The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers

Chapter 1 Kicked Out Of Home "How could you do such a thing? What kind of sister would wish harm on her own brother?" he said, his words splintered by a violent cough. "I should've listened to Stacey. She warned me about the poison!" Nicolas Kirk's hand trembled as he flung the bowl at Rylie Kirk's feet, the crash ringing out across the room. Bl**d stained his lips while fury contorted his face. Rylie's expression flickered as she looked down at the ruined medicine, disappointment shadowing her features. "I keep telling you, Nicolas, there's nothing deadly in the medicine. It contains an ingredient that purges the old bl**d, which you need if you ever want to recover," said Rylie. Watching the medicine soak into the carpet, she winced inwardly, knowing how much effort and money she had poured into finding the right remedy for her eldest brother. Stacey Kirk, the adopted daughter of the Kirk family, stood at Nicolas' side, her arms wrapped protectively around the medical text that she always carried. She raised her voice, tears prickling at her eyes. "Please, Rylie, just stop making excuses. Leland ran tests on your concoction, and the results were dangerous. It's full of toxins!" Cold skepticism crossed Rylie's face as she met Stacey's gaze. "You complete f**l," Rylie said. "There isn't a medicine in this world that's entirely safe, especially not for what Nicolas is suffering from. The only way to fight back is with a powerful dose. There's nothing mild that could work on him." Stacey could barely contain her tears, her voice quivering as she pleaded with Rylie, "He's spitting up bl**d right in front of us, and you're still insisting this is the only way? We're just medical students, Rylie, not miracle workers. Don't put your pride above Nicolas' life." Taking a shaky step toward Rylie, Stacey continued, her words thick with emotion, "I found a well-known specialist. He's already written a prescription that might actually save Nicolas. Admit you were wrong and let us try. Please." Nicolas doubled over, hacking up bl**d, and fixed Rylie with a glare that burned with outrage. "It wasn't enough that you fed me that mystery medicine, now you turn on Stacey too? If you had even a fraction of her compassion, things wouldn't have come to this," Nicolas snapped. "Apologize to her, right now!" Rylie straightened her shoulders and faced Nicolas with an unflinching stare. "All I ever wanted was to help you. I have done nothing that warrants an apology. I owe her nothing." Desperation twisted Nicolas' features as he scrambled to his feet, snatching a whip from the wall in a blind rage. "That's it! You're going to push me into an early grave! Why can't you ever listen?" he shouted. "Get out! I don't want you here!" Before the whip could lash out, Rylie shifted away, nimble and unafraid. From the upper landing, someone's measured steps echoed, and a battered backpack landed at her toes. Leland Kirk, her second brother, stood at the base of the stairs. His tone cut through the air. "Let's lay it out plainly. You're just an outsider, and Stacey is our true sibling. We've kept this secret for your sake, hoping you wouldn't resent her, but today, we see just how cruel you can be. If you refuse to admit your mistakes, pack your things. We'll announce Stacey as our one and only sister. Your fortune goes with your name -- you'll have to go back to your birth family and live as they do." Such a threat didn't faze Rylie. Years of living in the Kirk household had worn down her patience. However, the revelation that she was not bound to them by bl**d came almost as a blessing. Her ch**t felt unburdened, lighter than it had in years. There was no need to waste any more of her knowledge or talent on a house that never valued her. The thought had struck her as odd -- she always wondered why she stood out among siblings who never seemed to measure up. "That suits me just fine." Rylie's voice held not a hint of regret. With quick fingers, she snatched up the backpack, plucked a candy from the bowl, and let it dissolve on her tongue as she strode for the door. Left in the hallway, Stacey could not hold back a grin of satisfaction. Five years of plotting had finally paid off. With Rylie gone, she would be the Kirk family's prized daughter, adored and indulged by her brothers. Still, she could not resist a final performance. She darted after Rylie, her voice ringing out. "Rylie! Don't leave like this! You'll always have a place here! Please, don't make me feel like the villain. I'm begging you!" Nicolas interjected sharply, "Enough, Stacey! Let her go. A heart as cold as hers belongs to her own impoverished family. She never deserved this home." A cold laugh escaped Rylie when she overheard him. Was everyone in the Kirk family so easily fooled? Did they genuinely believe that it was sheer luck that had brought Nicolas back to health, gotten him out of bed, and made him able to walk again? Without her hands and her medicine, they'd see soon enough just how far good fortune could take him. Drawing the hood over her head, Rylie let the breeze whip strands of hair across her vivid lips, a flicker of scorn glinting in her eyes. ... Far away, inside the bustling capital city