Skye tugged at the strap of her backpack as she waited outside Lincoln Elementary. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot. Other kids piled into minivans and sedans, their laughter filling the air while she stood alone by the gate. Her aunt was late. Again.
A black SUV pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the California sky. The engine purred, expensive and quiet, nothing like the cars that usually came to pick up students. Skye shifted her weight from foot to foot. Something felt wrong. The way the car just sat there, waiting, watching.
She bent to tie her shoe. When she looked up, he was there.
Not her mom, not Aunt Diane. A stranger in an expensive suit.
Before she could stand all the way up, his hand was on her shoulder. Tall, silver hair at his temples, a face she’d seen on billboards downtown. He bent close, his breath warm by her ear.
“Don’t turn around,” he whispered. “You’re in danger. Pretend I’m your dad.”
Her fingers grabbed his jacket without thinking. She didn’t know why she obeyed. She just knew that the feeling crawling up her back was real.
Behind her, a car door opened. Quiet. Smooth. She heard footsteps, slow, calm. The man holding her turned her face into his shoulder.
“Don’t look,” he said softly.
Another voice spoke, cold and polite.
“So, this is how we’re doing it, Mr. Voss. You’re getting personally involved now.”
Mr. Voss.
Skye knew that name. The big glass building downtown had VOSS written across the top in giant letters.
“She’s a child, Harlon,” the man holding her said, his voice tight and angry. “There were rules.”
“There were payments,” the other man said. “And her aunt already got paid.”
Skye felt the man’s chest go stiff against her cheek.
Paid?
What did that mean?
Footsteps rushed toward them.
“Skye, sweetheart, there you are!”
Aunt Diane, out of breath. Her smile looked wrong, too big.
“I told you not to wander off.”
But Skye hadn’t wandered anywhere.
Aunt Diane’s eyes bounced between the two men. She looked scared.
“We’re done here,” Mr. Voss said. “She’s going home.”
The other man smiled. It wasn’t friendly.
“For now,” he said. “Paper has a way of pulling people where they belong.”
Then he walked away. The black car drove off.
Skye’s heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Her aunt already got paid.
Those words kept repeating in her head.
Paid for what?
That night, the apartment smelled like stew. Skye sat at the table with her coloring book. She wasn’t really coloring. She was listening.
Her mom and Aunt Diane were talking in the kitchen. Low voices. Angry voices.
“You told me it was settled,” her mom said. Her voice shook. “You said nobody would come for Skye.”
“I thought it was,” Aunt Diane said back. “I paid them every cent last week. I have proof.”
“Then why was the man from the contract at her school?”
A spoon hit a cup hard.
Skye’s crayon pressed into the paper.
“Voss was there too,” Aunt Diane said quieter. “He grabbed her first.”
Silence.
“Did he touch her?” her mom’s voice came out thin.
“He held her. She called him Daddy. Harlon told him I’d already been paid in front of her.”
Skye’s crayon snapped. She stared at the broken piece in her hand.
Paid. Daddy. Contract.
Nobody had ever told her about any contract.
“Amara,” Aunt Diane whispered. “I swear I thought it was just money for you. For everything that happened. I didn’t think they’d actually come for her.”
“Stop.” Her mom’s voice was ice. “You made a deal using my child’s name. That’s not help. That’s selling something that isn’t yours.”
Skye’s chest hurt.
She got up quietly and walked to the hallway mirror. She looked at herself. Same face. Same eyes. Same kid.
So why did it feel like everyone had been signing papers about her without asking her?
“How much?” her mom asked.
“Fifteen thousand,” Aunt Diane whispered. “But I gave it back. All of it.”
“Money doesn’t erase signatures. You signed something with her name. Now they think they own part of her.”
Skye hugged herself. Ow.
Like she was something you could buy.
Her mom came to the doorway, eyes red.
“Hey, baby, you okay?”
Skye nodded, but she wasn’t okay, because somewhere, people thought they could buy and sell her future. And the adults she trusted had let it happen.
That night in bed, one question kept spinning.
If Aunt Diane got paid once, who else was getting paid?
And what did they want?
The next day after school, Skye pretended to tie her shoe by the gate.
“Skye! Let’s go!” Aunt Diane called, her smile stretched tight. “Your mom’s waiting.”
“One second!” Skye yelled back.
She’d already seen him across the street. No suit this time, just a dark sweater. But his eyes moved like a bodyguard’s, watching every car, every person.
Cassian Voss.
Skye did the thing every adult told her never to do.
She walked toward the stranger.
Cars drove past. Music thumped from somewhere. Aunt Diane’s voice got sharp behind her.
“Skye, don’t!”
Cassian stepped off the curb fast, meeting her halfway.
“You shouldn’t come to me,” he said quietly. His hands stayed at his sides, stiff, like he was stopping himself from reaching for her. “It makes you a target.”
“You already made me one,” Skye said.
The words surprised her.
They surprised him, too.
“Who paid my aunt?” she asked.
Something moved in his jaw.
“You heard that?” he said softly.
Skye crossed her arms.
“Everyone talks like I’m not there. But I am there. All the time.”
