Author: Momo Chan

Every time we do a split-the-bill dinner, Valerie always finds a way to skip out. After eating her fill, she either plays dead or suddenly “remembers” she has something urgent to do. If anyone asks her for her share, she gives them a sideways look. “Everybody ate, so why should I pay more? We all breathed the air, too—why don’t you charge for that?” Because she has connections higher up, most people just swallow their frustration. Since I was new, I volunteered to organize a company dinner and suggested we split the cost. Val zeroed in on this, ate, and then tried to avoid paying. Then she pretended to have a seizure to get out of it, thinking I’d let it go. I smiled. She had no idea I’m not one to back down. Content “What is this? It’s terrible.” Val grimaced, forcing down another bite. “It’s something my mom spent weeks making just so she could send it to me,” Megan replied, staring at the empty wrappers in front of Val in shock. Val made a sound of disdain, spitting out what was left. “Didn’t you say I could eat it?” Megan’s face reddened, and her eyes filled with tears. “I offered you one to try, not the whole batch. Why would you eat all of it?” She couldn’t hold back anymore and started crying. Val raised a brow dismissively. “Really? It’s just a little food. I’ll pay you back next time, and honestly, it wasn’t even that good. I can’t believe you’re crying—people will think I bullied you or something.” Just as I set my laptop down, I caught the end of their argument. Curious, I asked the person next to me, “What’s going on? Why is she crying so hard?” My colleague rolled her eyes at Val before answering. “You’re new, so you wouldn’t know, but Val’s always pulling stunts to get free stuff. We all try to steer clear of her. Megan’s new too; she just moved here from New Mexico. It’s a big deal for her to get her favorite hometown snacks. Her mom even went out of her way to make them and send them here. She tried to be nice and let Val try some, and Val went and ate the whole lot—and then criticized her mom’s cooking.” Another colleague, clearly annoyed, joined in. “’Next time,’ she says. Val never pays anyone back. If she’s not mooching, she’s cutting corners.” Megan kept crying as Val yelled over her. “You’re crying over a few snacks? Seriously, you look like some bumpkin from nowhere. Couldn’t even handle more than three dishes at a real meal.” Megan went silent, shocked into stillness by Val’s outburst, her cheeks still wet. I frowned—was this really okay? I wanted to step in, but then Director Collins called, asking me to bring some paperwork upstairs. By the time I came back down, they’d all dispersed.

At lunch, a guy mentioned, “I’m ordering takeout. I have a discount code if anyone wants to join.” He tapped my desk and asked politely, “Hey, I noticed you haven’t had lunch yet. Want me to add something for you?” I looked up from my work. “Sure, thanks! Just let me know how much, and I’ll Venmo you.” He smiled, saying we’d figure it out after he used the code. Val bustled over, her face stretching into a big smile. “Jamie, I haven’t eaten either. Could you order me something?” Jamie didn’t respond and just walked away. Val huffed, “Hmph. What a miser.” Someone nearby teased, “Val, how many times have you ‘borrowed’ lunch from Jamie? Have you ever actually paid him back?” “Oh, get over it. I carry a Chanel bag. Do you think I’d cheat him out of some takeout?” Val huffed, returning to her desk before standing up again and calling after Jamie. “Come on, order me one more time. I swear, once I owe you a full thousand, I’ll pay you back!” Jamie didn’t even look back. When the food arrived, everyone collected their orders, but one was left unclaimed. Val grabbed it while no one was watching and started eating. When Jamie came back, he slammed a contract onto her desk. “You took my food without asking?” Val chuckled. “I noticed it was just sitting there, and I didn’t want it to go to waste.” “Taking something without permission is stealing. This cost twenty bucks. Venmo me.” Val’s eyes widened. “What proof do you have that it was yours? Besides, you used a discount code—it probably covered it. You didn’t even pay for it yourself, so what right do you have to charge me?” Her twisted logic left Jamie speechless. “Val, do you have no shame? Is it a matter of life or death for you to freeload every day?” Val rolled her eyes, sneering. “I wouldn’t even care if you died, Jamie.” She looked him up and down with disdain. “You don’t even have two hundred dollars on you—don’t talk to me; you’re bad luck.” Jamie was ready to hit her, but she slammed her hand on the desk. “Do you even know who I am? I’ve got people in high places.” Val had been hired by the HR Director at the Manhattan Headquarters. Our branch office only had Project Managers, so as long as she didn’t mess up her work, no one here could do much about her.

I couldn’t take it anymore. So I smiled sweetly. “I bet that Chanel bag’s a knockoff.” Val whipped around. “What did you just say?” I shrugged. “You can’t even fork over twenty dollars. I doubt you can afford real Chanel.” She grabbed her bag and stormed over. “Are you blind? Look at the details—no fake would be this good!” I took a step back. “Oh, I get it. Everyone must have chipped in to get it for you.” “Shut up! Nobody’s that stupid!” I pointed at her half-finished food. “Little bits here, little bits there—eventually, they add up, don’t they?” Everyone stared at her. Her face turned red. She threatened, “Acting like a hero, huh? Be careful, or you might find yourself unemployed.” I looked at her, deadpan. “You’ve got spinach in your teeth. And bad breath.” The whole office burst into laughter. Humiliated, Val stomped back to her desk. She plopped down so hard that her leftovers spilled onto her Chanel bag. She shrieked, rushing to the restroom with her bag. Jamie came over to thank me, saying it had been ages since anyone had taken Val down a notch. I offered him my lunch. “I haven’t touched it, and I’ll be out soon anyway. Go ahead.” A colleague asked, “Aren’t you worried Val will come after you? I mean, she does have connections.” I threw on my Hermès bag. “Not my problem—I’ve got money.” She gave a low whistle. “Respect.”

By Friday, I wanted to get to know everyone better, so I suggested going out for dinner. “There’s a new Japanese place downstairs. I know the owner and can get us a half-off deal. It’s on me.” But they insisted that any group dinner was self-pay. They didn’t want to take advantage of me. “Fine, but I’ll still get them to throw in a few extra dishes,” I said. Jamie raised his hand first. “I’ve wanted to try that place for ages, but it’s so expensive. With a discount? I’m in!” Everyone else jumped at the chance. “Yeah, we can’t miss out on this.” I reserved a private room for ten. “Grace, add me, too! I’d love to go!” Val said, sidling up to me with a smile. I hesitated, then looked up at her. “Only if you pay your own share.” Her face tightened, but she forced a smile. “Of course! You think I’m the kind of person who wouldn’t pay? I’ll definitely pay.” I considered it, then agreed. She left, grinning. Jamie leaned over and whispered, “Don’t trust her. She always says she’ll pay but comes up with excuses every time—either she suddenly gets sick, or she leaves early. She never actually pays.” I raised an eyebrow. “So you just let it go?” He gave a resigned nod. “She owes me about five hundred in lunch money, but I can’t risk my job by confronting her.” I watched Val skip lunch that day to save room for dinner. “Don’t worry,” I told Jamie with a smile. “I’ll get your lunch money back.” She had no idea she was up against someone who’d been through worse than her cheap tricks.

I handed out the menu for everyone to choose their dishes. Even with the discount, the prices were still high, so everyone discussed their options and chose carefully. But Val snatched the menu, barely glanced at it, and ordered the most expensive sashimi, lobster, and a bottle of sake. The others were outraged. “What the hell, Val? This isn’t your treat—why are you ordering the priciest stuff?” She even slipped out to order foie gras before replying, “What’s your problem? I’m paying my share—it’s split, right? Don’t be so cheap.” The others glared as I held up my hand. “Valerie promised she’d cover her portion. Everyone, just eat. I’ll handle any extras.” When the food came, Val took as much as she could. Before anyone else had a chance, she’d already piled most of it on her plate. “Val, could you be a little considerate? We’re all supposed to share, and you’re taking everything!” She swallowed a red shrimp. “What, are your hands broken? I didn’t stop you from eating.” “Are you kidding me…?” Someone slammed the table. “You need to leave.” She crossed her legs. “Who do you think you are? Grace hasn’t said anything. Who are you to tell me what to do?” Dinner became tense. “Next time she’s at a company dinner, I’m not going,” one person muttered under their breath. As the meal ended, Val clutched her stomach. “I need the restroom.” I blocked her. “Pay up first.” She glanced around. “Do you think I’d cheat you out of a few bucks? I’m serious—I have a stomachache.” She gestured at her purse on the table. “My bag’s right here. Where would I go?” Then she rushed out. Everyone knew she’d run. Jamie cursed, “I’m going after her.” I held him back with a smirk. “No need. She’s not going anywhere.”

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Bella Sinclair and I were kidnapped at the same time, and Adrian Bennett came running with half a million dollars in ransom – to save Bella, of course. My son, whom I carried for ten long months, naturally echoed his dad: “I want Bella to come with us! Dad, she’ll be scared if she stays here alone!” The system informed me that my “mission” had failed: “If your body dies, you’ll return to the original world.” Fine by me. All I wanted was a way out, to go home. But then my husband and son discovered I truly didn’t want to live and threw themselves into begging me to stay: “I was wrong! Please, please don’t leave us!” Content After twelve years spent trying to win over Adrian Bennett, he still didn’t hesitate to choose Bella over me. Adrian only needed a couple of seconds to untie Bella’s ropes, his eyes full of worry. And there beside him, Jonah, just like his father, fussed over Bella’s bruised wrists, blowing on her red skin. “Bella, this will make it feel better.” The three of them stood there, tender and cozy, entirely forgetting that I was still bound in the hands of the kidnapper. Even the man holding me couldn’t help but sneer. “That husband of yours is lost in the warmth of another woman’s arms. I bet he’s not coming back for you – should I just call it a day here?” As I watched Adrian and Jonah walk off with Bella, the system officially deemed my mission a failure. The penalty, a jolt of electric shock, knocked me out instantly. Through my foggy consciousness, I felt the kidnapper support my collapsing body. “All I did was say something harsh, no need to pass out! Oh no, oh no… I better get her to a hospital, don’t want to be in trouble if something really happens to her.”

I woke up in the hospital and confirmed with the system that, if I died here, I could finally go home. Once I had my answer, I made my way toward the window. My room was on a high floor, high enough to make the jump fatal. I opened the window and threw myself forward. As the wind roared past my ears, stinging against my skin, I felt no fear – only an intense, bittersweet relief. Just a little further, and I’d be back home, back to a place where I was truly loved. I closed my eyes, calm and ready. But a moment later, the sensation of falling stopped. My arm was yanked sharply, the force ripping through my muscles, pain radiating from my shoulder into my chest. I opened my eyes, feeling as if my arm had nearly broken. The one holding me was Ethan Carrington, Adrian’s half-brother. I looked up at the sweaty, panicked boy and spoke calmly, “Let go.” Ethan gritted his teeth and pulled harder, putting every ounce of strength into hoisting me up. “Seriously? All because my brother didn’t choose you, you’re doing something this stupid? What’s going on in that head of yours?” With effort, I began prying his fingers off, one by one. “Ethan, my death would suit you perfectly, so just let go.”

Ethan Carrington couldn’t stand me. Actually, none of Adrian’s inner circle wanted me around. After Bella ran off for love, Adrian married me under family pressure, and his people were convinced I had swooped in at her lowest point to stake my claim. I was met with obvious hostility and rejection. Ethan was always the first in line. With his rights as Adrian’s brother, he’d stroll right into Bennett Manor and ruin the garden of flowers I’d planted in the backyard. He even suggested that Jonah adopt a stray cat despite knowing I was severely allergic to cat hair. When I objected, Ethan coached Jonah to cry, making a big scene that echoed through the whole house. Then he jumped in, pretending to be the “good guy.” “It’s just a little cat. Let the kid have it if he likes it.” Jonah only cried louder, throwing a full-blown tantrum and rolling on the floor, muttering, “Mom’s mean. I want the cat.” I chased both Ethan and the cat out, then patiently explained to Jonah that I was allergic to cats and couldn’t have one but that we could get a puppy instead. But Ethan had Jonah so focused on that cat that he refused to hear me out, hitting me and demanding that I bring back his kitten. That day drove a wedge between us. Ethan seized the opportunity to plant more doubts in Jonah’s mind, convincing him that I was the “bad guy.” Like a demon crawling up from the depths, Ethan made it his mission to turn my life upside down.

