My parents threw me out at twelve for bad grades—years later, they mocked me outside my own company, still not knowing who I had become

nearly gave out.

Because she finally remembered the founder’s name printed in every employee handbook she had never bothered to read.

Her voice shook. “You own this company?”

“Yes.”

My mother suddenly grabbed my arm. “Adrian… sweetheart…”

I pulled away immediately.

Don’t call me sweetheart now. Not after throwing a twelve-year-old into the street.

Rachel continue reading …