred dollars, I'll take you with me, and we'll run away together. We'll never come back to this awful house…" Listening to the little girl who looked just like me cry outside the door, a strange irritation rose within me. She was too weak, so weak that it was embarrassing. But at the same time, she really considered me her brother, so she was my responsibility. And nobody could mess with what was mine. I got up and pulled a piece of wire from my pocket, slipped it into the lock, and gave it a few casual twists. With a click, the door swung open. I had never been trapped. I'd only stayed in the basement because I wanted to see what moronic thing Barbara would do next. Strangely, I was excited because it had been a long time since anyone had dared challenge me. When Emily saw me step out, she was so shocked that she forgot to wipe away her tears. I walked over and roughly brushed the tears from her face with my sleeve. I said coldly, "What are you crying for? Shut up. Just watch." Emily was frightened by the look in my eyes. She covered her mouth obediently. I headed straight for the kitchen and grabbed three tubes of extremely spicy paste. Then, I quietly slipped into Barbara's bedroom. She was wearing a beauty face mask, dead asleep like a lazy pig. I opened the tubes of spicy paste, then swiftly squeezed the contents into her eyes, nostrils, and ears, firmly pressing it into her orifices. The burning sensation jolted Barbara awake instantly, and she let out a blood-curdling scream. She frantically flopped around on the bed, scratching desperately at her face. Tears and snot, mixed with the red-colored paste, flowed down her face. She looked worse than a ghoul. She fumbled around aimlessly, trying to press the bedside call button to call for help. Her screams annoyed me. I pulled out a slingshot from my pocket, loaded it with a steel ball, and stretched the elastic band taut. I aimed the ball at her stomach, which was already convulsing in pain. Snap! The steel ball shot straight at her abdomen. Barbara groaned in pain, her entire body curling like a cooked shrimp. She fell off the bed and landed on the ground with a loud thud, dry heaving in agony, too exhausted to even scream. I walked over, tore off a piece of fabric from beside her bed, and roughly stuffed it into her mouth, silencing every sound she tried to make. Then, I pulled out a dog leash I'd prepared in advance and fastened it around her neck. "Come on, Barbara." I tugged on the leash, my voice completely flat. "Let's go play a more exciting game." I pulled and dragged her toward the basement. Emily hid around the corner of the hallway, staring at the scene in utter shock, too terrified to even breathe. I hauled Barbara into a metal dog cage at the very back of the basement. Barbara had bought it just a few days ago. I didn't know who she intended to lock up in it, but dogs certainly weren't meant to be kept in the basement. Chapter 5 I carefully calculated when Francis would be coming home. His business trip was supposed to last seven days. So, there were five days left. In those five days, I went down to the basement every day, right on schedule, to "visit" Barbara. I poured sour kitchen slop and leftover food into a dog bowl and fed it to her. I stuffed the thorny nettle leaves from the garden into her clothes and forced her to wear them. Whenever she refused to obey or tried to fight back, I picked up a thin leather whip and lashed her without mercy. To the nannies and maids outside, I remained the same sweet, smiling, lovable kid. I told them that Barbara had suddenly received a call and gone to Efrida with Francis on a business trip and that they shouldn't go down to the basement and disturb me while I was playing hide-and-seek. The basement was extremely well-soundproofed. No matter how desperately Barbara screamed inside, not a single sound could be heard outside. On the fifth night, I sat outside the dog cage, looking at Barbara inside. She had been tortured until she was barely recognizable, her entire body covered in filth. I smiled happily. "Barbara, I haven't had this much fun in a long time," I said in an innocent voice, resting my chin in my hands. "You welcomed me so warmly. So, of course I had to return your love a thousandfold. Carol always said that I should treat people the way they treat me. That's how people are supposed to get along. "I never understood how to get along with other people before. But now, I've finally learned. I'm so happy." I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. The feelings I'd always kept deep inside—the confusion and violence I felt toward the world—finally seemed to have eased a little. Barbara had been cursing me viciously in her head this entire time. But after hearing what I said, she suddenly stopped struggling. She stared into my utterly emotionless eyes, and for the first time, a bone-chilling terror rose within her. "You… You're not normal…" She spat out the rag in her mouth, her voice hoarse. "You're evil! You're a monster! When Francis comes back, I'm telling him. You're going to wish you were dead." "Sure." I nodded in satisfaction. Judging by the time, Francis' flight should've already landed. I was just about to open the dog cage and let Barbara out when the basement door suddenly flew open. Francis stood at the door, travel-worn and exhausted, staring at me in disbelief. "Ethan Sterling! What are you doing?"