of Kouhron, the imposing Owen Mansion stood as a symbol of influence and wealth. Within that opulent hall, Kendrick Owen struck his ornate cane against the marble floor. "You all promised she'd been located. Why is she still not here?" Arrayed around him stood his three grandsons -- each a commanding presence in his own right, men whose names carried enough weight that even the highest government officials paid their respects. Yet, despite their stature, the shadow of their missing youngest sister dimmed their confidence, and their faces bore deep lines of worry. "Our search stalled in Crolens. According to the latest report, she spent some years in a mountain village, but after being trafficked, her whereabouts vanished from every record." Agony creased Kendrick's expression. "For eighteen years, that child has been gone. Imagine the hardships she's endured in a place like that." "Grandfather, there's been progress. One of the kidnappers came forward and claimed she was later sold to a rich woman in Crolens. We only need a bit more time -- her discovery is within reach." Relief softened Kendrick's features. No trace of irritation remained as he rose from his chair, hope radiating from his gaze. "In that case, let's not delay. I'm coming with you. We'll search together." Chapter 2 Versatile Rylie A heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, Rylie walked out of the Kirk residence without a backward glance, heading directly to the parking lot where her prized, limited-edition motorcycle waited. Years of downplaying her skills and masking her sharpness for the sake of the Kirk family's fragile peace were finally behind her. Freedom now tasted real. Down the city streets, her motorcycle roared, slicing through the afternoon air until she arrived at the imposing entrance of a gated community near a military compound. At the checkpoint, security protocols ran tight as always, but the instant Rylie's motorcycle appeared, the guard broke into a broad smile and opened the gate wide. "Miss Kirk, your visits are always a welcome surprise." With a practiced motion, Rylie flipped up her visor and gave a polite nod. Inside, cherry blossom petals scented the breeze, and several retired officers meandered beneath the blooming trees. Spotting her approach, they made their way over. "Look who's back -- Rylie, I was just about to see you. I've run out of those pills you mixed up for me last time." Her motorcycle came to a halt as she peeled off her helmet, her gentle features drawing nods of approval. "You can swing by the clinic tomorrow. I'll be here all day if you need a refill." Catching sight of another familiar face, she gestured toward an elderly man still sporting a neck brace. "As for you, I've told you before that brace is only making things worse for your neck." An embarrassed grin spread across his face as he removed the brace. "Would you at least allow me to try a few easy exercises?" "Take it slow, and don't do anything reckless," said Rylie, stepping inside an apartment building. Long ago, her connection to this community began unexpectedly. During a visit to the Military General Hospital to buy medicine, she had encountered an elderly man suffering from epilepsy. With a prescription that targeted his condition at the root, she gave him relief that no other doctor had managed. That stranger turned out to be a celebrated, now-retired clinical specialist. Awed by Rylie's abilities, he insisted on calling her his savior and offered her an apartment in the community as thanks. Easy rapport filled the community, and its prime location made life peaceful and convenient. In time, Rylie had come to see this place as the home that she had always needed. As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, lights flickered on and a soft, familiar mechanical voice greeted her. "Welcome home, Rylie. You've been gone for three days. There are two encrypted voicemails waiting, your email inbox has new messages, and your bath is ready." Her backpack landed with a thud on the floor, sending the zipper flying open. A thick bundle of cash spilled out, scattering across the entryway. She stared at the pile of bills, guessing that it must total around ten grand. The sound that escaped her lips was half a chuckle, half a sneer. Was that really all the Kirks thought she was worth, tossing money her way like she was some beggar? "Play my messages," she said. Britton Davies' voice filled the room first, recorded late the previous evening. "Hey, Rylie, registration for the relay's almost up -- two practice runs down already! Are you honestly still clinging to the Kirks? For real? I've been wiping the floor with Phillip these past few days!" A slight arch in her brow gave away her recognition. Phillip Kirk, her third brother, ran one of the most exclusive racing clubs in the world, churning out champions and stacking up prize money. Long nights spent behind the wheel were her secret, pushing his team to one victory after another. Yet each season, as the finals approached, Phillip would swap her out for Stacey, handing over the glory and the gold. Year after year, her skills powered their success, but when the spotlight appeared, Stacey was ushered in for the celebration, leaving Rylie invisible to the