The Billionaire Heiress And Her Little Geniuses Chinese Drama

The thick, coarse fibers of the hemp rope pressed tightly against Brea Sinclair's wrists.

She twisted her arms behind the wooden chair, her muscles screaming in protest. The friction tore the top layer of her skin.

She felt a sharp sting, and moisture seeped from her fingertips, dripping onto the dusty concrete floor.

A heavy iron door groaned on its rusted hinges at the far end of the room. The sharp, rhythmic click of high heels echoed through the cavernous space.

"You really thought they brought you back to New York because they missed you?"

Caitlynn Sinclair stepped into the dim, yellow light. She wore a pristine, white Chanel tweed suit. Not a single thread was out of place.

Brea jerked her head up. Her eyes, mapped with broken red blood vessels, locked onto the approaching figure.Her jaw ached under the crushing grip that followed.

This is her half-sister, whom she can never forget, because the appearance of Caitlynn's mother led her mother down a nightmare path, ultimately resulting in her death. They are the ones who killed her mother and brought her to this state.

She also understood. The phone call from her father after eighteen years in the Rust Belt. The fake warmth in his voice. The promise of finally coming home.

She thought her father had had a change of heart, wanting to make up for all those years of neglect, but they had other intentions.

She had believed him. Stupid, naive, hungry for a family that had never wanted her.

Caitlynn stopped inches away. A mocking, triumphant smile stretched across her perfectly glossed lips. She squatted down gracefully, bringing her face level with Brea's dirt-streaked cheeks.

"They just needed a walking bone marrow bank," Caitlynn stated, her nails digging into Brea's flesh. "To cure my illness."

So that's it, Brea thought, a cold, horrifying clarity washing over her. Not a daughter. A spare part.

Caitlynn watched the horror dawn on Brea's face. A soft, delighted laugh escaped her throat. She released Brea's jaw and stood up, towering over the tied-up girl.

"And Althea?" Caitlynn lowered her voice, leaning in slightly. "Your mother didn't die of a sudden illness. We poisoned her."

A guttural, animalistic scream tore out of Brea's dry throat.