I didn’t succeed in dying. Ethan’s ruckus attracted the medical staff, and together they pulled me back inside. Ethan shot me a glare and shut the window, falling silent for once. His hands trembled, knuckles red and bruised. “Vanessa, I don’t hate you as much as you think,” he muttered, his head down, messy hair covering his eyes. I almost thought I sensed a bit of regret in his voice. But before I could delve further, Ethan crossed his arms, looked up, and returned to his usual careless attitude. “So, what kind of new stunt is this supposed to be? I’ll tell you right now – my brother doesn’t fall for this hard-to-get stuff. Keep it up, and you’ll just push him away…” As he rambled on in his own world, the nurses checked the equipment nearby. I seized the chance to make my way back to the window and pulled it open again. But just as my foot hovered over the edge, Ethan grabbed me back with force. After stopping me twice, Ethan finally seemed to realize I was serious about ending my life. He moved me away from the window, making sure I was safely within his reach before he began trying to talk me down, with an oddly gentle tone. “Don’t be reckless, okay? My brother isn’t the only man in the world. Why cling to him this tightly?” He coughed awkwardly, a hint of pink touching his cheeks. “Look, I’ll admit, he’s not a great husband. But divorce him if you have to; he’s not worth dying over. And who knows? Maybe someone else out there’s been quietly in love with you, and you just never noticed.”

Ethan took me back to Bennett Manor. On the way, he informed me, “Adrian found out that the whole kidnapping was your plan, so he’s busy comforting Bella after the ‘trauma’ of it all.” “He’s angry, so apologize to Bella, and it’ll all blow over. Keep him calm, and the divorce will go smoothly.” I ignored him, turning to stare out the car window. The scenery blurred past, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. I thought back to the panic of the kidnapper rushing me to the hospital before I passed out. It was obvious that Bella had set me up yet again, pinning the blame on me so she could play the innocent “victim” in Adrian’s eyes. This wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was like Bella and I were two magnets with opposing poles, pushing each other away yet constantly colliding in harm. And Adrian? He was the iron that spun endlessly around Bella. No matter how thin her schemes were, to him, they were just more proof of her delicate charm and fragility. He always took her side, the scales never tipping in my favor. All my fighting, despair, and even hysterics only earned me one response from him: “Stop making a scene. Look at what you’ve become.”

I remembered back to when the system first assigned me to “win over” Adrian Bennett. Back then, Bella had run off with her love, leaving Adrian, the “tragic second lead,” to drown his sorrows in alcohol every night. The system had pointed to the drunken man passed out in the corner and said he was my target. I needed to reach 100% affection to return home. I didn’t understand why love from a man was the only way to succeed, but I tried. If going home meant this was the path, then I’d play along. I started with the basics. He drank himself sick at the bar, so I’d apologize to everyone, clean up his mess, and even help him get home. He’d talk about Bella’s favorite desserts, so I took baking classes to learn his tastes. But he never even looked at the treats I painstakingly made – they went straight to the trash. He warned me never to imitate Bella, that I wasn’t even worthy of standing in her shadow. I never made desserts again, though I did start learning to cook. Adrian’s stomach couldn’t handle late nights, so I made balanced meals and brought them to his office. Maybe my food wasn’t bad because he eventually started tolerating me around him. Those were the most peaceful days we had together. His affection climbed all the way to 98%. Just as I thought I’d be able to go home soon, one night of reckless drinking ended in my pregnancy. And Adrian, pressured by his family, married me. His “affection” plummeted. He believed I had tricked him, that I’d gotten pregnant on purpose, trapping him. Funny how he conveniently ignored who didn’t bother to use protection that night. He and Bella were alike in that way, both needing to lay blame on others. Did that make their guilt easier to bear? How ridiculous. I’ll never understand it.

I followed Adrian through the door of Bennett Manor, and there on the sofa, looking utterly relaxed, was Bella. Adrian and Jonah each played their part: Adrian brought over a plate of cut-up fruit and fed Bella piece by piece, while Jonah sat by her feet, grinning with his big toothy smile as he massaged her legs. If they had tails, they’d surely be wagging them by now. When Adrian turned and noticed me, his expression turned stern. He grabbed a file from the coffee table and threw it in my face. Rising with a towering, intimidating presence, he glared at me. “Vanessa! I can handle you throwing a tantrum, but harming Bella? That’s unforgivable!” “You set up that fake kidnapping just to get my attention? If something happened to Bella, you’d be rotting in jail!” I bent down, picked up the scattered pages, and read through them, unable to hold back a laugh. It was just a statement from the kidnapper, nothing more. If Adrian had even the slightest bit of faith in me, he’d look into the bank account used to pay the kidnappers and realize I was innocent. But people only see what they want to see. Bella, sensing my reaction, sprang from the sofa and gripped Adrian’s sleeve in a panic. “Adrian, I’m fine, really. You don’t need to get so worked up… It would be horrible for Vanessa to end up in jail…” Before she could finish, my hand lashed out, slapping her hard across the face. The crack of the slap echoed through the entire room. Bella stood there, stunned, as if unable to process what had just happened. Everyone else was frozen in place too. Adrian snapped out of it first. Fury filled his eyes as he grabbed my throat, his grip tightening. Fighting to breathe, I twisted and struggled, looking up at him with contempt. “You think that flimsy statement will put me in jail? You’re a fool if you think the police would fall for that.” The words seemed to hit a nerve; his hands tightened, and I felt my air slipping away. The darkness started closing in, yet I couldn’t help but let a smile creep across my face. Just as the edges of my vision began to fade, Ethan’s fist collided with Adrian’s face, snapping him out of it. His grip loosened, and I slumped to the floor, gasping for air. I shot a glare at Ethan, my reluctant savior, who looked back at me, clearly unsatisfied, and landed another punch on Adrian. “She almost died. Do you even get that? You almost killed her!” Adrian looked stunned, rubbing his wrist as if deciding whether to hit back. But after a moment, he shoved Ethan aside, casting me a conflicted look before averting his gaze. “So what if she died? She shouldn’t have messed with Bella in the first place.”

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In the maternity ward, Lawrence held our daughter, grinning wide. “Claire, you’re awake. Look, here’s our daughter.” Looking down at the baby wrapped in blankets, I clenched my fists, trembling all over. I knew that one day, my daughter would grow up and kill me. This was my third time coming back. In my last two lives, I died at my daughter’s hands. She was born with a cold heart, ungrateful—a daughter who would betray her own mother. I raised my hand high. “Claire, what are you doing?” Lawrence looked at me in shock. “Smack.” My hand connected with his cheek. A father, yet he left her entire upbringing to me. In those past lives, I kept searching for where I went wrong in raising her. This time, I’d figured it out: raising a child was not just my responsibility. Even if I ended up dying at her hands again, this time, Lawrence would go down with me. …… Content I believe there are people born bad, but my daughter wasn’t one of them. When I nursed her, she always seemed so hungry, her little mouth eagerly latching on. Even without teeth, her tiny mouth was strong enough that sometimes it brought tears to my eyes. Once, I couldn’t stand the pain and softly told her, “Honey, go gentle. It hurts Mommy.” Tiny as she was, she lay there softly, as if understanding me, and slowed her feeding. After that, she was always gentle, never hurting me again. When Ainsley was two, we didn’t have much, but now and then, I’d buy her a small cake. Each time, she’d waddle over with that little cake, giggling, holding it out to me to take the first bite. Most times, I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, but once, I took a big bite, and Ainsley didn’t mind at all. She just grinned, then devoured the rest, happy as could be. I used to think I had an angelic child. But somewhere along the way, her personality became erratic. When I wouldn’t let her have ice cream, she would run straight to Lawrence and Mrs. Mayfield to say I was pinching and hitting her and refusing to let her eat. At the time, I figured she was just a little too wrapped up in her imagination. But after that, whenever I was the least bit strict, she’d tell everyone I was an abusive mother. In preschool, she fought Emma Blake for a toy, and after a gentle scolding from her teacher, she spread rumors that her teacher had “touched her inappropriately.” I had no idea where she’d learned that term. Fortunately, all the preschool teachers were women, or it would have been impossible to explain. When I called her out for lying, she sobbed, insisting she wanted to beat up Emma and the teacher. Then she saw a friend playing the piano and decided she wanted one too. I told her a piano was too expensive, but she kept crying and pleading until I gave in and bought it. After a few lessons, she refused to play. No amount of coaxing helped. Then one day, I came home from work to find the piano smashed to pieces. The entire living room was in chaos. I assumed it had to be a break-in and called the police. Their investigation found nothing: no one had entered our home. It was all an act by Ainsley, orchestrated just to get out of practicing. Seeing the mess, I wanted to punish her, but I couldn’t bring myself to. After a few scoldings, she staged a hunger strike. My heart softened, and I coaxed her into eating again. Since then, she’s done as she pleased. In middle school, she frequently skipped class, and I’d only find out when teachers called. She was addicted to video games, barely speaking to anyone around her. When I scolded her, she’d shout right back, with no trace of respect. Lawrence and Mrs. Mayfield insisted I had spoiled her rotten, and honestly, I knew they were right. I’d allowed her too much leeway from the start. But at this point, it was too late. She wouldn’t listen to any of my attempts at discipline. Whenever I raised my voice, she’d hold a knife to her throat, claiming she was depressed and would kill herself. I was terrified, always rushing to comfort her. To prevent her from hurting herself, I let her do whatever she wanted. Lawrence suggested sending her to a specialized school for troubled kids, but I clung to him, sobbing, saying it wasn’t an option. If Ainsley really was depressed, sending her there would make things worse, and we’d regret it forever. But Ainsley found out about it anyway and stole money from us before running away from home.

After Ainsley left, I was heartbroken, crying myself to sleep every night. When I finally saw her again, she was pregnant, standing beside some punk with bleached hair. Lawrence was so furious he slammed his fist into the table, while I just sat there crying. I tried dragging her to get an abortion, but she shrugged me off. “You don’t love me, do you? So why can’t I have a baby who will love me back?” After all the heartache I’d endured for her, how could she think I didn’t love her? She pulled a kitchen knife on me. “Try to force me, and I’ll kill you both.” She walked out with $2,000 from our savings without looking back. Lawrence was smoking on the balcony. “How did you raise her to turn out like this?” he asked, disgusted. And I was asking myself the same thing. Where had my sweet, obedient little girl gone? I ran after her, catching her and the punk at the bus stop. I grabbed her, insisting she come back home. But she was strong now, too strong. I used all my strength, but she shoved me, sending me sprawling on the sidewalk. The pain flared in my back, where I’d suffered an old factory injury. Grimacing, I looked up at her, and she sneered. “Quit faking it,” she scoffed, eyes as cold as a stranger’s. “Ainsley, come home with me. Listen to me. This child will ruin your life.” “My life was already ruined. You just figured that out now?” Tears streaming down, I pleaded, “I’m so sorry, Ainsley. I missed you so much. Just come back home with me.” She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. Don’t cry; it’s just another way to manipulate me.” “Why would I go home with you just so you can kill my baby?” Before I could reply, I felt the sharp pain of a knife plunging into my chest. I looked down at the blood soaking through my shirt, saw the kitchen knife in her hand. “I won’t let you kill my child,” she said coldly. “I’ll never treat my own child the way you treated me.” Those were her last words before everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed again, back to the day I’d just given birth to Ainsley. Lawrence was smiling, showing me our swaddled newborn. The memory of that blade’s cold sting was fresh in my mind. My own daughter had driven it into my chest. I felt chilled to the bone, as cold as the knife that had ended me. How could it be? Even if you raised a dog for eighteen years, wouldn’t it be loyal? Why was Ainsley always so indifferent, like a stone that couldn’t be warmed? Her words echoed in my mind: “I’ll never treat my own child the way you treated me.” Hadn’t I done enough for her? We had so little, but I made sure she always had the best. She wanted strawberries? I’d go out in the dead of winter, even with only a few dollars left in my wallet, to buy the best ones for her. When she was small and terrified of “monsters,” I’d sleep beside her, no matter how sleepless it left me. From toys and snacks to a piano and trips to Cedar Falls Family Park or a family vacation, if she wanted something, I’d give it to her. Wasn’t that enough? Maybe I’d spoiled her too much, let her think she was the center of the universe, that my love was hers to exploit. This time, things would be different. This time, I’d be strict.