crowd. Trophies meant little to her. In those days, protecting her family's ego mattered more. But now... A grin spread across her face as she called Britton. "I want half of the prize money." Whatever disappointment Britton had felt vanished at once. "Done! Phillip's team doesn't scare me. I've mapped out every move they make, but when you're behind the wheel, nobody can keep up. I never lose to him, Rylie -- I always lose to you!" A small laugh escaped Rylie as she let out a soft sigh. "You've noticed it too. Funny how obvious it is, but they still manage to overlook everything I do." Curiosity lit Britton's voice as he switched topics. "By the way, something else came up. There's been chatter on the dark web about the Owen family -- the wealthiest folks in Kouhron. Word is, they're here in Crolens, searching for their missing daughter and throwing around serious money for information. Think we should get involved?" Without hesitation, Rylie answered, "No interest. I have finals coming up, so I'll pass. See you." On Britton's end, confusion crept in. Of all the reasons to bail, exams were the last thing that he would expect from Rylie. As far as he could recall, she never even showed up for tests. The truth was, she was the one who wrote them. Chapter 3 Invitation Rylie moved on to the next voicemail, which turned out to be from Rory Carter, one of the most respected physicians at the Military General Hospital. A note of flattery colored Rory's tone as he spoke. "Rylie, I'm really in a bind. One of my old friend's sons has battled a rare illness for years, and his health is declining again. Those special pills you provided aren't helping him any longer. Is there any chance you could stop by and take a look?" Pulling out her phone, Rylie dialed him back. "I'll come to the clinic after classes tomorrow evening. Tell him to swing by then." Rory cut in with an apologetic sigh, saying, "He's stuck in the VIP wing at the hospital, and strict protocols mean he can't leave." Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Rylie pressed for details. "Enough stalling, Rory. Who's the patient?" After a pause, Rory's voice dropped to a whisper, saying, "It's Brad Morgan. Yes, the grandson of General Sean Morgan. This isn't just any case -- the Morgans have discreetly reached out to top doctors nationwide. They're offering twenty million dollars to anyone who can cure him." An arched eyebrow was all the reaction Rylie gave. The Morgan family was legendary, led by Sean Morgan, a formidable general. He was a man even the President deferred to. The name Brad Morgan brought back memories -- she remembered reading about him in the news. Only thirty and already hailed as the youngest admiral of his era, his string of military victories made headlines everywhere. That revelation puzzled Rylie. Something could actually bring down a man like Brad? Her next move was to check her encrypted contract inbox, and sure enough, there sat an official invitation from the National Healthcare Department. Working under the codename "Healing Hand" on the dark web, she had built a reputation for tackling medical mysteries, and eventually gathered an elite team of her own. It seemed natural that the government would come looking for her. Keeping her composure, Rylie responded, "I see the message. That reward would tempt anyone. I'll take the case." Meanwhile, word of the Morgan family's urgent call reached the Kirks as well. Leland sprang into action, already strategizing and dialing contacts in hopes of getting their foot in the door. Always just out of reach of the upper society, the Kirk family saw this as their shot. Healing Brad would mean acceptance into the highest social circles at last. Another rumor had set the city abuzz: the wealthiest family in Kouhron landed in Crolens, promising a mind-blowing sum to anyone who could lead them to their missing daughter. People all across town had dropped everything, desperate for a piece of the reward. ... The next day. The shrill ring of her phone yanked Rylie from sleep. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed. On the other end was Timothy Powell -- her research advisor -- barely masking his irritation. "Rylie! I told you to handle the data organization, but you're nowhere in sight. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of my research group? Stacey was here right at dawn. I expect you here immediately!" She offered no answer, choosing instead to end the call and glance at the clock. The digits read ten o'clock. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Lost in old medical texts, she'd worked long hours sorting through ancient prescriptions, and now she had overslept, letting Timothy's task slip her mind. A yawn escaped as she flipped open her laptop, sent off a quick email, and hurried to get ready. Backpack in tow, she stepped out the door. Her motorcycle zipped through city streets until she pulled up in front of the university lab. After finding a spot, she strode toward the entrance. She pulled out her pass and swiped it, only to watch the screen blink and flash a denial -- her access had been revoked. At that moment, the lab doors swung open and out came Stacey, flanked by two upperclassmen from the research team. A mocking smile twisted one guy's lips as he spotted her dilemma. "So, Rylie, you think you're special? Turning up late, ditching your work -- looks like you finally pushed Professor Powell too far. Lab access is locked, and your days here are over!" Chapter 4 I'm Expelling You Stacey tugged at the man's sleeve and said with a hint of grievance, "Rylie was late because she was in a bad mood. You should go and plead with Professor Powell on her behalf. If she's kicked out of this project, how will she maintain her reputation at school? No professor would risk taking her on, and she'd never graduate." Even as she spoke, excitement flickered in Stacey's eyes, barely masked by her sympathetic tone. The prospect of Rylie's downfall was almost too delicious to hide. If Rylie really got expelled, surely she would have no choice but to come back pleading. But the scene didn't play out the way Stacey had hoped. Rylie's answer was blunt and left no room for argument. "That's perfect. I never intended to stick around. I'm out of the project. I already sent my withdrawal report to Professor Powell this morning. Tell him to approve it." Her trip here wasn't for the team -- it was to collect her carefully developed Nexo-7 compound, the key ingredient that she had been growing for months for a rare genetic remedy. Stacey's face faltered at that. "You're quitting the group?" Without missing a beat, Rylie nodded and stepped past them, but Stacey's grip shot out, latching onto her wrist. "Please don't let impulse get the better of you, Rylie! We're nearly done with this phase, and the medical competition's coming up. This isn't just about you -- there's a team counting on you! You can't just walk away." The man cast Stacey a critical look. "You shouldn't give her special treatment just because you're related, Stacey." Rylie turned her gaze on Stacey, arching a brow. "Is your concern for me genuine, or is this just another act?" "Absolutely, I am really concerned," Stacey insisted, nodding eagerly. The urge to laugh nearly escaped Rylie, her tone laced with derision. "Be serious. You've seen what your team can do even with my help -- and it's not much. Six months, and you haven't achieved a thing. You're all lost causes, so of course I'm leaving." Everything about the research group's progress came down to Rylie -- her organization, her direction, her experimental designs. Without her, Timothy's grand ambitions in clinical medicine and AI were just wishful thinking. The others fumbled through experiments, never getting close to real breakthroughs. With a dismissive snort, Rylie reached out and tapped Stacey's cheek, her words cold. "Don't fool yourself. You're not family, and I'm not here to babysit incompetence in the lab." A surge of tears filled Stacey's eyes, her voice tight with shock. Ever since Rylie had been shown the door at home, she had turned into someone unrecognizable -- brazen, stubborn, completely unwilling to listen. It drove Stacey mad. "Rylie! Don't flatter yourself -- the research doesn't revolve around you. You wouldn't even be part of this team if Stacey hadn't vouched for you in the first place!" Patience snapping, the man lunged at Rylie, intending to shove her aside. But Rylie moved first, gripping his wrist and twisting it sharply. "Ah!" A cry of pain erupted from him as he doubled over, hand clutching his now-dislocated arm, disbelief written all over his face. Rylie merely dusted off her hands and shot the group a cold glance. "Aren't you all future doctors? Surely setting a joint isn't beyond your skills." Without wasting another word, she brushed past them, entered the lab through the open doors, and collected her prized compound. While inside, she fed the latest core AI research notes into the shredder, ensuring that her work would not be stolen. Moments later, Rylie stepped back out, vial in hand, just as Timothy stormed into the hallway. One glance at the scene -- a student whimpering, the others shaken -- and Timothy's anger boiled over. He jabbed a finger at Rylie. "You're always scraping by in class, using the lab for naps, and now you're assaulting your own teammates? Do you honestly believe my research team has any need for someone like you? From now on, you're no longer a member of the team! And I--" Growing impatient, Rylie interjected, "Didn't you read my email? I already sent in my resignation." Timothy hesitated, then fumbled for his phone and scanned his inbox. Sure enough, there was Rylie's formal withdrawal. He scoffed, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous, "You must be out of your mind, Rylie. Do you know how many students would k**l for a place on my team? Let me make this clear: you don't get to quit -- I'm expelling you. I'll post the official notice on the university website for everyone to see." Timothy had expected her to back down, maybe beg for another chance. But he had clearly misjudged her resolve. Rylie shrugged, tossing out a dismissive, "Whatever," and was halfway out the door when sudden shouts erupted nearby. A frantic voice cut through the noise. "Somebody just collapsed!" Instinct overriding her exit, Rylie pivoted toward the commotion. A small knot of medical students clustered around the person sprawled on the floor. She wasted no time barking instructions. "Give