For the first time, something changed in his face.
Respect. Maybe.
“All right,” he said.
He bent down a little, lowering his voice.
“Here’s one thing I can tell you without getting arrested. Your name is on a contract worth more than this whole street. Someone’s trying to move you like a number on paper. I’m trying to stop that.”
“How do you know my name?” she whispered.
“Because I signed the paperwork,” he said. “The day you were born.”
Her breath caught.
“You were there?”
He stopped. His eyes flicked away.
“I was supposed to be nowhere near that hospital. But I was.”
“Skye!” Aunt Diane’s hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her back. “We’re leaving now.”
Cassian straightened up, calling after them.
“Ask your mother about that day. Ask her why my lawyer was in the waiting room.”
Skye didn’t look back, but she heard every word.
That night, her mom sat on her bed. She didn’t turn on the light, just sat there in the dark, tracing circles in the blanket.
“Mama,” Skye whispered, “did you know Cassian Voss when I was born?”
Her mom’s hand stopped moving.
“What did he tell you?”
“He said he signed something the day I was born. He said his lawyer was at the hospital. Why would a lawyer be there?”
Her mom breathed out slow, like she’d been holding that breath for seven years.
“Adults do stupid things when they’re scared,” she said finally. “When I was pregnant with you, I didn’t have a job. No insurance. Barely had a place to sleep. Cassian had money. Resources.”
“Is he my dad?” Skye blurted out.
The question hung there, big and heavy.
Her mom actually laughed, but it sounded wrong.
“No. Your father is your father. Cassian is something else.”
“What?”
“A reminder,” she said quietly. “Of how much of my life used to be written in contracts instead of choices.”
She stood up.
“You are not for sale, Skye.”
“Then why did someone pay Aunt Diane?” Skye pressed. “And why did my teacher say my file has two last names?”
Her mom turned fast.
“What?”
“At school, Miss Rios asked if they should change it. She said it shows Skye Voss on one line and Skye Brooks on another.”
Her mom went completely still.
“Go to sleep,” she whispered.
“That’s not an answer.”
Her mom’s voice dropped.
“Tomorrow I’m going to the records office. And then I’m talking to your aunt.”
She closed the door softly.
Skye stared into the dark, a last name she’d never used—Voss—written somewhere she’d never seen, on papers about her life, without anyone asking her.
Saturday morning felt wrong. No cartoons, no pancakes, no music. Just whispering.
Skye crept down the hallway and stopped outside the kitchen door.
“You told him where she goes to school,” her mom said, low and furious. “You thought that was nothing.”
“I thought he was the safer monster,” Aunt Diane hissed back. “He’s the one with something to lose if this goes public.”
Skye backed away quietly. If she walked in now, they’d stop talking, plaster on tired smiles, ask if she wanted juice.
She didn’t want juice.
She wanted the truth.
There was one place in the apartment she wasn’t supposed to touch. The old blue box at the top of her mom’s closet.
Skye dragged a chair over, heart pounding, and climbed up. Inside the box, under baby clothes and hospital bracelets, were folders, neatly labeled.
One said: SKYE – BIRTH.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Two birth certificates.
One said Skye Brooks. Father line blank.
The other, older-looking, said Skye Voss. Under legal guardian, it listed Cassian R. Voss in bold letters.
Her head spun.
A photograph slipped out and fell into her lap.
Her mom in a hospital bed, holding a tiny baby. Beside her stood Cassian in a dark coat, not touching them, but close enough that the camera caught all three together. Someone had drawn a thick black line through his face.
“Skye!” her mom’s voice cracked from the doorway.
Skye looked up. Both copies of her life were spread across the bed.
Her mom’s eyes filled. Not with anger.
Something worse.
Fear.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she whispered.
“How many names am I supposed to have?” Skye whispered back.
Before her mom could answer, Aunt Diane’s phone buzzed loud on the dresser. A message lit up the screen.
Final review Monday. Guardianship transfer for Skye Voss must look clean.
Skye didn’t understand all the words.
She understood the feeling.
Someone was getting ready to take her life on paper before she ever got to live it for real.
Sunday morning, someone knocked on the door. Three knocks, slow, even, measured. Like a code.
Her mom froze.
Aunt Diane’s spoon clattered into her cereal bowl.
“Stay here,” her mom whispered.
Skye didn’t listen.
She peeked around the corner as her mom opened the door two inches.
Cassian Voss stood there. No suit this time. Plain coat. Eyes tired in a way Skye hadn’t seen before.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“No,” her mom snapped. “Not here. Not with my daughter in the apartment.”
“You know I never wanted her involved in this,” he said. “Her.” He meant Skye.
“And yet she is,” her mom hissed. “Because you signed something you shouldn’t have. Because you let men like Harlon circle us like vultures.”
“I’m trying to reverse it,” Cassian said, calm but strained. “The contract was supposed to expire when she turned one. Someone kept it alive.”
Both women turned to look at Aunt Diane.
Aunt Diane flinched.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I didn’t renew anything. They said it was just an administrative request.”
Cassian held up a paper. White. Crisp. Aunt Diane’s signature at the bottom.