In my last life, Ainsley didn’t like eating, so the whole family would chase her around with a spoon, trying to feed her. But this time? If she didn’t want to eat, that was her choice. Right in front of her, I dumped the food straight into the trash. “Eat it or leave it,” I said. “Go hungry if you don’t want it.” She burst into tears, running to Mrs. Mayfield. “Grandma, Mommy won’t feed me, and she hit me!” Lies. Again. I leaned down, speaking low. “Ainsley, tell me, how did Mommy hit you just now?” She put her little hand up to her cheek, indicating a slap. “Oh, really?” I raised my hand and gave her a quick, light smack on the cheek. Her face flushed red. “This,” I told her sternly, “this is called a slap.” She cried louder. “Was that what I did before?” I shouted. “Tell Grandma, did I just do that?” Still crying, Ainsley shook her head. “No.” “Then why did you say I hit you? Why are you lying?” She whimpered, silent. Mrs. Mayfield rushed forward to intervene. “What are you doing? She’s just a child!” “I know she’s a child, so I’m teaching her the difference between the truth and a lie,” I replied, my tone sharp. Mrs. Mayfield crouched, wiping Ainsley’s tears with the back of her hand. “Mommy’s bad, yes, Mommy’s wrong. There, don’t cry, sweetie.” Hearing this, I felt my anger flare up. It was the same as in my last life. My mother-in-law constantly put it in her ear that “Mommy’s wrong” and “Mommy’s no good.” Every time I tried to discipline Ainsley, they would call me too harsh. But when Ainsley truly went off the rails, they turned around and blamed me for spoiling her. I gritted my teeth. “Mom, from now on, stay out of it when I discipline her. If she goes down the wrong path, it’s on you.” Mrs. Mayfield looked at me, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Acting like you’ve swallowed gunpowder. Sweet Ainsley would never go bad.” “You’re so harsh,” she muttered. “Aren’t you worried she’ll pull your oxygen tube out one day?” I laughed bitterly. She wouldn’t wait for that long to kill me. After that incident, I sent Mrs. Mayfield back to her own home. Left unchecked, she’d just spoil Ainsley all over again. I quit my job and dedicated myself to educating Ainsley. I bought a ruler, and every time I caught her lying, I’d slap her palms with it. After a few rounds, she improved. She began looking at me with fear in her eyes. Every time I wanted to go soft, I’d remember the feeling of that blade piercing my chest in my last life. But back then, I hadn’t realized that she was only scared of me; she hadn’t actually changed. When her teacher scolded her at Little Pines Preschool, she went right back to spreading rumors that the teacher had “touched her.” I marched her back to the school, made her stand before all her teachers, and demanded that she point out exactly who had supposedly done this. She burst into tears, admitting it was a lie. When she smashed the piano again, I swallowed my pride and bought another. Every day, I’d stand behind her with a cane, making her practice for two hours straight. Since she’d begged for the lessons, she’d stick with them whether she liked it or not. Ainsley wasn’t the brightest, so I started taking her to extra classes, monitoring her homework. With my strict guidance, her grades improved far beyond what she achieved in my last life. I finally got her into a decent high school, but then she started claiming she was “depressed” again, saying she’d drop out and holding a knife to her throat. In my last life, I would have fallen to my knees, begging her to put down the knife. But this time? Not a chance. “Go on, do it far from me. I don’t want your blood on my hands,” I said coldly. Ainsley was stunned, lowering the knife. She hadn’t expected that reaction. She didn’t want to die; it was all an act. “Don’t want to go to school? Fine. I’ll withdraw you myself tomorrow, and you can get a job and take care of yourself.” She ran away. Two months later, she returned, luggage in hand, complaining that work was too hard. She wanted to go back to school. At last, her attitude toward studying improved. Even though she still didn’t perform that well on her SATs and only got into a lesser-known college, I was satisfied. It was better than her middle school level from my last life. At least I’d made some progress. But once she started college, she returned to her old ways. Out of her fifteen classes, she failed nine in her first year. I called her, but she ignored me. One month went by, then two, then three. Furious, I cut her off financially. The next time I saw her, she was back home with a swollen belly, standing before Lawrence and me.

The memories from my last lives crashed over me. There she stood, next to some punk with green hair and a cigarette in his mouth. Ainsley looked at me, tears streaming. “Mom, I don’t want to go to school. I want to get married and be with him…” Anger boiled up inside me. “If you don’t want school, then what’s your plan to support a child? Don’t expect a cent from me.” Ainsley pouted. “I want to keep the baby. I can just take a break from school. Mason’s a good person; he’ll take care of me.” Lawrence, who had been silent, turned to me, livid. “What kind of mother are you? Look at what she’s become. What have you been teaching her?” That was the final straw. I had poured everything into raising her, and yet here she was. In my last life, she’d killed me for trying to force her into an abortion. The memory of it made me laugh bitterly. “Fine, Ainsley,” I said, my voice hollow. “You’re an adult now. Do whatever you want, but don’t expect any help from me.” A year passed. One evening, after work, I found her sitting on my couch, bruised and holding a baby. She looked up, pulling the same pitiful face. “Mom, how could you be so heartless? Why did you change the locks?” I took a deep breath. “You’re no daughter of mine anymore. You’re not welcome here.” Her voice trembled as she continued, “Mason’s no good to me. He hits me and won’t give me any money.” “I can’t afford to raise a kid. You take her.” Her tone was so entitled it made my blood boil. I opened the door, gathering her things and tossing them outside. “What are you doing? You’re my mother! Isn’t it your duty to take care of me and my child?” she shouted. “Let me tell you something, Ainsley,” I said. “I’ve done all I can. This child is your responsibility, not mine.” She opened the window, clutching her baby in her arms. “If you don’t help, I’ll jump, taking your granddaughter with me.” She thought I’d soften. But I wouldn’t, not this time. I walked to the window, looking her in the eye. “Go ahead. I told you, do whatever you want. I’m done.” She sobbed, “Why? You gave birth to me, yet you never loved me.” A pang of sorrow hit me. “I’ve done everything for you, Ainsley. Can you honestly say I haven’t?” Her tears dried, and suddenly, her face hardened. “If that’s the case, then let’s die together.” Before I could react, she lunged at me with the baby, pushing me towards the window. The railing was low, and I lost my balance, reaching for something to hold onto but finding only air. I fell, but Ainsley didn’t. She never intended to die. She just wanted me gone, so my money would be hers. She stood there with the baby in her arms, watching me fall, a cold smile spreading across her face like that of a demon. I’d thought Ainsley wasn’t born evil, that I’d somehow failed in raising her. I believed I’d made things better this time around. But the truth was, she hadn’t changed at all. She’d only gotten better at pretending. Once again, I died at the hands of my own child. Whether I’d spoiled her or been strict, she still hated me. Was this the fate I was destined to live through again and again? 5

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My son Noah is three years old, but he doesn’t resemble my husband at all. My father-in-law, Mr. Leonard Carter, became suspicious and took Noah for a DNA test without telling anyone. The test results? No biological connection between them. Furious and humiliated, Mr. Carter yelled at me, even threatening to harm both me and my son. Then my husband Eric hit me, shouting, “You shameless woman! You’ve made me raise another man’s child for three years!” But then I revealed another DNA report—the one showing that Eric and Leonard Carter weren’t biologically related either. They were stunned as I chuckled, “Looks like it’s not so clear who’s really unrelated in this family…” — When Mr. Carter called, I was swamped with work at Hamilton & Co. Enterprises. His voice blared through the phone, “Jocelyn Carter, get home now! Or don’t blame me when your dirty secrets come out!” Before I could respond, he hung up, leaving me confused. I finished my tasks, grabbed my bag, and rushed home. As soon as I opened the door, he was there, sitting stiffly on the couch. Two papers were spread out on the table in front of him. I took off my shoes and asked, “Dad, what’s the emergency?” He sneered at me. “You really don’t know what you’ve done? Do I need to spell it out?” Frustration bubbled up inside me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just tell me.” He slammed the papers into my face. “Look for yourself! We hit rock bottom when Eric married you.” I glanced down and saw the bold text on the report: No biological relationship. The names listed were Leonard Carter and Noah Carter. I was shocked, realizing Mr. Carter had taken Noah for a paternity test. Anger flared within me as I retorted, “Dad, you’ve been saying Noah doesn’t look like Eric since he was born. I didn’t think much of it because Eric never complained. But you went behind our backs to get a DNA test—he’s only three!” Mr. Carter ignored my words, shouting, “And what’s wrong with that? If I hadn’t done it, who knows how long you would’ve kept us in the dark? Tell me—who’s his father? You’ve had us raising someone else’s kid for three years! My son is too trusting; if I weren’t sharp, you would’ve fooled us forever.” I tried to stay calm. “Dad, Noah is Eric’s son, and he’s your grandson. I haven’t betrayed anyone. There has to be something wrong with that report!” Mr. Carter’s rage escalated. He threw his cup to the floor, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You’re still lying! I took him to St. Vincent’s Medical Center myself and watched them draw his blood. Do you think I faked it? We can go again if you don’t believe me!” I didn’t know how to respond. Just then, Mrs. Helen Carter entered with groceries. Seeing the tense scene, she asked, “What’s going on? I just stepped out, and now it’s chaotic in here. What are you two fighting about?” Mr. Carter shot back, “You picked her for Eric. Look what she’s done—letting us raise someone else’s kid for three years! Where were your eyes back then?”

Mrs. Carter froze, her gaze landing on the report on the floor. I saw panic flash across her face, but before I could react, she slapped me. “Noah isn’t our grandson? How could you do this? Eric has been nothing but good to you! How could you betray us like this?” Mr. Carter chimed in. “Call your parents! I want to know what kind of people raised such a daughter. How dare you do something so disgraceful!” I struggled to keep my cool. “I’m telling you for the last time—Noah is Eric’s son. If you don’t believe me, wait for Eric to come home. He’ll take another DNA test with Noah, and we’ll settle this once and for all.” Mr. Carter glared but stayed silent, while Mrs. Carter yelled, “You’re acting shamelessly, still insisting on your innocence. Even if Eric comes back, he won’t forgive you! Why another test when the answer is clear? If Noah were Eric’s son, he’d have to be related to Mr. Carter. Do you think the hospital is helping you lie to us?” Just then, Noah appeared from his room. “Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, why are you fighting? Is dinner ready?” Seeing him, Mr. Carter snapped, “Who are you calling Grandpa and Grandma? We don’t even know whose kid you are. Get out!” Noah, confused by the sudden hostility, ran to me in tears. His crying only irritated Mr. Carter more. He yanked Noah away from me and gripped his shoulders. “What are you crying for? You’re not welcome here. Go find your real dad—get out of our house!” Mrs. Carter stood frozen, saying nothing. Seeing Noah’s face turn red, I pried Mr. Carter’s hand off him and held him close. Tears streamed down my face. “Let’s wait for Eric. He’ll know if Noah is his son.” Finally, Mr. Carter released Noah, shot me a disdainful look, and stomped back to his room. I took Noah to our bedroom and quickly texted Eric about everything that happened. His reply was just four cold words: I’m on my way. That brief message filled me with dread. Eric arrived around midnight. Hearing the front door open, I covered Noah and went to meet him. All my pent-up frustration spilled out. “Do you know what your dad did to Noah today? He nearly choked him! Are you even going to say something?” “Can you give it a rest? I just got home. Let me breathe, will you?” One look at his detached expression made my heart sink. The DNA report lay on the table, but he didn’t seem interested in it at all. He was ready to accept it without question. By now, both Mr. and Mrs. Carter had joined us. Mrs. Carter spoke first, “Eric, thank God you’re back. If you’d been any later, our family would’ve fallen apart! Ask her whose child she brought into this house.” Mr. Carter stood there, furious but silent. Finally, Eric broke the silence, “Where’s the child?”