him space -- don't crowd, let some air in." These were all medical students, and certainly, they knew this knowledge. Immediately, they stepped back, forming a loose circle. Dropping to one knee, Rylie sized up the unconscious man. His face, pale but striking, caught her attention for only a second before her hands moved to assess his condition. Her fingers quickly found his trachea -- shifted, not where it should be. She was about to examine his ch**t when Timothy charged onto the scene, voice booming. "Out of the way! Let me through!" Without hesitating, Rylie grabbed her portable medical kit, but Timothy shouted at her, "You have no business treating anyone! You're just an inexperienced student, not a doctor!" Stacey hustled over, siding with Timothy. "Rylie, listen to Professor Powell. If something goes wrong, it's on you. He's the expert here, not you." Chapter 5 Anything But Ordinary Rylie ignored Timothy and Stacey and busied herself with the medical kit. She took out a decompression needle, felt the patient's ch**t, and unbuttoned his shirt to prepare for the procedure. Her calm defiance caught Timothy's eye, prompting him to step directly in her path. "Look at him -- clammy skin, ghostly complexion, and he collapsed in this sweltering heat. This is textbook heatstroke, maybe worsened by heart trouble. The right call is CPR. Bring him back that way!" Stacey didn't waste a moment piling on. "Rylie, for once, just do as Professor Powell says. You nearly k**led Nicolas with the wrong medicine yesterday. If you keep going like this, you'll end up in court!" With Stacey stirring things up, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Hidden among the onlookers, some of Stacey's friends chimed in about Rylie's supposed poor grades, spreading doubt and fanning resentment. At the edge of the crowd, a team from the nearby bio-research institute took notice and started moving closer. Rylie's expression chilled as she seized Timothy's hands, halting his attempt at ch**t compressions. "This man's not drawing a single breath, and his trachea's off-center. He's got a tension pneumothorax. If you start CPR now, you'll just make things worse." Such a challenge to his expertise -- especially in front of his students -- left Timothy red-faced. Yet, several research group members rallied around him, echoing his diagnosis. "Rylie, stop spreading nonsense. Professor Powell's the expert here, not you!" Unfazed, Rylie shook off Timothy's grasp, disinfected her instruments, and replied, "Cold sweats, pallor, collapse -- pneumothorax can look just like heatstroke. But if you bother to check for a shifted trachea or a drum-like ch**t, you'll see the difference. Guess that's lost on a quack." Her sharp words prompted a few medical students to lean in and study the patient themselves, curiosity overtaking their doubt. "It looks like Rylie's diagnosis holds up," one student admitted, and Timothy's expression turned even grimmer. Back straight and voice steady, Timothy retorted, "You're nothing more than a glorified assistant who just files paperwork, yet you think you're an expert? If you can revive him with that needle, the mentor's chair is yours!" Rylie didn't waste another word. She finished sterilizing, deftly inserted the decompression needle, and with a sharp hiss, trapped air rushed out. Color crept back into the patient's face as his breathing returned at once. "She was right all along! He had a pneumothorax!" a student shouted, awe coloring every word. Recognition dawned across the faces in the room as those with medical training pieced together what had just happened -- Timothy's assessment had been mistaken. One student voiced what everyone was thinking. "If Rylie hadn't stood her ground and Professor Powell had pushed on with CPR, we would have had a disaster on our hands." Even so, Timothy scrambled for justification. "Well... you've all misunderstood me. I actually recognized it was pneumothorax all along." In an attempt to salvage his authority, he looked down at Rylie and the group, adding, "My intention was only to test Rylie. She has a reputation for cutting corners, after all." Before she could get a word out, the patient -- still weak, yet now radiating a quiet power -- interrupted from the floor. "Did you risk my life just to prove a point with your student? That hardly qualifies you as a doctor, let alone a teacher." Despite his lingering frailty, this man rose, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Those striking features, combined with an unmistakable force of will, made Rylie sense that his identity was anything but ordinary. She regarded him calmly and gave a simple instruction. "Save your strength and let the campus hospital run further tests." The man nodded and, with a hoarse voice, said to Timothy, "You should apologize to my savior." When he heard this, Timothy's composure slipped. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" Not missing her chance to gain approval, Stacey chimed in quickly, "Rylie, Professor Powell's intentions were good. He cares about your growth. A kind teacher like him shouldn't have to apologize." "And why shouldn't he?" A sharp retort cut through the crowd... ...... What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &2&