“Administrative,” he said softly. “This authorized a guardianship review for the name Skye Voss.”
Her mom grabbed the paper.
“She’s not a Voss.”
Cassian hesitated just long enough for Skye to feel it in her stomach.
“On paper,” he said, “she still is.”
Her mom’s breath shook.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because I thought I could fix it quietly,” he said. His voice got tight. “Before she ever found out.”
Skye stepped into the doorway.
“Before I found out what?”
Three adults. Three different kinds of guilt turned toward her.
Cassian knelt down. “Skye,” he said, his voice cracking, “you were never supposed to exist on my paperwork.”
“I wasn’t supposed to exist?” Skye whispered.
Cassian’s eyes went wide.
“That’s not what I meant. Not at all.”
Her mom moved fast.
“You explain this right, Cassian. Every single word.”
Cassian straightened a little, but stayed low so he didn’t tower over Skye.
“When your mom had you,” he started quietly, “she was in a bad situation. Someone offered to help with hospital bills under my name without asking me. They used my legal team, my foundation, my signature stamp. It was supposed to be simple. Pay the bill. Walk away.”
“So why is my name on your papers?” Skye asked.
He swallowed hard.
“Because someone added you to a list of children I was supposed to check on.”
“Check on?” Skye repeated.
“Like a follow-up,” he said weakly.
Her mom made a sound, almost a laugh, but mean.
“He means an asset.”
Cassian flinched.
“That’s not what I wanted. That’s not what it was supposed to be. But someone kept extending the contract. Someone kept collecting money for responsibility updates.”
Skye felt her throat close up.
“Money for me?”
Aunt Diane covered her face.
“Skye, I didn’t know what it meant. I swear.”
Cassian looked at her with something sharp in his eyes.
“Then why did you sign renewal papers three years in a row?”
Aunt Diane’s voice came out broken.
“They said the money was for Amara. For everything she’d lost. I thought I was helping.”
Her mom shook her head.
“You put her name on their books. You tied her to them.”
Cassian spoke again, steady but pained.
“Skye, the men following you aren’t trying to hurt you. They’re trying to claim you legally. They’re preparing for a guardianship transfer hearing.”
“What’s that?” Skye whispered.
“It means,” Cassian said softly, “you could be moved to someone else’s house without your mother’s permission.”
Skye stepped back.
“Who would I go to?”
Cassian looked down at the floor.
“That,” he said, “is the part nobody’s told you yet.”
Her mom sat heavy at the table, like her legs forgot how to work.
“Cassian, look at me,” she said. “Tell me straight. Is my daughter legally registered under your last name?”
Cassian didn’t answer right away.
That was the answer.
Skye watched her mom press a shaking hand over her mouth. She’d never seen her cry like this. Cry without tears. Cry with silence.
“It wasn’t intentional,” Cassian said. “Your social worker at the hospital thought linking Skye to my foundation would guarantee coverage. Her paperwork got rushed. Someone slipped another form inside.”
“So while I’ve been raising her,” her mom whispered, “someone else has been acting like they have rights to her.”
Cassian nodded slowly.
Aunt Diane whispered, “Amara, I should have told you. I saw some of the letters. I didn’t understand all the words, but I understood enough. I thought if I paid them back, it would disappear.”
“Debt doesn’t disappear,” Cassian said softly. “Not when a child’s name is involved.”
Skye hugged herself.
“Mama, am I getting taken away?”
Her mom pulled her close, tight.
“You’re not going anywhere. You hear me?”
Cassian looked away.
Skye noticed.
“Mr. Cassian,” she whispered. “Why did you tell me to pretend you were my dad?”
He let out a long, painful breath.
“Because the company managing your contract believes you belong with the person who signed your earliest legal documents.”
Her mom went stiff.
“And who’s that?”
Cassian’s voice came out almost too quiet to hear.
“Me.”
The room went silent.
Skye grabbed her mother’s shirt tighter.
Her mom leaned forward, eyes burning.
“You don’t want custody of her.”
“No,” Cassian said fast. “Never. I’m trying to shut the whole system down, but they think I’m preparing to claim her. They think you’re unfit because you allowed contract mismanagement.”
Her mom’s mouth fell open.
“They’re building a case,” Cassian said. “And Skye is the centerpiece.”
Skye didn’t know what centerpiece meant, but she knew she didn’t want to be one.
After Cassian left, her mom tore the apartment apart. Not angry—desperate.
Old drawers. Old boxes. Old purses. Everything.
Skye followed quietly, holding her stuffed rabbit.
“What are you looking for?” she whispered.
“A letter,” her mom said, breathless. “The one I ignored. The one I should have opened.”
Skye watched her mom rip through stacks of envelopes shoved in a plastic grocery bag. Bills, flyers, appointment reminders.
Then her mom stopped.
She pulled out a thick white envelope.
Return address: Voss Foundation, Legal Division.
Her hands shook opening it.
Skye stood on her tiptoes to see.
Inside was a printed notice with her name in big letters.
Skye Voss.
