My parents were textbook narcissists. My dad was obsessed with making money and never gave a damn about his family. My mom was a total princess. All she ever cared about was pampering herself—never whether I lived or died. The year they got divorced, the judge asked me who I wanted to live with. I said, "Neither." After that, I was sent to an orphanage. I spent three years there, learning firsthand how cold people could be. I also learned something even more valuable—how to survive, fight back, and win in a dog-eat-dog world. On the day I started college, my dad texted me. Dad: Dad's company needs investors. Marry into a wealthy family, and we can finally be a real family again. A message from my mom popped up right after. Mom: Mom found true love, but his son has kidney failure. Can you get tested? If you're a match, you can donate a kidney. I stared at those two messages, then looked up at the man sitting across from me. They abandoned me once. Now they wanted to squeeze every last drop of value out of me. Fine. Don't blame me for playing dirty. I sent them both the same one-word reply. Sharon: Pass.