THE STAR AND HER STRAY

I saw comments scrolling through the air when we went to pick up my biological younger brother from a children's home in rural Colorado. [Look again.

That filthy kid in the corner is Miles Redmond, the man who'll one day rule the business world.] [I'm crying. Poor Miles.

He got beaten up protecting Calvin, but the Westcotts only took Calvin home.] [Everyone thinks he's crazy, that he was born bad.

Only the readers know he deserved a different fate!] [Sure, he's twisted, but his life is so miserable.

All he ever wanted was one piece of candy, and all he got was bitterness, right up to his death.] [If he could get a second chance, please, heroine, look at him.

All he's ever wanted is a home.] I looked at my younger brother, Calvin Westcott, surrounded by everyone fussing over him.

Then I looked at the brooding boy called Miles in the corner. After considering it for a while, I walked straight over, ignoring the warning growl in his throat.

I took a piece of butter candy out of my bag and popped it into his mouth. “Sweet?” As he stared at me, stunned, I turned to my parents. “We're taking him, too.” Chapter 1 The director's smile froze.

He rubbed his hands together and said awkwardly, “Miss Westcott, this boy's name is Miles. He's a little… peculiar. He doesn't talk much, and he bites when he gets upset.

I'm afraid he wouldn't be a good fit for your home.” Mom frowned, drawing Calvin closer to her. “Lena, don't be unreasonable. We're here for your brother.

We don't take in children when we have no idea where they came from.” I turned to look at Miles again. The boy in the corner gave a slight shudder.

His knuckles whitened around the bread roll in his hand, and he lowered his head.

His thin back seemed to settle into the lifeless stillness of someone the whole world had abandoned. The comments overhead started scrolling again. [There it is.

Every time he finds a little hope, reality crushes it.] [He understands them.

He knows he's the one nobody needs.] [He became so ruthless because he realized that was the only way to survive. It's such a shame.

There's still so much innocence in those eyes…] I looked at Miles's eyes beneath his bangs.

There was ferocity in them, but underneath it was only the wariness of someone who had been hurt.

Ignoring my mother's objections, I turned back to my brother, still the center of everyone's attention. “Cal,” I said. “Who's been looking after you all these years at the children's home?” Calvin hesitated, his eyes moving instinctively to Miles in the corner. “It was… my big brother Miles.” His voice was quiet and timid. “When someone stole my food, he always fought to get it back.

And when the director hit us, he…” Calvin didn't dare finish, but I understood. One of them was the wellbehaved victim everyone could see.

The other was his scarred protector, hidden in the shadows.

And in the end, the presentable boy would be taken home to a life of luxury, while the one covered in dirt would be left to rot in it. It wasn't fair.

I smiled and walked up to Miles.

He gave a low whimper and edged back half a step, wary as a young animal whose territory had been invaded. “Don't be afraid.” I softened my voice and bent down until our eyes were level. “Did you hear that?

Cal says he can't manage without you.” It was an excuse. “I'm Calvin's older sister. From now on, I'll be yours, too.” I held out my hand, palm up. “Our house is big.

There's always room for you. Come with me, and no one will dare hurt you again.” Miles stared at my hand.

Chapter 2 My fingers were slender and pale, my nails neatly trimmed and rounded. He kept his head down and hid his hands behind the hem of his shirt.

They were covered in dirt and chilblains. The comments flooded past. [Take her hand, Miles! She's the only light you have!] [Oh my God. He's scared to touch her.

He doesn't want to get her dirty!] Sure enough, he hesitated for a long time, reaching out and pulling back.

At last, he tucked the dry bread roll into his pocket and scrubbed his hand hard against his filthy sleeve. Only then did he dare rest his fingertips carefully on my palm.

I closed my hand around his. “Hold on tight,” I said. “We're going home.” We actually brought him home after the home visits and placement arrangements were complete.

That day, my parents brought Calvin and me along to pick him up.

On the drive back to Denver in our custom stretch Maybach, the front and rear passenger compartments might as well have been separate worlds.

Calvin sat up front with my parents fussing over him, his hands full of the warm milk and pastries they'd just bought. The heat in the car made him drowsy.

He looked like a pampered little prince. Miles, meanwhile, had folded himself into a corner beside me. His entire body was rigid, his back perfectly straight.

Almost half his body was pressed against the door, as he tried to touch as little of the seat as possible. He kept looking out the window.

But in its reflection, I caught him stealing glances at Calvin in the front compartment, envy hidden in his eyes. [Maybe he's thinking that things would be different if he knew how to please people the way Calvin does…] [Little Miles has never ridden in a car like this.

He's probably afraid he'll damage something he can't afford to replace. My heart hurts…] I said nothing.

I simply raised the partition between the passenger compartments, shutting off the open space and making the back seat a little world of its own.

Miles turned to me in alarm. “Come closer.” I patted the seat beside me.