“Annual welfare review required,” her mom read out loud, her voice strained. “‘Failure to complete scheduled evaluations may result in reassignment of primary guardian.’”
She swallowed hard.
“Skye Brooks,” Skye whispered.
“What does reassignment mean?”
“It means,” her mom whispered, “they think they get to choose who raises you.”
Skye’s stomach dropped.
Another paper fell out of the envelope. Smaller. One her mom hadn’t seen before.
A court date. A time. A location.
Monday morning.
Tomorrow.
Skye looked up at her mom.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Her mom pressed her hand to her forehead.
“Tomorrow they’re holding a review hearing without telling me, without telling Cassian. They’re trying to push it through quietly.”
Skye hugged her mom.
“Mama, I don’t want to go anywhere.”
Her mom hugged back so tight Skye could barely breathe.
“You’re not,” she whispered, fierce. “Not without a fight. Not without the truth.”
Aunt Diane stepped forward, voice shaking.
“There’s something else. Something I never told you. Something I should have told you the day she was born.”
Her mom looked at her sister.
“Diane,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare.”
But Skye interrupted, softly.
“I want to hear it.”
Aunt Diane sat on the edge of the couch, twisting a napkin until it looked like rope.
“Skye,” she said carefully, “do you know what a provisional guardian is?”
Skye shook her head.
“It’s someone listed as the backup parent in case something happens to the real ones. Adults do it when they think life might get hard.”
Skye frowned.
“Mama already has you for that.”
Aunt Diane nodded slowly.
“That’s the thing.”
She reached into her purse, pulled out a folded paper, and handed it to her mom.
Her mom unfolded it. Her face went white.
“No,” she breathed. “This can’t be real.”
Skye leaned closer.
The paper was old, creased, but official. From the Voss Foundation hospital desk. It listed: Primary guardian – Amara Brooks. Provisional guardian – Cassian R. Voss.
Skye’s breath caught.
“Mr. Cassian is on my papers.”
Her mom glared at Aunt Diane.
“You forged this.”
Aunt Diane shook her head hard.
“I didn’t. The hospital clerk filled it out when they thought you were unconscious. They put his name because his foundation paid for the birth. I tried to get it changed, but they said only Cassian or legal counsel could fix it, and he never responded.”
“Because he never saw it,” her mom whispered.
Skye stared between them.
“So if something happened to you…”
Aunt Diane nodded.
“He would have been next in line.”
The room tilted sideways.
That’s why Cassian showed up.
That’s why Harlon kept watching her.
That’s why the contract existed.
That’s why people kept sending letters with two last names.
Her paperwork thought she belonged to two people.
Skye swallowed hard.
“So the hearing tomorrow,” she whispered.
Aunt Diane finished the sentence softly.
“Is to decide which one.”
They argued all evening. Not shouting—worse. Quiet, controlled, every word sharp.
“You’re not taking her there,” her mom said, arms folded. “If I show up, I make their hearing real. If I refuse, they can’t touch her.”
“That’s not how they work,” Cassian said. “If you don’t show, they’ll say you’re negligent. They’ll move ahead with a temporary reassignment and say you abandoned the process.”
“To who?” her mom demanded. “You?”
“I didn’t file for guardianship,” he said. “You know that now.”
“Maybe not you personally,” Aunt Diane muttered. “But someone under your name did.”
Skye sat at the edge of the hallway, knees pulled to her chest, listening.
Every sentence had her packed inside it like luggage.
Finally, she stepped into the room.
All three adults went silent.
“I can hear you,” she said softly. “I heard you yesterday. I heard you today. Nobody asked me what I want.”
Her mom’s face softened.
“Baby, of course we—”
“If tomorrow is about deciding where I live,” Skye went on, “then I want to be there.”
Cassian shook his head fast.
“Absolutely not. It’s not a space for children.”
“But it’s about children,” she said. “It’s about me.”
Aunt Diane looked away.
“Skye,” Cassian said carefully, “they use big words and legal tricks. They’ll make it sound like math. You don’t need to hear strangers measure your life in percentages.”
She swallowed.
“If I’m the one in the middle, I should hear everything.”
The room stayed frozen.
Finally, her mom said, “If she stays home and they move without us, she’ll grow up wondering what was said. I’d rather she hates what she heard than fears what she didn’t.”
Cassian closed his eyes for a second.
“Fine,” he said. “Tomorrow you sit in. No one talks to you directly. You answer no questions. You just listen. Agreed?”
Skye nodded.
For the first time, the fear felt different. Not smaller—but less like drowning alone.
The hearing wasn’t in a court like on TV. No judge’s robe, no wooden benches. Just a plain building with two bright lights and a sign that said FAMILY WELFARE AND TRUSTEESHIP OFFICE.
Skye thought the word welfare sounded kind.
The waiting room did not.
Chairs in stiff rows. A water cooler that gurgled too loud. A clock that ticked like it was impatient. At the far end, a glass window with a woman behind it, typing.
Cassian checked in with her, then sat on one side of Skye. Her mom sat on the other. Aunt Diane sat two chairs away, twisting her ring.