He called Noah “the child,” not even using his name. That stung because I realized he didn’t believe Noah was his son. I took a deep breath. “Eric, we’ve been married for four years and known each other for six. Don’t you know what kind of person I am? If you won’t believe me, at least trust Noah.” Eric replied, “Four years doesn’t mean anything. Besides, Noah has never looked like me. Everyone says it. What else can I think?” I was left speechless, realizing I had no way to reason with them. “Fine. If none of you believe Noah is your son, let’s go to the hospital for another DNA test. Right now. I’ll get Noah.” As I turned to go to our room, Eric grabbed my arm. “Enough! You really want to drag this to the hospital? Aren’t you ashamed of this mess?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why would I be ashamed? I have a clear conscience. If you’re so sure, let’s confirm it with another test.” In the silence of the night, my words hung in the air with a weight I hadn’t felt before. Eric looked ready to argue, but Mrs. Carter interrupted. “Why go to the hospital? We have a report right here! Or is Jocelyn claiming her own husband and father-in-law are framing her? That’s rich—how long have you been setting us up, Jocelyn?” Her accusation, so irrational and cruel, shocked me. I had never seen Mrs. Carter so cold and heartless. Realizing nothing I said would make a difference, I clenched my fists. After a long silence, Eric finally picked up the DNA report, barely glanced at it, and tossed it at me. “It’s all here in black and white. Noah isn’t Dad’s blood relative. If he’s my son, he’d have to be related to him. Anything to add? Or are you suggesting the hospital faked this?” I bit my lip. “I don’t know what went wrong with that report, but there’s definitely something…” I bit my lip, feeling the tension in the air. “I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong with this report, but something definitely is. If you trust me even a little, let’s have Noah take another test. We can clear this up.” Eric scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Why would I believe you over my own father?” His words hit me hard, freezing me in place. I knew he wouldn’t take my side, but hearing him say it stung more than I expected. “So, what happens now?” I asked, my voice shaky. “Are you going to kick us out of this house?” Mr. Carter exploded, shooting up from his chair. “So you admit it! I knew Eric made a mistake marrying you. Raising another man’s child for three years! How are you going to repay us for that?” Mrs. Carter chimed in, “Exactly. I treated you and Noah like family, only to find out I was being deceived. Do you even feel any shame?” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “When did I admit to anything? You’re just throwing accusations without any evidence. What do you want from me?” Smack! Eric’s hand struck my face in a sharp slap. He glared at me, rage boiling over. “I’m giving you one last chance to tell the truth. Who is Noah’s father? If you don’t speak up, I’ll make sure everyone in town knows exactly what you’ve done.” I rubbed my stinging cheek, defiance flooding my voice. “Go ahead and spread the word. I have nothing to hide.” Eric yanked my collar, venom dripping from his words. “You think you can play me for a fool? How long has this been going on? I should have known better than to marry someone like you!” I closed my eyes, feeling defeated. “Fine. Let’s get a divorce. I’ll take Noah since none of you care about him anyway.” The mention of divorce seemed to push Eric over the edge. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Take your illegitimate child and leave. Get out! I never want to see either of you again. I should have gotten rid of him at birth.” I was shocked. I had never heard Eric say anything so cruel before. Before I could respond, Mrs. Carter stormed into our bedroom, tossing my belongings into the hallway. The noise startled Noah awake. He stumbled out of his room and, seeing Eric, ran to him. “Daddy! You’re back! I missed you…” But before he could finish, Eric shoved him away. Noah crashed against the edge of the table, and I saw blood trickle from his forehead. I gathered Noah into my arms, my heart breaking as he sobbed. “Eric! He’s just three years old! How could you do this?” Eric’s expression was stone cold. “Why should I care? I don’t even know who he is. If I didn’t hurt him more, it was out of pity. You have no right to judge me.” The room fell silent. I was seeing this family’s true colors. Mr. Carter pointed toward the door. “Get out. You and your brat don’t belong here.” Mrs. Carter threw my ID on the floor. “Didn’t you hear him? Leave, and take your bastard with you!” I wiped Noah’s tears away, still holding him close. I took one last look around the room and said, “Eric, just know this will come back to haunt you.” With that, I carried Noah out. Even as the door closed behind us, their hateful words echoed in my ears, each one sharper than the last. After taking Noah to St. Vincent’s Medical Center for stitches, I rented a room at The Briarwood Inn for the night. He eventually fell asleep, his little face so innocent and unaware of the chaos around him. I couldn’t shake the thought of how he had no genetic ties to Mr. Carter. Grandparents and grandchildren share some DNA, so something didn’t add up. After some thought, I decided to head to Memorial Public Hospital to ask a few questions. The next day, after dropping Noah off at Little Pines Preschool, I went to the hospital. While waiting, I looked over a chart about blood types and heredity and noticed something odd. I remembered the health reports of Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Both were type O, which meant their children should also be type O. But Eric’s last screening—one I had helped him fill out—showed him as type A. It hit me like a ton of bricks. How could that be possible? I froze for a moment, then it clicked—Mrs. Carter knew. That’s why she was so desperate to get me out of the family and block any retesting for Eric and Noah. She was hiding something. A laugh bubbled up. It felt like a twist from some soap opera, the kind of story you’d never believe could actually happen. If Mr. Carter and Eric discovered this, the entire family would implode. After everything they’d put me and Noah through, I was determined to make things right. With a new sense of purpose, I headed to Brooks & Wallace Law Firm to sort out my finances and finalize the divorce paperwork. Besides getting Eric to sign, there was one more thing I needed to do.

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Five years into my marriage, my wife Evelyn Shaw’s “old friend,” Dylan Hart, posted a photo of a deed on Instagram. The caption read, “Huge thanks to my CEO Sis for signing this house over to me.” I looked at the address on the deed, stunned; it was our home. I commented with a single question mark, “?” Moments later, Evelyn called, snapping at me, “He’s a single dad. It’s just to help his daughter get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live.” Her tone was all reproach. “Can’t you show a little compassion?” From the other end, I could even hear Dylan’s mumbled complaints. A half hour later, Dylan posted again, tagging me to make sure I’d see it. This time, it was a brand-new, fully paid-for Mercedes-Benz. The caption: “As the saying goes, where a woman’s money goes, so does her love.” I knew it was Evelyn’s gift to pacify him. But this time, I’d made up my mind—I was going to file for divorce. …… When Evelyn got home, I swallowed my daily dose of immunotherapy meds, washing it down with a piece of birthday cake. This was the medication I needed after surgery for stomach cancer. I’d bought the cake in advance, hoping to surprise her and share the news about my surgery while she’d been away on business. I’d been waiting since morning, but she wasn’t picking up, not even responding to my messages. It was only when I commented on Dylan’s post about the deed that she immediately called back—angry and accusatory. Before I could even get a word in, she’d hung up and blocked me. My wound reopened from the stress. She barely glanced at the cake or the medication on the table, wrinkling her nose. “Whose birthday is it? Yours?” In silence, I put the meds away and tossed the cake in the trash. “Not mine—it’s for a friend.” A flicker of relief crossed her face. “Good, I thought it was the 28th. Today’s only the 8th.” Five years married, and she got my birthday wrong every single year. The funny thing? She remembered someone else’s perfectly. She sat down beside me and handed me a toy car. “Dylan asked me to give this to you. He was pretty shaken by your passive-aggressive attitude. You should apologize.” The little car was a Mercedes-Benz keychain, probably one of the trinkets they throw in when you buy the car—smudged with oil, no less. “No thanks,” I said flatly. Evelyn’s expression turned sour. “What’s with the attitude? He even offered you a peace gesture. Can’t you show a bit of grace and apologize?” When I didn’t respond, Evelyn grabbed my arm, pulling me up with such force that my injured leg struck the coffee table. It was the same leg that had been burned last week by scalding hot porridge she’d accidentally spilled when texting Dylan. Seeing blood seep from the wound again, she looked worried. “Let me take you to the hospital.” I didn’t refuse. “Fine.” As soon as we were in the car, her Bluetooth connected, and Dylan’s voice filled the silence, playful and warm. “Welcome back, CEO Sis! Keep making money for me to spend, okay?” Evelyn’s face tightened. “It’s just something he left in my car last time. I’ll get rid of it.” “Don’t bother,” I muttered. Silence filled the car, and she looked at me, surprised. “You’re not angry?” I pressed my lips together. Dylan used to matter to me. But now? I could hardly even care about Evelyn, much less her pet. “Just drive,” I said quietly. “It’s late.” The hospital was only a half-mile away, just a straight drive and a U-turn. But Evelyn’s phone rang, and I heard Dylan on the line, asking her to take him for a ride in the new Mercedes. “Something’s come up with Dylan,” she said, pulling over. “You can just walk the last fifty yards, right?” She was practically itching to go. “I can’t walk,” I said, holding her gaze. Her expression turned frosty. “Are you serious? You’re a grown man, not an invalid!” She opened the door and practically pushed me out, saying to call her once I’d taken care of my bandages. Her tires splashed filthy water over my leg as she sped off. Rain started to fall, soaking through my bandages. I took a few steps before pain shot through my abdomen, and I collapsed on the crosswalk, unable to move. I barely avoided getting hit, thanks to the hospital’s security guard, who rushed over and helped me in. Back home, barely settled, Evelyn stormed in, furious. “I told you to call me once you’d changed the bandages! I waited at the hospital for an hour, but your phone was off!” I stared at her.

I’d spent two hours on an IV and eventually had to call a cab when I couldn’t take the pain any longer. My phone had only just died, but clearly, she’d never been at the hospital. Once, she’d cared so much. When had she turned so cold? “You blocked me, Evelyn,” I said. “I couldn’t call you even if I’d wanted to.” Her face softened slightly, and she pulled out a takeout container. “I figured you’d be hungry. Brought you some porridge.” I looked at the bowl. It was plain, just a sprinkle of scallions—no meat, no eggs, as if it were someone’s leftovers. An hour ago, Dylan’s Instagram Story had shown Evelyn cooking in the kitchen. “Who says good women don’t exist? She not only took me for a midnight ride in her new Mercedes, but when I got hungry, she whipped me up some porridge, too.” I stirred the bowl, feeling a wave of nausea. “I don’t want it.” Evelyn’s expression turned dark. “What’s wrong with you? I brought this for you, and you’re throwing a tantrum?” “So what if I signed the house over to Dylan? You still get to live here. All he did was say thank you. And you embarrassed us both by commenting. Have I even gotten mad about that?” With fresh stitches in my stomach and an injured leg, I barely had the strength to speak. “I was just shocked it was our address on his post…” But Evelyn cut me off. “Shocked? Dylan’s right—you’re just that kind of person. Always quick to anger, no empathy, no tolerance. Anytime I speak to a man, you get all paranoid. You’re the one with issues!” In the past, I would’ve tried to reason with her. But this time, I just stared, letting her rant until she was breathless. When she was done, I said, “You finished? Mind turning off the light?” She shot me a cold glare before slamming the door. After she left, I slept soundly for the first time in a long time. The next day, I contacted a friend for a divorce lawyer. She’d been gone for three days since that argument, but when I saw a new photo Nina posted from their beach trip, there was Evelyn in matching clothes with Dylan, beaming by his side. I liked the photo without a second thought. Evelyn called back immediately. “I’ll pick you up later. My friends are meeting us at the beach.” She paused, adding, “I wasn’t planning on inviting you. Consider it a reward for good behavior.” “Sure,” I replied, hiding the ongoing divorce process. When Evelyn arrived, it surprised me that Dylan wasn’t in the car, too. At the beach, Nina greeted me with an apology. “I planned that meet-up last time—I should’ve given you a heads up. I’ll make up for it later.” I forced a smile. “Been swamped with work.” “Word is, you’re planning to open a branch in Aspen Ridge. Congratulations!” Nina said, laying it on thick. I nodded. “It’s still in the works. Not sure if it’ll pan out.” Evelyn walked over, face taut. “You’re moving to Aspen Ridge? Since when? Did I say you could go?” I met her furious gaze, unflinching. She continued to rant while Nina tried to smooth things over, ushering us toward the cookout. As we sat by the grill, Evelyn whispered, almost nervous, “Dylan and I agreed. After his daughter finishes elementary school, he’ll sign the house back over. Don’t get so worked up—it’s my property. I didn’t even have to explain.” “Alright,” I said, nodding calmly. As I replied, I noticed a familiar figure approaching. A young woman with them shouted, “Dylan! Evelyn’s over here!” Everyone froze.

Nina kicked the girl, cursing her for being so tactless. I stood and excused myself, heading toward the restroom to gather my composure. When I returned, they were playing games by the fire. Dylan and Evelyn sat close, laughing. I found a spot farther away, watching quietly. “Alright, truth or dare!” Nina suggested, trying to revive the mood. Evelyn won the first round, and Dylan chose “truth.” “What’s made you happiest recently?” Evelyn asked, giving him a pass. Dylan smiled, staring meaningfully at her. “I met an incredible woman who gave me a house and a car. She even took me on a midnight ride in her new Mercedes.” He glanced at me with a triumphant smirk. Everyone knew the house and car were Evelyn’s doing, but they’d kept quiet out of politeness. But here, laid bare, the tension was thick. Nina cleared her throat. “Alright, round two! Let’s see what we’ve got next.” This time, Dylan chose me. “Truth,” I said. Dylan stepped up with a grin. “How about a dare, Adrian?” I shook my head. “Truth.” He looked put out, his gaze drifting to Evelyn. “Didn’t Evelyn say you’re an amazing swimmer? Why not show us?” I refused, “I’m not feeling well.” Dylan glanced at Evelyn with a hurt look, and she pressed, “It’s your specialty! Why not just swim a lap? It won’t kill you.” Ignoring my protests, they pulled me to the water’s edge, taunting me with every step. My abdomen throbbed from recent surgery, but they kept pushing. Finally, Evelyn shoved me into the freezing water. I coughed as salt stung my throat and lungs, waves crashing over my head. I barely surfaced, gasping for air. As I struggled to shore, Evelyn smiled at Dylan, whispering assurances. Then, she turned to me with a sneer. “Apologize to Dylan and take a drink—or else.” I looked at her, heart pounding with exhaustion and anger. “Evelyn, I’ve already contacted my lawyer. We’re getting divorced.” She stared at me, eyes wide with shock. I stumbled back to the road. Before I could make it across, everything went black. I heard someone yell, “He’s bleeding—call an ambulance!”

