Kicked Out I Unlocked My Ultimate Boss Mode novel Chapter 1

**Title: Broken Doesn’t Mean End**
**By M. Kaushik**

**Chapter 1: Half a Mil, for Your Funeral**

“Helen, the Morgans have raised you for twenty years. We’ve done more than enough. Will you sign the papers?”

Jacob Morgan slid a hefty stack of legal documents across the polished mahogany desk, the sound of paper rustling filling the quiet room.

With an air of detached indifference, he nudged a check toward her, its surface gleaming under the soft light. “Here’s five hundred thousand dollars,” he stated flatly, his voice devoid of warmth. “Consider it compensation. After all, we were father and daughter once.”

Helen stood rigidly before the desk, the faint, lingering scent of lavender wafting through the air, a stark contrast to the chill that enveloped her heart. A cold smile danced in her eyes, betraying the storm of emotions brewing within.

“Five hundred thousand?” she echoed, her lips curling into a mocking smirk. “To buy out two decades of my life? Am I truly that cheap in your eyes, Jacob? Or is this paltry sum all the illustrious Morgans can muster?”

Just three months prior, the Morgans had unearthed the truth: Helen was not their biological daughter. They had spent a fortune tracking her down, finally locating Lydia Morgan, their true daughter.

With Lydia now back in the fold, Helen, who had been discarded like unwanted trash in the countryside as a child and only brought back into the family four years ago, had suddenly become expendable.

“What? Five hundred grand isn’t enough for you?” Sienna Blyth’s expression twisted in disgust, her perfectly manicured nails tapping sharply against the desk, a rhythmic reminder of her irritation. “Your real family in that backwater town would take years to earn that! Stop being so ungrateful and just sign it! Once you do, you and the Morgans are finished. It’ll be a clean break!”

“Mom, please, don’t say that…” Helen’s thoughts raced, the truth of Sienna’s words hitting her like a cold wave. It was indeed what they said—money refines a person. In just two months back in the mansion, she had transformed into a picture-perfect heiress: her hair curled flawlessly, adorned in designer tweed and diamond earrings that sparkled like stars in the sunlight.

Her face was sweet and gentle, her voice dripped with honeyed charm. “Helen has grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle for so long, living in a mansion as a wealthy heiress. It’s only natural she would hesitate to return to… rural living.”

She had heard all about Helen’s origins. Dirt poor.

A bedridden grandfather, a deadbeat father who couldn’t hold a job, and three brothers who were too impoverished to marry.

Their entire family was a nest of parasites, clinging desperately to the hope of a better life.

Helen would likely be sold off for money the moment she returned to that life.

A smug satisfaction curled within Lydia as she emphasized the word “rural,” keenly observing Helen’s reaction.

When her gaze fell upon Helen’s face, stunning even under the harsh afternoon light, a flicker of envy pierced through her.

She tilted her head, her voice still dripping with syrupy sweetness. “I heard your family lives in one of those… low-income neighborhoods? But still, blood is thicker than water. It’s better to return to your real family than to stay here, begging for kindness, right?”

She stressed the word “real,” lacing it with triumphant glee.

The entire performance was so theatrically pathetic that it nearly made Helen laugh aloud. “Is that what happens when you spend too long in the gutter, Lydia? Forgetting basic manners now that you’re back among the civilized?”

Helen’s cool gaze swept over her, unflinching. “Can’t complain. I suppose it’s in the blood.”

That single line sliced through the Morgans like a sharp knife.

Sienna’s face turned crimson, her palm slamming onto the desk as she shot to her feet, ready to explode with indignation.

However, Helen’s composed voice cut through the tension like a knife. “I’ll sign.”

Sienna’s tirade died abruptly in her throat, disbelief washing over her.

Helen reached for the pen, her heart racing, but she didn’t bother to read a single clause.

The nib met the paper, and in three swift, flowing strokes, she inscribed her name.

Helen Walcott. The name flowed from the pen in sharp, elegant strokes—unhesitating, unregretful, final.

When she finished, she flicked the pen aside carelessly, the sound of it clattering against the papers echoing in the silence.

Her slender fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the check, a gesture that sent a wave of contempt washing over Sienna. See?

As expected. Poor genes will always be trashy, after all.

So easily bought off by a mere five hundred thousand.

But then…

Helen picked up the check, her expression shifting as she deftly snapped her fingers, sending the slip of paper fluttering through the air to smack Jacob squarely in the face.

Her voice, cold and clear, followed like a winter breeze. “Keep that five hundred thousand of yours. Consider it my contribution. Save it so you Morgans can buy your own graves.”

The check plastered against Jacob’s face felt like a stinging slap to the entire family.

“Helen!” Jacob ripped it off, his face flushed with fury.

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