Skye’s feet didn’t touch the floor. She swung them gently, trying to look everywhere except the door marked HEARING ROOM 3.
On a side table sat a stack of folders. The top one had a yellow sticky note.
PENDING TRANSFER.
She could see a corner of a photo clipped inside. Another kid’s face, eyes wide in the harsh flash.
“How many of us are there?” she whispered.
Cassian followed her eyes.
“Too many.”
“Did you fix this for the others?” Skye asked.
“Trying,” he said. “You’re the only one I found before the hearing date.”
Aunt Diane flinched.
A man in a gray suit stepped into the waiting room. Not Harlon. Someone thinner, a tablet in his hand, an official badge on his chest.
“Cassian Voss,” he called.
Cassian stood.
Her mom squeezed Skye’s hand.
“Remember,” she whispered. “You don’t have to speak.”
Skye nodded, though every part of her wanted to.
As they walked past the reception window, Skye glanced back at the folders.
The clerk noticed.
“First time?” the woman asked softly.
Skye nodded.
The clerk hesitated, then whispered, “Sometimes the first time is also the last. Pay attention in there, kiddo.”
“Last.”
The word followed her through the door like a shadow.
Hearing Room 3 looked like a classroom that forgot how to be kind. Long table in the middle, chairs on each side, a raised desk at the front where a woman with square glasses and a tight bun shuffled papers.
Nameplate: CHAIRPERSON LYNN HART.
She didn’t smile.
To her right sat a man with a tablet—the recorder. To her left, a woman in a navy blazer, expression blank—the advocate.
“Please be seated,” Chairperson Hart said.
Her mom guided Skye to a seat at the far end where she could see but not be in the center. Cassian took a chair opposite the advocate. Aunt Diane sat slightly behind her mom, like she wasn’t sure if she counted as family or problem.
“We are here to review the guardianship and trusteeship status of minor…”
The recorder started tapping his tablet.
“Skye…” he paused, squinting. “There appear to be two surnames on file.”
“Exactly,” Cassian muttered under his breath.
Chairperson Hart looked up.
“Let us start there. Which surname is legally current for this child?”
“Skye Brooks,” her mom said firmly.
“Documents indicate active entries under both Brooks and Voss,” the recorder replied. “Without a formal cancellation filed, the system recognizes them equally.”
Skye felt like her name was being stretched between two hooks.
The advocate spoke for the first time.
“We have a petition here requesting clarification and transfer of provisional guardianship to align with legacy trust interests.”
“In plain language?” her mom asked tightly.
The advocate folded her hands.
“Someone with legal standing has asked us to decide who, on paper, Skye belongs to.”
“She belongs with me,” her mom snapped.
“Our job,” Chairperson Hart said evenly, “is to determine whether the existing records support that or contradict it.”
Skye shivered.
“If you’re evaluating records,” Cassian said, “you should also evaluate how those records were created. Many of them under my name were not authorized.”
The advocate raised an eyebrow.
“Then why is your signature on the original hospital file listing you as provisional guardian?”
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
“Because someone wanted me there, but not for the reason anyone in this room thinks.”
They talked about her like she was a math problem.
“Mr. Voss, did you receive quarterly updates on Skye’s welfare status?”
“No. They were intercepted before reaching me.”
“Ms. Brooks, did you respond to the welfare review letter sent six years ago?”
“No. I never saw it.”
“Ms. Diane Brooks, did you sign any financial documents referencing ‘Skye Voss’?”
“Yes. I thought they were compensation, not leverage.”
Skye listened to her whole life boiled down to yes and no.
Chairperson Hart’s pen scratched nonstop.
“The Voss Foundation,” the advocate said, “holds a dormant trust in this child’s name. If activated, it would grant her significant voting rights in a merged corporate structure. This creates potential conflicts if her upbringing is managed by parties misaligned with the trust’s stated values.”
Skye didn’t understand half the words.
She understood the part where her life was worth “significant” anything.
“So she’s valuable,” her mom said faintly. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“We’re saying,” the advocate replied, “that whoever guides her now effectively shapes a future controlling interest. We have a responsibility to ensure that guidance is appropriate.”
“Appropriate by whose standards?” Cassian asked.
“The trust creators’,” the advocate said. “You should know. You chaired the committee.”
Cassian’s jaw flexed.
Skye leaned toward her mom.
“What’s a trust?” she whispered.
“It’s when money is kept somewhere safe for later,” her mom whispered back. “Supposedly.”
“So I have money?” Skye asked, confused.
“On paper,” Cassian said quietly, overhearing. “But as long as the wrong people hold the paperwork, it doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to their plans.”
Chairperson Hart cleared her throat.
“Let us move to the petition itself. We have one party requesting termination of dual-status records and reassignment of guardianship authority in line with the trust document.”
“Which party?” her mom demanded.
“That,” the chairperson said, “is where this case becomes unusual.”
Skye’s heart stumbled.
Up until now, everyone assumed the fight was between two names.
But the person who filed the request might not be either of them.
“Due to the financial scale involved,” Hart said, tapping the folder in front of her, “the petitioner requested temporary anonymity pending today’s verification. Our task is to confirm whether they possess legal and ethical standing to make such a request.”