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My stepmother was infamous in our small town. Once a glamorous entrepreneur’s wife, she suddenly became a despised mistress that everyone scorned. No one expected that it would be her own son who truly made her notorious, catching her in bed with another man and stabbing her lover in a fit of rage. Afterwards, her photos spread like wildfire in every corner of the town. Gradually, people began to say she had offended someone powerful, which led to both her husband and son ending up in prison. Little did they know, I was the one who orchestrated her downfall. My father wished I was dead. I’ve known this since I was a child. Back then, prejudice against women was still deeply rooted. As the only person in town who had been admitted to a prestigious film school, my mother was renowned. It was said that many men dreamed of marrying her. My father, drunk one night, dragged her into a dead-end alley. No one called the police. Despite my mother’s cries and protests, she was eventually forced to hastily marry my father. My mother didn’t object because she was pregnant with me. In my memories, my mother was incredibly patient. My father was a good-for-nothing who only knew how to drink, gamble, and visit prostitutes. When drunk, he would beat his wife for not giving birth to a son, and me for being a daughter. Everything finally came to an end that year. It was the first time my mother fought back when she was beaten, trying to protect me, who was too young to understand. I watched with my own eyes as my father pushed her down, her head hitting the corner of the table. In my memory, blood stained the furniture. My mother didn’t open her eyes, while my father had already passed out from drinking. I cried until my voice was hoarse. In the end, my father shoved me against the wall. When I woke up, my mother was in the hospital. The doctor said she was already stiff when she arrived.

My mother died. Everyone said she had killed herself by hitting her head. My father finally broke free from the curse of not having a son. Within six months, he married a woman who was pregnant with his son. But life was still not easy for him because he had a burden – me. My maternal grandparents avoided me, after all, my mother and I were a disgrace to their lives. When my stepmother moved in, I smiled and handed her an apple box that I had been reluctant to eat. Heather was pleased, but when she opened it, her face turned pale. It was a rotten apple with worms on it, which made her vomit for a long time. My father slapped me across the face because I had offended the woman he had just married. Although people in our small town weren’t wealthy, they cared a lot about their reputation. Fearing being labeled as a wicked stepmother, Heather chose to persuade my father to calm down for the first time. Even though I had a stepmother, life became a bit better. At least I didn’t have to worry about food and drink. My father had married a wealthy woman this time. However, while other little girls were playing with dolls, I was already standing on a stool cooking at that age. Perhaps due to long-term eating leftovers, I was exceptionally small. Sweeping and mopping the floor felt like a nightmare. I never cried. At least someone gave me food so I wouldn’t starve, and old clothes to wear so I wouldn’t be cold.

I thought everything would go on like this until my brother was born. Only then did I realize that some children are raised with utmost care and love. Caleb had everything I had seen and hadn’t seen. As for me, I went from serving two people to becoming my brother’s nanny. During those years, it was my fault if my brother cried or fell. It was my fault if he got into fights with others or failed his exams. He was actually an unruly bully in his private school, while I was just an unremarkable student in a public school, straining my voice to recite lessons. After being beaten numerous times, I tried screaming desperately. At first, my classmates and teachers would show concern about the bruises on my body. But that woman, who had become a hero by giving birth to a son and helping my father become an entrepreneur, only needed one sentence to turn me into a laughingstock. It was the first time someone attended a parent-teacher conference for me. In front of everyone, Heather said to the teacher, “She’s sick, just like her mother. She’s crazy.” After that, I became an outcast in our small school community. All because my mother had allegedly gone crazy after marrying my father.

What was I like when I truly went crazy? I didn’t cry when everyone pointed and whispered about me, because I knew tears were useless. Otherwise, my mother wouldn’t have died. I could only vent by reading aloud, but after that, they thought I was even crazier. No one pays attention to a crazy person. Finally, I went from being the last in class with no one caring to ranking fifth in the class. The teachers’ eyes looked at me differently. But I never expected that a severe beating would be waiting for me when I got home. Caleb was still at the bottom of his class, no matter how much money my stepmother spent to get him into advanced classes. That day was his birthday. When Heather saw my report card, her face turned pale the next second, and she slapped Caleb across the face, “I’ve spent all the money on you, and you’re still worse than a crazy person!” She couldn’t accept that a crazy person was better than her son. Caleb’s birthday party was ruined. He threw a tantrum at home and angrily ran out. Heather had a fight with my father, mainly complaining about why I, the burden, was smarter than her son. I didn’t expect that man to praise me, but I never imagined that in the dead of night, he would pin me down under the covers and viciously beat me with a belt, over and over again. I was terrified and in pain, screaming frantically. It was the first time I deeply realized that although we were both his children, there was an insurmountable gap between my brother and me. The feeling of suffocation terrified me. I was afraid of him. I had always been afraid of him. I was scared that I would die like my mother. I don’t know if he got tired of beating me or if he was scared by my stillness, He dropped a nasty comment, “Why don’t you just die with your mother?” I didn’t cry. I pinched my skin. It hurt.

I returned to school covered in bruises. Under the teacher’s watchful eyes, I tore up all my books. Someone said, “Aria Collins has really gone crazy.” I bit my lip hard. I wasn’t crazy, I simply wanted to live. Gradually, the teachers stopped caring about me, my classmates avoided me, and later, everyone wanted to bully me. Faced with seemingly ridiculous provocations, they laughed, and I laughed along with them. Then I took out a fruit knife from my bag. I waved the knife in front of them a few times. I clearly saw fear in their eyes. Faced with my crazy behavior, they were all scared. It seemed I really was crazy. I started skipping classes, hiding in the deserted corners of the school. At home, I became even more cautious, but Heather looked at me with increasing disgust. She would encourage Caleb to bully me, let him pour food on me, and then point at my miserable state and laugh, “Aria Collins, you’re not even as good as a dog!” I didn’t argue back. Amidst their mockery, I stuffed the food on my face into my mouth, smiling and telling Caleb to continue. After a few times, Caleb gradually became less happy about it. Later, he would just hit me a few times when he was displeased with me. When things didn’t go his way, he would viciously pinch the inside of my thigh, then laugh like a maniac. Heather pretended not to see, only running out to point at my head when I wandered in the hallway showing my bruises, “Her illness has gotten worse, who knows where all these injuries came from.” To maintain her good reputation, she would wipe her tears and pull me back, but in the corners where no one could see, I smiled even more happily. Only when she called me crazy did the neighbors see me as a polite and well-mannered child. Gradually, the neighbors’ gossip about her increased. I admit, I was crazy, but I didn’t want to let her off easy either.

In sixth grade, those good students would privately discuss that the private middle school was a boarding school, and if you scored above a certain line, you could get free tuition. I excitedly went over to ask. Seeing me, they just treated me like bad luck and dispersed, but I silently took note. I stopped skipping classes and often stayed late at school to study before going home. After this happened many times, Heather waited at the door with a broom, “A girl staying out late and not coming home, don’t learn from your mother, only low-class women seduce men!” Probably afraid that her son would be worse than a crazy person, Heather was very wary of me staying late at school. She looked at me with contempt. I didn’t care, but I still rushed over and bit her hand, saying I was okay, but my mom wasn’t. I bit until blood flowed. “Aria Collins, you crazy girl, let go of me!” Heather struggled desperately, but to no avail. The broom in her hand hit my legs again and again, and gradually my legs went numb. She nearly lost a piece of flesh. I was crazy, and I could be even crazier. “Aunt Heather, don’t hit me! I didn’t mean to do better than my brother on the test!” I shouted desperately, watching Heather’s face gradually distort. Letting go of her hand, I smiled, while Heather slapped me across the face. My ears were ringing, but I could vaguely hear her cursing me, “Crazy girl!” Then she closed the door. She didn’t dare let the neighbors hear too much, after all, her good reputation had already been affected. In the dark hallway, I rubbed my aching legs and counted on my fingers. There were only three months left before I could leave this place. Then, I truly smiled happily. I studied even harder, because I had no other choice to escape. But Caleb knew I had bitten his mother, and he would torment me every day. He laughed as he tore up the test papers I had worked hard to copy, “Aria Collins, don’t think you can have it good.” I didn’t dare hit him, even though he was two years younger and not as tall as me, because I was afraid my father would beat me to death. Thinking of my mother, I endured it all. Fortunately, three months passed quickly. I studied day and night, shamelessly copying my classmates’ extracurricular study materials, counting down the days until the SAT exam. I felt like I woke up smiling every morning. Heather no longer dared to provoke me, she could only glance at me and curse under her breath, “Crazy girl.” I happily took the two pens I had bought with all my money, but before I could pack my bag, I ran into Caleb with a mischievous smile, “Aria Collins, don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I won’t let you have your way.” Before I could ask more, he rode away on his new mountain bike. I didn’t understand his smugness, but when I was packing my things, I was completely dumbfounded. My admission ticket was missing. After searching the entire house, Heather saw the mess I had made and pointed at my nose, cursing, “Ungrateful thing, are you trying to anger me to death!” I didn’t argue back, just looked in the direction Caleb had left and gritted my teeth as I chased after him. The weather was very hot. I chased aimlessly for three streets, but there was no sign of Caleb anywhere. Despair made my eyes red for the first time. The long run left a taste of rusty iron in my mouth. But I didn’t dare stop. I was afraid the tears would really fall.

Just when I was about to give up hope, I saw Caleb’s mountain bike. It was new, bought by my father just because all his classmates had one, so he had to have one too. At that moment, the shiny new bike was carelessly thrown on the ground. I rushed over, desperately grabbing Caleb’s neck, “Give me my admission ticket!” Out of fear, I even forgot that he was the son my father cherished. Although he was two years younger, he was already taller than me. He knocked me to the ground with one push, “Why should I give you your admission ticket?” His classmates started laughing, laughing at him for having such a sister. With red eyes, I watched how he told others I was not even as good as a dog, how he ridiculed me for being crazy. I didn’t dare to be afraid, because I still had to take the exam. I headbutted Caleb, knocking him down. I straddled him and hit him wildly, “Caleb Collins, crazy people don’t get the death penalty for killing!” Whether it was because I scared him or not, he threw out the torn admission ticket, and ran away with his classmates. I spent half an hour piecing it together, but I still missed the first exam. Having missed the first one, I saw Heather at the last exam. She rushed into the exam room with a black and blue-faced Caleb. I instinctively tried to hide.

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My daughter knelt before me, begging after a hit-and-run accident. “Mom, I just got accepted to Harvard. I have a bright future ahead of me. If I go to jail, my life will be over. Please, save me…” I agreed. During my two years in prison, neither my husband nor daughter visited me once. After being released, I discovered it had all been a scheme by my husband and daughter. They had already transferred all my assets. The daughter who had once cried and begged me to take the blame now cursed me as an ex-con, ugly and old. She kicked me in the chest. I died from cardiac arrest. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day we received the college acceptance letter. “Mom, Dad, I got accepted to Harvard!” My adopted daughter Keira exclaimed excitedly. “That’s my girl! Harvard is one of the top universities in the country. You’ve really made your parents proud. Honey, didn’t you just get a $500,000 year-end bonus? Let’s use all of it to buy our daughter a BMW,” my husband Jack said. This conversation felt so familiar. I suddenly realized I had been reborn. “Dad, I’m still young. Buying a car would be too flashy. Besides, Mom worked hard for that money. I don’t want to spend it,” Keira said sweetly. In my previous life, I always thought she was a considerate, filial, and kind girl. It wasn’t until I went to prison that I realized she was a vicious white lotus flower. “But sweetheart, Daddy promised to reward you with a BMW if you got into Harvard, remember?” Jack looked at me as he spoke. He was a stay-at-home dad, and all our household expenses came from my money. In my previous life, I felt guilty for not giving him a child. “Why are you looking at me? You promised her, not me,” I said coldly. Father and daughter were stunned, their eyes wide with shock. In my previous life, they always acted in concert – one playing the sweet daughter, the other the good father – constantly extracting money from me. And in my previous life, I always thought my adopted daughter was sensible and my husband was generous, treating our adopted daughter like his own. Seeing them act again now made me feel indescribably disgusted. “Have you lost your mind today? Our daughter got into Harvard. That’s great news! You won’t even buy her a car? Are you even fit to be a mother? Or is it that you’ve never truly seen Keira as your own daughter?” Jack shouted at me. “Dad, don’t say that. $500,000 isn’t a small amount. Mom’s company needs working capital too. It’s fine if we don’t buy a car,” Keira continued to act “sensible.” “Well, how about a $300,000 car then? Surely that’s not too much to ask?” Jack yelled at me. “Have you been out of touch with reality for too long? Since when is a $300,000 car considered cheap? Why don’t you buy it for Keira yourself if you’re so capable?” I said mockingly. Jack was dumbfounded that I would say such things. Keira also had a “how could this be happening” expression. In my previous life, this routine worked on me every time. I always fell for it and thought they were good people. “Mom, Dad, I don’t want a car anymore. Please don’t fight because of me. It’s all my fault,” Keira said pitifully, tears welling up on command. In my previous life, I would have hugged her and fulfilled all her desires. But in this life, I knew she was a vicious demon. Seeing her cry made my teeth grind with hatred. Slap! I gave her a hard slap across the face. Father and daughter stood there in shock. Keira looked at me with fear and confusion in her eyes. “Oh, there was a mosquito on your face. I was too hasty and hit too hard,” I said, pretending to be loving as I reached out to caress her red cheek.