He shook his head, stubbornly pressed against the door. “I'm dirty.” His voice was rough and hoarse, as though he hadn't spoken in a long time.

I sighed and took a bottle of mineral water from the car's refrigerator, along with a packet of wipes. “Give me your hands.” He refused, so I took one of them myself.

His hands were rough, the backs covered in small cuts. Some had scabbed over; others were still bleeding. They were the marks of years of hard chores and fighting.

I pulled out a wipe and slowly cleaned the black dirt from between his fingers. I was gentle, careful to avoid the wounds. “Does it hurt?” I asked.

He stared at me blankly, as though he couldn't make sense of what I was doing. After a long while, he shook his head. “No.” “Liar.” I pressed lightly beside one of the deeper cuts.

He flinched sharply and sucked in a breath. “If it hurts, say so. No one's going to laugh at you.” I rested his clean hand on my lap and searched my bag for a bandage.

I kept it there for the blisters my heels gave me. It was pink, printed with little strawberries.

I peeled open the wrapper and placed it over the ugliest cut on the back of his hand. A pink strawberry bandage against deep tan skin.

It looked completely out of place, yet somehow adorable. Miles stared at it for a long time. “Miles.” He looked up.

A faint spark had finally appeared in those oncelifeless eyes. “When we get home, put the past behind you.” I held his gaze and made him a promise, each word deliberate. “From today on, you have a family.” We arrived at the Westcott house.

To celebrate the family coming together, we'd invited a few relatives and prepared a lavish dinner. Chapter 3 As soon as we stepped inside, our housekeeper, Ms.

Fowler, hurried over to help Calvin change his shoes. “Calvin, welcome home!” When she turned to Miles, her smile fell.

Her eyes traveled over his dirty, illfitting clothes with a flicker of disgust.

Then she pulled an old, grimy pair of plastic slippers from the bottom of the shoe cabinet and tossed them on the floor. “Oh, you've brought back a… Well, we don't have any more new slippers.

These will have to do.” Miles said nothing. He lowered his head and started to put them on. I stepped forward and pinned the slippers beneath one high heel. Ms. Fowler froze.

When she looked up, she met my cold stare. “Ms.

Fowler, aren't those the slippers your son wore the last time he was here?” Her face drained of color. “Miss Westcott, I…” “Miles is a guest, and he's the child we're going to adopt.” I deliberately raised my voice. “You give him a servant's used slippers?

Are you trying to humiliate him, or insult me and my parents?” “Of course not! I'll get a new pair right away!” She practically tripped over herself getting away. I turned to Miles.

He was staring at me, as though he couldn't believe someone would stand up for him over something so small. [Miles's affection meter is going through the roof!

At the children's home, he only ever got what other people left behind.] [Heroine, you're my sister now!

The only sister I need!] At dinner, the table was covered with exquisite French food.

The rows of different knives and forks, the napkins, the stemmed glasses—the elaborate etiquette was difficult enough for Calvin, let alone Miles.

Our relatives studied the two boys with curiosity and ridicule. “So this is the one you found?

He seems well behaved.” My aunt—the wife of my father's older brother—appraised Calvin, then let her gaze drift to Miles. “What about that one?

Why does he look like a thug?” Miles froze with his knife and fork held in midair. He anxiously switched knives twice, still unsure which one to use.

As he tried to cut his meat, the blade scraped across the plate with a grating squeal. A few quiet snickers rose around him. His face turned a deep red.

He hurriedly put down his cutlery, hid his hands beneath the table, and bowed his head as though he wished the floor would swallow him. [He must want to run… This is like a public execution to him.] [Don't laugh at him!

Nobody ever taught him!

He's barely even had enough to eat!] I set down my glass of red wine. “Auntie,” I said, smiling at the woman making those nasty remarks, “thug isn't the word. He's wild.

Full of life.” Then I turned to Miles. “Don't feel like dealing with all this cutlery?” He nodded faintly without meeting my eyes. “Then don't.” I beckoned to a member of the staff. “Cut up these two steaks and bring us two ordinary forks.” “Lena, that's no way to eat at a formal dinner,” Dad said with a frown. “In this house, making him comfortable comes before any other rule.” I took the forks, offered one to Miles, and kept the other.

With everyone watching, I pushed the entire set of cutlery aside, speared a piece of steak with my plain fork, and put it straight into my mouth. “It tastes the same.

Why shouldn't we eat it this way?” I gave Miles an encouraging look. “Eat. Use your hands if you want.

All that matters is getting enough to eat.” He looked at my fork, then at the various expressions on our relatives' faces. Finally, he took the fork I'd offered him.

His movements were still awkward, but he took his first big mouthful of meat. After dinner, Calvin and Miles were both shown to their rooms.

For now, Miles would stay in a guest room. Chapter 4 I was stretched out on the couch, eating cherries and scrolling on my phone, giving my aching calves a rest.

Before long, something heavy crashed upstairs. A staff member cried out. “Get out! Don't touch me!” The boy's roar was vicious.