Her mom bristled.
“How can someone hiding behind a file ask to decide my daughter’s life?”
“Because,” the advocate replied calmly, “someone funded the original trust. Someone authorized the use of Mr. Voss’s name. Someone has been quietly paying renewal fees every year to keep this file open.”
Skye’s fingers dug into her chair.
Someone had been paying to keep her in their story.
“This person,” Chairperson Hart continued, “claims to be neither seeking custody nor financial benefit, but to correct an old mistake in the record.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed.
“Correct how?”
“By forcing a choice,” the advocate said. “By closing one name.”
Silence sank over the room.
“They’re erasing me,” Skye whispered.
“No,” Cassian said quickly. “They’re trying to erase one version of you.”
Chairperson Hart opened the folder at last.
Skye’s heart hammered so hard she could hear it.
“The petitioner,” Hart read, “is listed as the originating sponsor of the hospital account under which Skye’s file was created.”
Her mom frowned.
“That wasn’t me. And Cassian already said it wasn’t him.”
Hart adjusted her glasses.
“The name,” she said slowly, “is classified under sealed records. But the relationship line is visible.”
She looked up.
“It says: biological grandparent.”
Her mom’s face drained of color.
Aunt Diane’s hand flew to her mouth.
Cassian went very still.
Skye stared between them, pulse roaring in her ears.
“I don’t have a grandparent,” she whispered. “You said they were all gone.”
No one answered.
“Per policy,” Hart said, closing the folder halfway, “we can defer revealing the full identity until we confirm consent from the petitioner to speak on record.”
The recorder nodded, already reaching for another file.
Skye’s world tilted.
Somewhere out there, someone she’d been told didn’t exist had been quietly writing checks to keep her name alive on paper.
And they wanted a decision made.
Chairperson Hart’s phone buzzed.
Everyone watched as she read the screen. Her face shifted—something between shock and recognition.
“The petitioner has authorized disclosure,” she said slowly. “In full.”
Skye held her breath.
Hart opened the file again. One page. One line.
She cleared her throat.
“The biological grandparent listed is Immani Voss.”
Cassian jerked upright.
“What?”
Her mom’s face went white.
Aunt Diane whispered, “Oh my God.”
Skye blinked.
“Who’s that?”
Cassian ran a shaking hand through his hair.
“That’s not possible. Immani—she’s…”
Her mom finished the sentence.
“Your mother.”
Skye stared at Cassian.
“Your mom is my grandma.”
Cassian’s eyes filled. Stubborn, angry, stunned tears he didn’t want to show in public.
“She’s been dead for six years,” he whispered.
Chairperson Hart slid another document forward.
“Not according to these records.”
Skye’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Dead people didn’t sign papers.
Dead people didn’t renew contracts.
Dead people didn’t choose guardians.
Unless…
Skye looked up at Cassian.
“Why did your mom put me on your papers?” she whispered.
Cassian didn’t have an answer.
But he looked terrified that one existed.
The hearing recessed to verify documents. Adults argued with officials. Phones rang. Legal terms flew like arrows.
Skye sat alone in a corner chair, forgotten again, until the advocate approached her quietly.
“You remind me of her,” she said.
“Who?” Skye whispered.
“Immani Voss.”
Skye studied the woman’s face.
“You knew her?”
“Yes,” the advocate said. “She mentored me before she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Skye breathed. “Not died?”
The advocate glanced at Cassian, making sure he wasn’t listening.
“Immani didn’t vanish because she was sick,” she said softly. “She vanished because she discovered a list of children tied to corporate contracts. Children who would eventually inherit voting rights they never agreed to.”
Skye’s stomach flipped.
“She spent the last years of her life protecting those children. Fighting from the shadows. Rewriting things quietly. Keeping them safe in the only way she could.”
“But why me?” Skye asked.
The advocate lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Because you were the one child she never told Cassian about.”
Skye’s whole chest tightened.
“Why not?”
The advocate opened a small envelope.
“This,” she said, “was addressed to you personally.”
Handwriting looped beautifully across the paper.
For Skye. When the world becomes too loud, read this before you let them decide anything for you. — Immani.
Skye unfolded the letter. One sentence leaped off the page.
I hid you to protect him.
Her hands shook.
Protect him.
Cassian.
Why would her grandmother hide her to save him?
The advocate touched her shoulder.
“You were never the problem, Skye.”
“Then who was?” Skye whispered.
But she already knew the answer.
The problem was Cassian.
Her mom noticed Skye holding the letter.
“What’s that?” she demanded.
Skye handed it to her.
Her mom read it once, then again. Her eyes widened like windows thrown open in a storm.
“Oh my God,” she whispered to Cassian. “She didn’t disappear. She wasn’t sick. She was on the run.”
Cassian froze.
“What are you talking about?”
Her mom held up the letter.
“Your mother didn’t hide Skye from them. She hid Skye from you.”
Cassian stumbled back like the air got punched out of him.
“I would never—”
Her mom cut him off.
“Your mother believed you would be forced into inheriting the trust your father built. And that trust included this entire system. These contracts. These children.”