The next day at the company, I immediately changed all my bank card PINs and mobile payment passwords. I also began planning to transfer my assets. In this life, I couldn’t let Jack get his hands on my money again. Afterwards, I asked the school for Keira’s candidate number and checked her SAT scores. I was shocked – she only scored 1050. Even with an extra 400 points, she wouldn’t get into Harvard. In my previous life, Keira had shown me several mock test score reports, all above 1450. At the time I believed them completely, but now I realized those mock test scores must have been fake. In the afternoon, I went to a private detective agency and asked them to thoroughly investigate Jack and Keira. I suspected they were actually father and daughter. Twelve years ago, Jack took me to an orphanage. Among dozens of children, he chose Keira. When Keira first met Jack, she showed a natural affinity for him. At the time, I just thought they had a connection, that it was fate. I liked her too. But thinking about it now, the fact that they could work together to deceive me – there could be no other explanation besides a father-daughter relationship. If that was true, it was truly terrifying to think about. They had been playing this long game for twelve years, slowly emptying my assets bit by bit. A week later. At the company, I received a text message from my credit card – the supplementary card had been used to spend $300,000. I had overlooked canceling the supplementary card. To make it convenient for Jack to buy groceries and cover household expenses, I had given him a supplementary card. Without even thinking, I knew the $300,000 must have been for the car. I quickly called the bank and canceled the supplementary card.

In the evening, as I approached our building, I saw a new BMW X2 without license plates in the parking lot. As soon as I entered the house, Keira sweetly brought me slippers. “Welcome home, Mom. You must be tired from work.” Seeing her fake smile, I wanted to slap her, but I couldn’t reveal my hand before the investigation was complete. “Hmm, your dad bought you a car?” I asked casually. “Mom, I kept refusing, but Dad wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t do anything about it,” she said, putting on an innocent and helpless expression. “I’ve canceled your supplementary card. From now on, I’ll give you $10,000 a month for household expenses. If you need to buy anything big, let me know and I’ll handle it,” I said. “What do you mean? Our daughter got into Harvard. Doesn’t she deserve a reward?” Jack angrily demanded. I almost exposed them. With her grades, she’d never get into Harvard in a million years. Fortunately, I held back. “I’m thinking of our daughter too. She’s still young and just got her license. What if there’s a car accident? How could we bear to bury our child?” I said seriously, cursing them. Jack jumped up, slamming the table. “How dare you curse our daughter?” At that moment, I was certain Keira was Jack’s biological daughter. “I’m just worried about her safety. I care about her too,” I said. “Hmph, you’re just stingy,” Jack shouted. “Mom, are you upset that Dad spent your money to buy me a car?” Keira immediately got into character, asking me with tears in her eyes. I stroked her head and said gently, “How could Mom begrudge spending money on you? I’m just worried about your driving skills. What if you had an accident? If something happened to you, how could Mom go on living?” You can act, but so can I! “Mom, I got into Harvard! One of the top universities in the country. If it were someone else’s mother, they’d throw a celebration party and buy expensive gifts. But you haven’t done anything. Don’t you love me anymore?” As she spoke, the tears started flowing. Her acting was truly superb! I continued stroking her head and said, “A party would be too extravagant and wasteful. Besides, we should stay low-key. Being too high-profile will make people jealous. As for gifts, isn’t that BMW a gift?” “Mom, you don’t love me anymore. You know, I didn’t want the car to show off or for my own convenience. I had a dream – Mom, you’ve sacrificed so much for me over the years. I wanted to drive you on a road trip across the country.” “I’m touched that you have such a filial heart, but don’t you think something’s odd?” I asked. “What’s odd?” she asked, puzzled. “You should earn money yourself to buy a car, then take me on a road trip. It’s like saying you’ll treat me to dinner, but I end up paying. Isn’t that strange?” I said seriously. She was stunned, wanting to argue but unable to. “Rachel Johnson, are you even a mother? How can you discourage our daughter’s filial piety?” As Jack spoke, he winked at Keira. “Mom, you’re too much. You don’t love me anymore…” With that, she ran out. “Keira…” Jack chased after her. I suddenly remembered the notice at the entrance to the community: Last night the security cameras were damaged. Property management has contacted repair personnel. Residents are advised to secure their belongings and lock doors and windows. Were they setting me up? I was alone now, and with the security cameras broken, there would be no witnesses if they framed me. Thinking of this, I immediately called Chris, my assistant. Chris lived only a mile from my house. Then I called five other employees, saying there was an urgent meeting and asking them to come to my house as quickly as possible. I said I would reimburse their travel expenses. At 9 PM, I heard the door open and came out of the study. “Have you been home the whole time?” Jack asked. “Yes,” I replied. “I don’t believe you. Didn’t you go out looking for Keira?” “She’s not a child anymore. She can take care of herself.” “Are you even Keira’s mother? How can you say such heartless things?” “We can’t protect her forever. She has to walk her own path in life,” I said calmly. After arguing with him for about 15 minutes, Keira returned in a panic. As soon as she entered, she knelt before me: “Mom, I hit someone and ran away. Can you take the blame for me? Please save me. I don’t want to go to jail. I just got accepted to Harvard. My life is just beginning…” Hearing these familiar words, I was filled with rage. I wanted to strangle her right then and there. In my previous life, I was truly foolish to take the blame for her. “Keira, don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid,” I said, pretending to comfort her as I hugged her. “Mom, will you help me?” she asked pitifully. “Of course I’ll help you. You’re my precious daughter.” “Mom, I knew you wouldn’t abandon me. You still love me. I swear, after you get out of prison, I’ll be extra filial to you.” “What do you mean, get out of prison?” I pushed her away, pretending to be surprised. “Mom, didn’t you say you’d help me? Aren’t you going to take the blame for me?” she asked, confused. “When I said I’d help you, I meant I’d hire a good lawyer for you to seek leniency,” I said. Keira was dumbfounded. “Rachel Johnson, if you hadn’t upset our daughter, she wouldn’t have run out. If she hadn’t run out, this wouldn’t have happened. You should take responsibility and take the blame for our daughter,” Jack argued forcefully. “Why don’t you take the blame for our daughter? Keira, listen to Mom. Your dad is just a stay-at-home dad. It wouldn’t be a big deal for him to go to jail for a few years. But Mom is different. Mom runs a company. We need Mom to earn money. If Mom goes to jail, who will pay for your college?” I said. Jack was speechless, his face turning red as a beet. “Mom, Dad can’t take the blame for me. After I hit that woman, I got out of the car to check on her. The woman suddenly grabbed my ankle. I screamed. The woman who was hit didn’t see me, but she must have heard my voice,” Keira explained. I sighed and put my hands on Keira’s shoulders. “Keira, don’t try to run away when you encounter problems. You need to bravely take responsibility. Go turn yourself in. You’re still young – spending a few years in jail isn’t a big deal. Besides, you still have Mom. When you get out of jail, you can come work at Mom’s company.” Keira’s mouth formed an O shape, unable to believe that the adoptive mother who once loved her like her own had changed so much.

“Rachel Johnson, have you gone mad? Telling our daughter to turn herself in? If you don’t take the blame for her, I’ll report you. I’ll say you were the one who hit and ran,” Jack shouted. “Dad, don’t hurt Mom. Besides, Mom would have been recorded by security cameras when she came home from work and entered the community,” Keira said. “The cameras broke down last night.” “What?” Keira put on a very surprised expression. “Rachel, aren’t parents supposed to sacrifice everything for their children? What’s wrong with sacrificing a bit? Can you really bear to see Keira go to jail?” Jack held my hand, trying to persuade me emotionally. “Oh no…” Keira suddenly cried out, looking at me with fear and guilt. “Mom… I think I dropped your key card at the accident scene. If the woman who was hit finds it, she’ll definitely think you were the one who hit her.” “It’s fate. It’s all fate. Rachel, given the circumstances, you should take the blame for our daughter,” Jack said. I smiled and said, “What if I refuse?” “Then don’t blame me. For our daughter’s sake, I’ll have to frame you,” Jack said with a smug expression. “Feel free to frame me however you like,” I said, turning to go to the study. “Rachel Johnson, you think I won’t dare?” He chased after me. I opened the study door. Inside sat six of my employees. Jack stopped in his tracks, shocked into stillness. Keira followed closely behind, also freezing in place. They never dreamed there would be my employees in the study. “Did you all hear that?” I asked my employees. “Ms. Johnson, we heard the entire conversation clearly. I even recorded it,” Chris said, waving his phone. Jack and Keira broke out in a cold sweat, terrified. “Keira, you’re an adult now. Adults should face the consequences of their mistakes. Will you turn yourself in, or should I call the police?” I asked sternly. “Mom… Mom… don’t call the police,” she said in panic, grabbing my hand and begging. “Why don’t we try to settle with the woman who was hit? We can pay her off.” “Alright,” I said with a smile. I wanted to see what other tricks they had up their sleeves.

Early the next morning, I went to a DNA testing center and got the paternity test results for Jack and Keira. As expected, Jack was Keira’s biological father. As I left the testing center, I received a call from the detective. At the agreed-upon cafe, the detective showed me the investigation report. Jack had an affair in our second year of marriage with a woman named Sharon Wilson who worked at a massage parlor. The following year she gave birth to a daughter who was never registered. After raising the child for 5 years, she suddenly sent her to an orphanage. That daughter was Keira. Over the years, Jack had transferred over $3 million to Sharon Wilson. This money had all been obtained by the father-daughter pair weaving various lies to trick me. For example, they claimed it was for elite tutoring classes, buying study notes, purchasing various learning materials, charitable donations, gifts for teachers, and so on. Sharon Wilson used this money to buy two houses and a car in her hometown. Recently, Sharon Wilson had fallen down the stairs in her hometown and broken her leg, landing her in the hospital. Then she came to the city where I lived. The three of them plotted the hit-and-run to frame me, then steal all my assets. In my previous life, they succeeded! “Sharon Wilson came here three days ago and is staying at a hotel. My colleague obtained a used paper cup of hers, then did a DNA test with the hair sample of Keira you gave me. It confirms Sharon Wilson is Keira’s biological mother. Here’s the DNA test report,” the detective said. “Additionally, we have collected the recording of them plotting the hit-and-run to frame you, video of them scouting locations, and evidence of all the money they’ve swindled from you over the years. With a direct lawsuit, we can ensure Jack loses everything in the divorce and force Sharon Wilson to return all ill-gotten gains.” “Thank you,” I said. The next morning, while I was at work, I received a call from Keira saying they had found the woman who was hit. She was in the hospital. I said I’d meet them at the hospital entrance at 2 PM. At 2 PM, I went with them to a private room in the inpatient department. Sharon Wilson’s left leg was wrapped in bandages and elevated. When she saw me, she wailed, “It hurts so much! My leg is broken. How will I live from now on?” “Your voice sounds pretty strong. You don’t look too bad,” I said mockingly. “Are you blind? Can’t you see my leg is broken?” she snapped. “It’s not like they amputated it. A broken leg will heal,” I said with a smile as I sat down. “Ms. Wilson, we’re so sorry. It’s our fault as parents for not raising our daughter well. We’ve caused you to become disabled,” Jack began his act, dramatically emphasizing the word “disabled.” “Auntie Sharon, it’s all my fault. Please tell me what you want. As long as you don’t call the police, we’ll do anything,” Keira pleaded tearfully. “My demands aren’t high. Give me $1 million and we’ll call it even,” Sharon Wilson said, opening her mouth wide. Jack and Keira both looked at me. “Fine!” I agreed readily. The three of them lit up, barely able to hide their joy. I called the company finance department and transferred $1 million to Sharon Wilson’s account. Soon Sharon Wilson’s phone received a bank deposit notification. “Well, you know what’s good for you. This matter ends here,” Sharon Wilson said smugly, looking at the $1 million deposit. “No, this matter isn’t over yet,” I said with a sly smile. The three of them were stunned. The money had been paid – how was it not over?