I went still, then rushed upstairs and pushed open the door. The room was a mess. A broken lamp lay on the floor. Miles crouched in the corner, clutching a shard of glass from it.

Barechested and cornered like a wolf, he stared at the staff trying to approach him. “What happened?” I asked, my voice low. “Miss Westcott, I was trying to take his wet clothes to the laundry.

I barely touched him, and he…” The staff member trembled with fear. I waved everyone out. The door closed, leaving just the two of us.

Miles's bare upper body was exposed under the light. I drew in a sharp breath. The comments had warned me, but seeing it for myself still shook me to the core.

His back, which should have been smooth and unmarked, was covered in injuries.

Old lash marks, round burn marks, and several ugly scars that looked as if they'd been made by something sharp crossed his skin.

They formed a hideous web around his slight frame. [He got those taking beatings for Calvin at the children's home!] [The deepest one was from when Calvin broke the director's vase.

Miles took the blame. The director whipped him with a belt until his skin split open. He had a fever for three days and nearly died!] [He doesn't want anyone to see.

He thinks he's a monster. I guess that's what pride does to a boy…] My eyes stung as I read.

I moved toward him, one step at a time. “Stay away!” Miles pressed the shard against his neck.

His voice shook. “Don't look… I'm ugly.” “You're not.” I stopped a step away and slowly crouched down. “Miles, put it down.” He held his ground, his eyes full of pain and shame. “You got those scars protecting Cal, didn't you?” I asked softly.

He jolted and stared at me in disbelief. “You're a little hero, Miles.” I met his eyes, completely serious. “A hero's scars are medals. They're nothing to be ashamed of.

I don't think they're ugly. My heart just aches for you.” That last sentence seemed to break through his defenses. The shard fell from his hand with a clink.

As though his bones could no longer hold him up, he slid down the wall, hugged his knees, and buried his face in his arms. His thin shoulders began to heave.

He made no sound, only shook with the effort of holding everything in. I went over and gently wrapped my arms around him.

His body was cold and rigid, but little by little, it warmed in my embrace. “You can cry.” I patted his scarred back. “You don't have to take a whipping for anyone in this house.

If someone dares lay a hand on you, your sister will hit them back.” After Miles had been home for half a month, my parents had someone find a private high school for him and Calvin.

From then on, he started using our family name: Miles Westcott. I had expected him to need time to adjust to school. I hadn't expected him to get into trouble during his first week.

When the call came, I was at a college club event. Chapter 5 My university wasn't far from home.

Since our parents were busy with work, I was listed as Calvin's and Miles's emergency contact at school.

The teacher sounded anxious as she spoke on the phone. “Miss Westcott, please come to the school.

Miles beat up another student, and his parents want to call the police!” When I reached the school office, it was in chaos.

A heavyset woman dripping with gold and jewels was pointing in Miles's face and shouting, “You bastard! Your mother never raised you, did she? Look what you did to my son!

I'll have you thrown in jail!” Miles stood in the corner. The collar of his uniform had been torn, his face was bruised and cut, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

He said nothing. He only stared at the boy wailing in a chair, his gaze chilling. He looked ready to take the boy down even if it killed him, too.

The instant he saw me, that ferocity vanished into alarm. He instinctively shrank back, as though afraid I would scold him. [Please don't yell at him!

It wasn't his fault!] [That boy cornered Calvin in the bathroom and demanded protection money. He even said Calvin was illegitimate.

Calvin was too scared to move and started crying.

Miles rushed in and fought all three of them!] [Miles was defending the Westcott family's name—and your little brother!] I looked at Calvin, unhurt but trembling off to one side, then at Miles's battered face.

Any impartiality I had left was gone. “What happened?” I asked coldly as I approached. “He went crazy! Attacked my son for no reason!” the woman cut in.

I ignored her and went straight to Miles.

Taking a tissue from my bag, I wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Does your hand hurt?” He froze, then nodded in a daze. “Yes.” “Next time you get into a fight, don't punch someone in the teeth.

It's easy to hurt your hand that way.” I dropped the bloody tissue into the trash and turned to the woman and the dean of students. “Have you checked the camera footage from the hallway outside the bathroom?” “Well… that camera happened to be broken.” The dean's gaze shifted. “Broken?” I gave a cold laugh. “Then I'll send a technical team over to inspect the equipment.

They can check the saved footage from the last few days while they're at it. I hear some of your students like to bully people in the bathrooms.” The dean broke out in a cold sweat.

The woman wasn't done making a scene. “Who do you think you're threatening? You just wait until my husband—” “Your husband?” I scoffed and took out my phone.

I found one of our business associates in my contacts and put the call on speaker. “Hello, Mr. Vaughn? Helena Westcott. I hear your son has had a bit of trouble at school.

Yes, it's very unfortunate. I think we'd better put that deal we've been discussing on hold. I'll need to keep the money available for my brother's lawyer.” Panicked