Cassian’s eyes widened with horror.
“She thought if I knew about Skye,” he whispered, broken, “I would let the system claim her.”
Her mom nodded slowly.
“She feared you’d sign whatever they gave you because you always did. Because you were raised to.”
Cassian’s breathing turned uneven.
“My mother ran,” he murmured. “She faked her death. She protected a stranger’s child because she didn’t trust me to choose people over power.”
Skye stepped closer.
“So I’m the reason she disappeared?”
Cassian knelt, his face crumbling.
“No,” he whispered. “No. She disappeared because I wasn’t strong enough to protect you. She did what I didn’t know how to do.”
Skye’s voice trembled.
“Am I your family?”
Cassian didn’t answer.
Not because he didn’t want to.
But because he finally knew the truth.
Immani hadn’t protected Skye from the system.
She’d protected Skye from her own son.
The officials called everyone back in.
Chairperson Hart adjusted her papers.
“We have new information.”
Cassian stood behind Skye like a shield. Not because the rules said he had to, but because the truth had shattered him.
“The petitioner, Immani Voss,” Hart continued, “filed a request before her disappearance to remove Cassian Voss’s legal authority over any trust children unless he met strict conditions.”
Cassian blinked.
“Conditions?” Hart read from the page. “To separate Cassian from the inheritance system and prove he is capable of protecting a child without financial motive.”
Skye gasped softly.
“She made a test,” Cassian whispered. “For me.”
“Until such conditions were met,” Hart continued, “all provisional guardianship is transferred to the child’s biological family line through the mother.”
Her mom covered her mouth.
Skye squeezed her mother’s hand.
“And,” Hart added, “Immani left a handwritten directive for this board.”
She lifted a small note.
“‘This child is not transferable under any circumstance. Her record must be restored to the name she lives under. Her trust remains dormant, inaccessible until she is ready. She is not a number. She is not a vote. She is a child. And she belongs with her mother.’”
Her mom broke.
Cassian bowed his head, tears finally falling.
Aunt Diane sobbed silently.
“And the contract?” Cassian asked.
“It is hereby void,” Hart said.
Skye’s knees nearly buckled with relief.
But then Chairperson Hart cleared her throat again.
“One more thing,” she said.
The room held its breath.
“There is a second directive, addressed to the child. To be opened privately, with Cassian present.”
A small room. A table. Two chairs.
Cassian and Skye sat together, facing the sealed envelope left by Immani Voss.
Skye slid her tiny thumb under the flap and opened it. Cassian watched, shaking.
Skye unfolded the letter. Her eyes widened, then widened more. She read it once. Twice. Her breath hitched.
“Mr. Cassian,” she whispered, “I think you need to read this.”
He took the paper with trembling hands.
His eyes scanned the page and everything in him shattered.
The letter said:
Cassian, if you’re reading this, it means Skye is safe. Good. Now you must know the truth. She is not just tied to your paperwork. She is tied to your past. Your father had another child, a daughter. He hid her. He hid Skye’s mother. Skye is not just a contract. She is not just a name. She is your sister’s daughter. She is your niece, and you are her only living Voss blood relative. Protect her better than you protected me. — Immani.
Cassian’s face collapsed.
Skye stared up at him.
“I’m your niece,” she whispered.
Cassian nodded slowly, tears striking the table.
“And I almost let a system take you,” he choked.
Skye reached out, her small hand touching his trembling one.
“You didn’t know,” she whispered.
Cassian looked at her like she was the last piece of his mother he’d been given a second chance to protect.
“I didn’t know,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “But I do now. And I’m not letting anyone write your story again.”
Skye leaned into him.
For the first time, he didn’t look afraid.
He looked like family.
Outside the hearing room, her mom waited, pacing. Aunt Diane sat with her head in her hands.
When the door opened, her mom rushed forward.
“What did it say?” she asked.
Cassian handed her the letter.
Her mom read it, hand over her mouth.
“‘Your father had another daughter,’” she whispered. “He hid my entire existence.”
Cassian nodded.
“And my mother spent her last years protecting Skye from the same system that destroyed her own life.”
Her mom looked at him differently now. Not with anger. With something else.
Understanding, maybe.
“So you really didn’t know,” she said softly.
“I didn’t know,” Cassian said. “But I should have asked more questions. I should have fought harder against the system I inherited instead of just managing it.”
Skye stepped between them.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
Her mom knelt down, pulling her close.
“Now you come home with me, where you’ve always belonged.”
Cassian knelt too.
“But I’d like to be part of your life,” he said quietly. “If you’ll let me. Not as a guardian. Not on paper. Just as family.”
Skye looked at her mom.
Her mom nodded slowly.
“Family,” she said. “On our terms. No contracts. No paperwork. No lawyers deciding for us.”
Cassian’s voice cracked.
“No contracts.”
Skye looked between them. Her mom, who raised her. Her uncle, who didn’t know she existed until now.
“Can I have both?” she whispered.
Her mom smiled through tears.
“Baby, you always could. We just had to fight to make it real.”