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The moment we finalized a high-society marriage, the true daughter showed up, claiming that the richest couple were her real parents. Even my successful fiancé, she said, was supposed to be hers. I just nodded and smiled. Without my “Charm of Fortune,” would they even be the richest? Could my fiancé have become a rising star in business? Content My fiancé and I, childhood sweethearts, were nearing our wedding day when someone unexpected showed up at our home. She claimed to be my mom’s long-lost biological daughter, saying I’d stolen her life as an imposter heiress. After a DNA test, her story checked out. That night at dinner, Delilah Monroe slammed her chopsticks down and pointed at me, shouting, “Get out of my house! You don’t belong here!” My mom frowned, her voice soft as she said, “Delilah, don’t be so rude to your sister. Jojo may not be my biological daughter, but I raised her.” Delilah threw her bowl to the floor and burst into tears, flinging herself into my mom’s arms. She cried about how hard her life had been, growing up on her own. My mom’s eyes grew red as she listened to Delilah’s story of hardship. “But Jojo isn’t our real daughter. She shouldn’t bear our family name or live here,” Delilah insisted. Mom frowned but stayed silent. I finished my last shrimp and stood, “Well, if that’s how it is, I’ll move out for now. That way, you can spend time with Mom.” Delilah gave me a sharp glare. Mom, clearly heartbroken, slipped a debit card into my hand. “The PIN is your birthday.” Delilah saw the whole thing and broke into loud, panicked sobs. I made a call to Delilah’s brother—oh, I guess I should call him my brother now. Supposedly, a nurse had mixed us up at birth. When the call connected, I heard a gentle, refined male voice on the other end. “Yes, who’s this?” “I’m your sister—the one you’ve never met but are definitely related to. Could you come pick me up?” Half an hour later, a car pulled up at the front door. Delilah shoved me toward it. “Hurry up and leave. Don’t come back!” Mom kept reminding me to take care of myself as I left. I turned and saw my new brother, who had thoughtfully packed my luggage. Glancing at Delilah’s smug expression, I gave her a knowing smirk. “Hope you’re ready. Just don’t regret it later.” After that, I got into the car with my brother, who occasionally stole glances at me while he drove. “Our place is a little small. I hope that’s okay,” he said. “Not a problem! We’re siblings now—we’ll support each other!” I replied, beaming. The car stopped outside an apartment building. No elevator, just stairs. My brother carried my suitcase and had barely reached the door when his phone rang. After a few words, he started smiling and thanked the caller repeatedly. “What’s going on?” I asked when he hung up. “One of my coding projects just won an international award—there’s a $100,000 prize!” he said, clearly overjoyed. I congratulated him with a smile. “I never thought I’d win. I knew they’d pretty much picked the winner, so I just submitted it for fun. But it turns out the favorite dropped out, and I actually won.” I wasn’t surprised, really. I’ve had this “Charm of Fortune” since I was little, and it tends to rub off on those around me.

As a kid, I’d ace multiple-choice questions even with my eyes shut. “Get one free” bottle caps? A regular thing. I’d want ice cream, and suddenly, I’d find five dollars on the sidewalk. I even bought a lottery ticket once on a whim and won thirty million dollars. My parents took that windfall and started investing, so I got in on it too and bought a stock. The stock shot up, and we made a small fortune. From that point on, Mom and Dad’s business boomed. My fiancé, Zach, got his own share of the luck, becoming a rising star in the business world. I patted my brother on the shoulder. “You’ll be even richer soon.” He grinned and said he’d treat me to a nice dinner once the prize money came through. When he finally got it, he didn’t waste a moment before taking me out. During dinner, he mentioned how at work, everyone else had been slacking off while he worked hard, and his boss had noticed—he might even be getting a promotion and a raise. “Jojo, what do you think is up with my luck lately?” he asked. We went to a high-end restaurant, and just as we were ordering, in walked two familiar faces: Zach and Delilah. Delilah froze when she saw me, then angrily pointed at my brother. “Matthew Sinclair, what’s the deal? You’ve never taken me anywhere like this.” I grabbed her finger and twisted it upward with a grin, making her wince in pain. “That’s because we’re actual siblings,” I said, finally letting go as her face paled. “Jojo, it’s been a while,” Zach greeted me. Delilah immediately clung to his arm. “You’re my fiancé! Why are you talking to her?” Zach glanced at me, looking a little embarrassed as he pulled his arm free. “Jojo and I were engaged first. Even if you’re Mr. Carter’s biological daughter, our engagement still doesn’t count.” Delilah stiffened, her eyes welling with tears. “Why? She took everything that was supposed to be mine—Mom and Dad, and you too!” I chuckled and sat back down. Delilah found a seat too, sniffling as Zach’s gaze darted between us. “Jojo, did your parents really kick you out?” he asked. I nodded. “Didn’t you notice I’m here eating with my brother?” Looking uncomfortable, Zach made his way over to Delilah’s side. He still needed the Carter family’s help in business, after all. Now that I was no longer the “Carter heiress,” I’d lost that advantage. After we finished eating, I took my brother to check out some lottery tickets. Scanning the prizes, I picked the one with the biggest payout, while he jokingly scolded me. “Jojo, stop trying to make easy money. It’s better to earn it the hard way.” “I know, but in the face of real skill, everything else is just luck,” I teased. Luck is its own kind of strength, after all. I bought a ticket for two dollars. A week later, I hit the jackpot. After taxes and a donation, I pocketed a cool fifteen million. Matthew’s jaw practically dropped. “Are you… reincarnated as some kind of lucky charm?” To be honest, I’d wondered the same. It seemed pretty likely. Without a second thought, I bought a house right across from the Monroe Estate and moved in with glee. Even Delilah’s dog, who’d been in her arms, ran right over to me, wagging its tail like crazy. “What are you doing here? Get out of my house!” Delilah screeched. I pointed to the house across the street. “Funny you should mention it—that’s my place.” Delilah didn’t believe me until I threw the property deed in her face. My parents didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. After all, they’d built their fortune because I once bought a scratch-off ticket on a whim and won. They even invited me over for dinner.

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Four years after our breakup, my ex shows up at the hotel with a woman, and here I am, the unfortunate front desk receptionist stuck checking them in. The guy has these sharp, chiseled features, his dark eyes like black holes, staring with that unmistakably predatory look. His brows arch as he speaks, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “Got any protection in the room?” I hold a polite smile, keeping my tone smooth. “Apologies, sir, but we don’t stock extra-small in this hotel.” Content Hidden behind the counter, I slip off my heels, feeling instant relief as my feet press down on the cool floor. After standing for hours, there are just ten minutes left until the end of my shift. A few minutes of peace, I think—but of course, footsteps sound through the hotel lobby. I instinctively rise to my toes and paste on a smile. He’s wearing a dark shirt, mature and built, his features striking and severe. Draped over his arm is a suit jacket, swinging as he walks my way. As he approaches, I’m caught off guard by a sudden wave of déjà vu. Caleb Hawthorne. My ex from college. Three years together, and nothing since we broke up. Four years and not a single word. His youthful recklessness is gone, his face now edged with a steady, controlled confidence. Time has refined him. Made him look every bit the part. And there beside him stands a woman, pale and delicate, with a gentle look that practically demands sympathy. Ah, life—always serving up these awkward little moments. Ex-boyfriend shows up with a new woman, and I’m here, the front desk minion. Thankfully, I’m one of three people on shift. Come on, don’t notice me. Don’t notice me. But before I can finish the thought, Caleb’s gaze cuts right past the other two receptionists, landing directly on me. Oh, hell. His dark eyes are as deep and intense as ever, staring me down with that familiar hunger, now even sharper. If the old Caleb was like a wolf, then today he’s the king of the pack, here to hunt down some runaway prize. Judging by his expression, you’d think I was the one who’d run off with some rich sugar daddy. As I recall, though, wasn’t it you who asked for a breakup? Seconds tick by as he stares without a word, oblivious to the woman’s curious glance at his side. Finally, Caleb looks away, pulling out a credit card and placing it on the counter, his voice low and steady. “One room with a king bed.” With a professional smile, I check them in, sliding over the key card. Caleb slings his suit jacket over the woman’s shoulders, his movement brisk and practiced. My hands work on autopilot, but my mind drifts—Caleb never used to let anyone near his stuff, had a thing about his personal space that only I got to ignore. That was four years ago, though. People change. In college, Caleb wouldn’t even wear a suit, but there was one time I managed to coax him into it after an entire day of cajoling and bargaining. “Could I see your ID, please?” He hands me his card, and I can’t help brushing my thumb over the back. The scratches and the photo are the same as I remember from college, the one we got together. I pass him the key. “Room 1087. The elevators are to your right. Have a nice stay.” He takes the key and hands it to the woman, who heads for the elevator. But Caleb stays put, brow arching, a smile playing on his lips, his gaze intense. “Got any protection in the room?” I nearly break character trying not to laugh. After four years, I thought he’d changed, but no, he’s still the same charming jerk. Keeping my tone polite, I respond, “Sorry, sir, we don’t stock extra-small in this hotel.” Caleb’s brows draw together slightly, but his smile widens. Oh, so he’s got a little attitude about it, huh? He leans in closer, voice low and heavy. “If there isn’t any, how will I enjoy my stay, Ms. Winters?” I don’t care whether you enjoy it or not. Caleb takes a step away, like he’s about to leave, but turns back, tapping the counter with his finger. “Ms. Winters, as I recall, you used to be quite attached to my ‘extra-small.’” I feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to slap the smirk off his face but remember my job, my paycheck, and manage to hold it in. “Sir, my shift’s over,” I say with a sweet smile and step into the break room.

“What? You ran into Caleb yesterday?” I shut the door behind me and answer with a sigh. “Yeah.” “And? How did it go?” Switching my phone to my other hand, I press the elevator button. “How did it go? He brought a woman to get a room. How do you think it went?” It’s been four years since the breakup. Any remaining thrill or spark has long since faded. Mara tries to say something, but a baby’s wail cuts her off. “Hold on, Bella just woke up. I’ll call you later.” I chuckle, shaking my head as I hang up. It only takes half an hour to get from my place to the hotel, but it takes me all morning to psych myself up for the job. After pasting on a fake smile for wave after wave of guests, I’m ready to quit for the hundredth time. Just as I’m reaching for my water bottle, the front desk phone rings. I pick it up, muttering a few choice words under my breath. “Hello, Crescent Hotel front desk. How can I assist you?” There’s only silence on the other end, but I already know who it is. After a long pause, the voice on the other end finally speaks. “It’s me.” I roll my eyes, staying silent. Go on, Caleb. What now? An invitation to your wedding? Maybe a baby announcement? He waits a beat before asking, his voice playful. “I have a question.” Oh, this should be good. “Your king beds—do you have anything bigger? The last one was so small I couldn’t even move.” Oh, please. I force a customer-service smile he can’t see and adopt a sugary voice. “Sorry, sir. All our bed sizes are fixed. Although…” His breath is close to the phone, and I swear I can almost feel it. “Just five hundred feet to the left of the hotel, there’s a couples’ hotel. The beds there are massive—I’ve tried them myself. You can roll three times with someone in your arms.” I hear his breathing hitch. Satisfied, I hang up with a benevolent smile. As expected, the phone rings again within seconds. I ignore it, but my coworker glances over. “Lena, aren’t you going to pick up?” I give a casual shrug. “Ex.” She nods knowingly, offering a sympathetic glance. When the phone rings a third time, I finally answer. “Hello?” His voice is low, dripping with irritation. “Lena Winters.” Oh, what’s wrong, Caleb? You’re allowed to book a room, but I can’t have some fun too? “Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention, Mr. Hawthorne—I’d strongly recommend the ‘Underwater Paradise Suite.’ Soft water bed and ceiling mirrors…” This time, he’s the one who hangs up. Smirking, I put down the receiver, feeling a little more refreshed.

