The always composed Benjamin spoke with an unmistakable hoarseness in his voice.
“Uncle Monroe, do you really think we still need that ridiculous DNA test?”
“If this isn’t my little sister, then who else could it be?!”
There was no one else.
People always said that the girl at home resembled their little sister.
To him, not even close.
This was his sister.
Even with a dirty face, even after being abducted—she was still clutching her candy, staring at the camera with a proud yet adorable look, as if she had just woken up.
Her big, bright, watery eyes.
Her small, chubby, fair face.
And—
She was wearing the tiger-head hat that he and his sixth brother had made for her.
Because they had sewn it themselves, the embroidery of the "king" symbol on the forehead was completely crooked.