They walked out of the building together. The California sun was bright and warm. Skye held her mom’s hand on one side. Cassian walked on the other. Not holding her hand. Not yet. But close enough that she knew he wouldn’t disappear.
Aunt Diane followed behind. Quiet, guilty, but there.
“What about the other kids?” Skye asked. “The ones in the folders.”
Cassian stopped walking.
“What about them?”
“Are you going to help them too?” she asked.
Cassian looked at her mom, then back at Skye.
“Yes,” he said. “I am. Starting today.”
Skye nodded.
“Good,” she said, “because nobody should have two names they didn’t ask for.”
Her mom squeezed her hand.
Cassian smiled. Small, broken, but real.
And for the first time in seven years, Skye’s name belonged only to her.
The twist was complete.
Skye wasn’t being taken away.
She was being returned to herself. To her mother. To the family she never knew she had.
And this time, nobody else got to write the ending.
The drive home was quiet. Not the bad kind of quiet. The kind where everyone’s too tired to pretend anymore.
Skye sat in the back seat watching streetlights slide past. Her mom drove, Aunt Diane in the passenger seat. Cassian followed behind in his own car.
When they pulled up to the apartment, Cassian didn’t leave. He stood by his car, hands in his pockets, looking lost.
Her mom noticed.
“You coming up?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“I don’t want to overstep.”
“Cassian,” her mom said firmly, “you’re family now. That means you get to overstep sometimes.”
Something broke in his face.
Relief, maybe.
They climbed the stairs together.
Inside, Aunt Diane made coffee. Her mom pulled out leftovers. Cassian sat at the small kitchen table, looking around like he’d never seen a regular apartment before.
“This is where she grew up,” he said quietly.
Her mom nodded.
“Every day, right here.”
“While I was in a tower with her name on paperwork I never read,” he said. His voice cracked. “How do I make that right?”
Her mom set a mug in front of him.
“You already started. You showed up. You fought. You chose her. But my mother—your mother—did what she thought she had to do,” she said. “Now you get to do different. Better.”
Skye climbed onto the chair next to Cassian.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he said.
“What was she like? Your mom. My grandma.”
Cassian’s eyes filled.
“Fierce,” he said. “She didn’t back down from anything. She had this way of looking at you that made you want to be better than you were.”
“Like she’s looking now?” Skye asked.
He smiled through tears.
“Yeah. Like she’s looking now.”
Aunt Diane brought over a small box.
“I kept this from the hospital. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
She opened it.
Inside was a tiny hospital bracelet. SKYE VOSS written in faded ink. Underneath it, a note in handwriting Skye recognized from the letters.
For the day she asks who she really is. Tell her she is loved. She is free. She is exactly who she’s supposed to be. — Immani.
The room went silent.
Her mom covered her mouth.
Cassian pressed his hands to his eyes.
Skye picked up the bracelet, held it gently.
“She knew,” Skye whispered. “She knew I’d find out.”
“She hoped you would,” Cassian said. “When you were ready. When I was ready.”
Skye looked at him.
“Are you ready now?”
He nodded.
“I am.”
“Good,” Skye said.
She handed him back the bracelet.
“Because I need my uncle to help me with something.”
“What?”
“There are forty-six other kids,” she said. “The ones in the folders at the hearing. You said you’d help them.”
Cassian sat up straighter.
“I will.”
“I want to help too,” Skye said.
Her mom started to protest.
“Baby, you’re seven—”
“I’m seven and I know what it feels like,” Skye interrupted. “To have two names. To feel like you’re not real. They need someone who understands.”
Cassian looked at her mom.
“She’s right,” he said.
Her mom sighed.
“When did my daughter get so wise?”
“She gets it from her grandmother,” Cassian said softly. “Both of them.”
Aunt Diane wiped her eyes.
“So what happens now?”
Skye stood on her chair.
“Now Uncle Cassian fixes the paperwork. Mama keeps me safe. Aunt Diane stops signing things without reading them.”
Aunt Diane laughed through tears.
“Deal.”
“And I get to be just Skye,” she finished. “One name. One life. Mine.”
Her mom pulled her into a hug.
“Just Skye. I like the sound of that.”
Cassian stood, extended his hand to her mom.
She looked at it, then pushed it aside and hugged him instead.
“Family doesn’t shake hands,” she whispered.
He held on tight.
Family doesn’t shake hands.
Later that night, after Cassian left and Aunt Diane went home, Skye lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Her mom came in and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Mama?” Skye said. “Do you think Grandma Immani would be proud?”
Her mom smiled and kissed her forehead.
“Baby, I think she’s been proud since the day you were born. She just had to wait for the rest of us to catch up.”
Skye closed her eyes.
Somewhere out there, a grandmother she never met had fought a whole system to keep her safe. And now that grandmother’s son was doing the same for forty-six other kids.
The contract was void. The hearing was over. The name was hers.
But the story—the story was just beginning.
Because Skye Brooks wasn’t just a girl who survived the system.
She was the girl who would help tear it down.
One name at a time.
What a journey. From a scared little girl with two names to a girl ready to help forty-six other children find their freedom.