I met Caleb Hawthorne in the spring of my freshman year. I was at a club event, decked out in a cheerleader’s outfit, dancing with my squad on the basketball court. Caleb strolled by, surrounded by a crowd of guys. Just as he put out his cigarette, he looked up—and his eyes locked on me. The look he gave me was scorching, hotter than any summer sun, searing right through me. When I finished dancing, Caleb had drifted closer, blocking my path. “Caleb Hawthorne.” As I tied up my hair, I glanced at him sideways. “Let’s be friends,” he said, half-lidded eyes glinting in the sunlight, like a wolf stalking its prey, no shame in his gaze. I casually looked away. “The smoke’s suffocating me.” He stubbed out the cigarette with his thumb. “Fine. I’ll quit.” I almost laughed—what a shameless, bold move. But a month later, maybe because of his persistence, or maybe because I found his ‘lone wolf’ act oddly charming, I agreed to be ‘friends.’ The kind who kiss. And we kissed for three years. Until he suddenly broke it off.

On a weekend off, I head to the mall, browsing through everything from snacks to lingerie. Even if I don’t buy, it doesn’t hurt to look. I’m holding up a purple bra when I catch the scent of a faint cologne—familiar in the worst way. A long-fingered hand picks up a black bra, placing it front and center on the rack. “Black suits you,” he murmurs, completely unfazed. Turns out, people are right when they say your ex is like a ghost—never quite gone. I don’t bother turning around. “Thanks, but my boyfriend prefers purple.” Only then do I look over, catching Caleb’s stormy gaze. Caleb’s eyes are intense, his face set in stern lines, almost menacing, but I don’t let it bother me. Smiling sweetly, I wander over to the men’s section and hold up a pair of boxers, beckoning him over with a smile. Caleb’s face darkens as he approaches, looking like he’s ready to kill someone. “These your size?” I ask, holding them up. He raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh? Why?” “Just checking. If these are yours, I’ll go a size up—my boyfriend’s a bit bigger.” Watching Caleb’s composure crumble, his mature demeanor slipping, I leave the store, satisfied. As I check out, Caleb appears beside me, pulling out his card. “I’ll pay for these.” I study him, amused. The hot-headed college guy now a cool, collected professional? The contrast is a bit much. But still, something sparks in me, and I glance up with a smirk. “Wow, Mr. Hawthorne, so generous. How about throwing in those boxers for my boyfriend, too?” Caleb’s expression hardens again. “In your dreams.”

Not wanting to make a scene, I didn’t actually push Caleb into buying the boxers. Instead, I had him pay for my two sets, calling it a small “harassment fee” for all his recent antics. But I didn’t expect to see him again the next day at the gym. Seriously. This guy is like bad karma. Part of me wondered if he’d planned it, though he hadn’t crossed any lines and even footed the bill yesterday, so I let it go. Caleb wore a black T-shirt, hair damp with sweat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tipped his head back to drink from his water bottle. His whole look screamed “testosterone overload.” Still black, even after four years. I scanned my card at the entrance and walked in. Caleb wiped his face, the sweat rolling down his chiseled nose, his profile all strong lines and angles. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it off, showing off the contours of his muscles and the rise and fall of his abs as he breathed. Leaning an elbow on one machine, he wiped down with his shirt, revealing a black ink tattoo of bamboo winding down his right shoulder, sleek and snakelike. Beneath the ink, I noticed a twisted scar—a new addition since our breakup. Shirtless in the gym wasn’t exactly classy, but no one complained. A few women cast glances, and a few phones even came out to snap a shot. Was Caleb the kind of guy to strip down for no reason? Definitely not. Snickering to myself, I headed into the locker room. Ever since college, I’ve always been into fitness, but usually stuck with a T-shirt and leggings. Today, though, I pulled my hair up and stepped out in a sports bra and leggings, showing off a trim waist and a well-rounded shape. Caleb had noticed me back in college, and I didn’t get this front desk job after a single interview for no reason. As soon as I walked out, I could feel eyes on me, but only one gaze burned with intensity. Ignoring it, I made my way to the squat rack. With one foot planted on the platform, I lowered myself slowly, my leggings tight, highlighting every curve. I could almost feel the heat of his gaze, my own smirk forming as I sank into another squat. Then suddenly—a shirt landed on my head. Pulling it off, I turned to see Caleb’s tense jaw and his narrowed eyes, muscles flexed. “You win, Lena Winters,” he growled. The shirt smelled clean, with a faint trace of laundry detergent. I raised an eyebrow and slipped it on, unbothered. His gaze dropped to my legs. “Change the pants too,” he said. Caleb’s not the kind of guy who imposes on what people wear. Today, though, he was fuming, a look that only made him more intense. “This is the only pair I have,” I said, lying with the straightest face. Caleb gave me a look, muttering “Wait here” before grabbing his stuff and leaving. Sure, I’d “wait.” I picked up my bag and left too, deciding my perfect body deserved a break.

The next morning, I dragged myself back to work. There was a company dinner that night, one of those events I couldn’t weasel out of. My boss and another slightly sleazy manager sat together, both looking a bit worse for wear. I sat nearby, sipping my wine quietly. The place was lively, but then I heard my name being called. Glancing over, I saw my boss waving me over. With a polite smile, I took my purse and joined them. After a quick toast, the other manager’s hand drifted onto my thigh, edging inward. After two years working in this hotel, I’d dealt with these kinds of things more than once. I wasn’t the same girl who used to panic over this. I debated between slapping him or digging out my pepper spray when suddenly someone yanked me up by the arm. In the dim lighting, Caleb stood there, his gaze hard and expression unreadable, radiating a quiet menace. He lifted a glass of wine and poured it over the manager’s face. The man sputtered, anger flashing in his eyes, as if about to retaliate. Caleb smirked. “Try me.” “Touch her again, and you might not get that hand back.” Then he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Pulling it closer, I suddenly felt a sense of relief—Caleb had grown in these four years. No more smashing wine bottles over his own head to make a point. Now he knew how to stand his ground without losing his cool. This kind of maturity was… reassuring. I didn’t resist as Caleb led me out of the restaurant and into his car. After a silent moment, he looked at me and muttered, “Wait,” before stepping out and locking the door behind him. Soon, I saw Caleb striding back, swinging open the door and slipping into the driver’s seat. His collar was unbuttoned, his tie loosened, face still set with barely controlled anger. I couldn’t help laughing. “Where’d you go?” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed forward. “To make sure he remembers next time.” I chuckled. “So after all these years, you really have grown up.” Caleb flashed a wicked grin. “Some parts have grown up. Wanna see?” Bring it on. Fueled by a little too much wine, I felt a sudden spark of mischief. “Sure.” My hand drifted up his thigh, my smile widening as I leaned closer. “Let’s see exactly how grown up you are.” I remembered a college party during my sophomore year. Caleb and I had gone to a karaoke bar with some friends. I was craving iced coffee and demanded he go find me one. The moment he left, though, a few guys dragged me into another room. Nineteen years old, terrified, and too scared to call the cops, I didn’t know what to do. The guys had started pouring drinks down my throat when Caleb burst into the room, knocking the bottle out of one guy’s hand.

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My dad is Graham Merritt, CEO of Merritt Media, the largest media company in the country. My mom, Audrey Taylor-Merritt, is a retired Oscar-winning actress. And my brother, Lucas Merritt, is one of the hottest idols out there. The second I started at Blackwood School of Drama, gossip headlines started popping up about “Merritt Media’s youngest daughter entering her first year.” Naturally, my fame-hungry roommate wasted no time jumping on that: “Thank you all for the attention! I really want to focus on my studies, so I hope I can keep a low profile and avoid affecting others.” But within days, the truth was out: Merritt Media’s true princess was someone else. Content “Thank you, everyone, for the attention! As I’m just starting college, I’d really like to keep things low-key and just focus on my studies. I’d appreciate it if my wonderful fans could respect this and not disturb others,” Talia Owens posted on Twitter. Seeing Talia’s post, I couldn’t help but laugh. Just her luck, she was using her stage training from Horizon Pictures to play this one out right in front of me. This all started on the day we moved in. Somehow, a tabloid that must’ve missed the memo from my dad’s company put out the headline “Merritt Media CEO’s Daughter Begins at Blackwood School of Drama.” Let me tell you, any company that’s been around a minute knows Graham Merritt’s “other daughter” is off-limits—an untouchable topic. So, who dared to grab the tiger by the whiskers? More shocking was seeing someone so desperate for fame cling to my family’s name. The culprit? None other than my brand-new roommate, Talia Owens. To be fair, Talia had some convenient qualifications: we share a last name. She’s “Owens,” my dad’s “Merritt.” She was in a popular web series once, blew up for her “innocent girl-next-door” vibe, and picked up five million fans overnight. By the time she enrolled, she was already Blackwood’s newest “campus beauty” and had shot to the top of Trending News. As soon as people found out she was in my Drama Program, our group chat lit up like a bonfire: “OMG! She’s like a real-life princess!” “Ahhh! Are we gonna get to act with the campus queen?!” Right now, seeing her headline, our roommates turned their starry eyes on Talia, piling on the praise: “Talia, who knew you were the daughter of Merritt Media’s CEO? Oh my god, we’re practically royalty by association!” “Oh wow, Talia, does that mean Lucas Merritt is your real brother?! Can you get me his autograph?!” “Talia, your family must have incredible resources lined up for you! Mind if you bring me along? I’d be thrilled with any role—even a maid!” I couldn’t help but smirk at their comments. What a pipe dream. Lucas Merritt? He’s my brother. The real one. They may get that autograph, but a part in one of our productions? Good luck with that. All these people dreaming of shortcuts—first-year students who haven’t even acted in a real show yet, putting fame ahead of developing any skills. Could they even handle a speaking role? I opened my own account and posted a tweet under the trending hashtag: “Some people… Not exactly famous, but sure do love to jump on it.” Of course, some of Talia’s fans stormed over to my page, yelling: “Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself?” “Yeah, she’s talking about you! Stop clinging to Talia’s fame!” I ignored them. The truth would come out eventually. The only one who took issue with my attitude was Erika Banks, another classmate hoping for any part she could get. She smirked: “What’s so funny? Not everyone gets a family background like that, let alone has the looks to match. What’s with the snobby attitude?” “Exactly!” someone else chimed in. “What’s with the acting high and mighty?” Oh, please. They’d lose it if they knew. All their so-called idols practically bow down to me. I’ve got exclusive signed merch stacked in our basement. They shower me with well-wishes every holiday, terrified I might just forget them. Talia gave a soft, humble smile. “Look, we’re all here for the same reason. Some classmates may come from humble backgrounds, but we’re all here because of our acting dreams. We can’t let status divide us.” Erika sighed. “Oh, Talia, you’re too kind. But some people… They should at least know their place. I mean, Chloe, I don’t see any designer on you. Maybe your family isn’t all that. You could never compare to Talia. Remember, some people just rank higher.” Talia quickly interrupted, “Let’s not get into comparisons, everyone. It’s really not necessary.” Right then, my dad called. I ignored them all and stepped out to take it on the balcony. “Hey, is my little girl alright? I just saw the trending topics, and I’ve already got someone taking them down. You don’t need to deal with this.” Hearing “little girl” from my dad—a serious, professional guy—was enough to make me shiver. “No, don’t worry about it. Just let it be.” “Really? You sure you’re okay, kiddo?” “Absolutely.” Let’s see what game she tries to play next. “When are you coming home? I miss you so much.” Rolling my eyes, I nearly got a headache. “Dad, it’s only the third day of college.” Seriously. Someone, rein in this “daughter-obsessed” dad, please.

My name’s Chloe Merritt. My dad is Graham Merritt, CEO of the biggest media company in the US. My mom, Audrey Taylor-Merritt, is an Oscar-winning actress who retired from the spotlight, and my brother Lucas is a top-tier idol. Why “Merritt” and not “Taylor?” Well, my mom had this thing when she was pregnant with me; she decided that if I took her last name, it would prove Dad’s love for her. And Dad, being head-over-heels in love and slightly henpecked, of course, said yes. Plus, when I was a kid, I got separated from Mom once at a fan event. One of her more obsessed fans cornered me in a women’s restroom, taking photos non-stop for three hours until my family found me. It left me with a hefty case of crowd anxiety and claustrophobia. For years, I couldn’t be left alone and had to sleep with a nightlight. I spent years in therapy, but finally got through it. That’s why my parents have always gone the extra mile to protect my privacy, letting every major media outlet know they’re to delete any shot of me. Keeping “Taylor” kept me out of the spotlight and let me enjoy a “normal” ten years. The downside? Missing out on the “privilege” of being seen as Graham Merritt’s daughter. I also prefer not to flaunt designer labels—feels tacky. Most of my wardrobe comes from my aunt, who designs clothes in Europe. She makes me unique pieces, and no one else in the world—royalty included—has them. I’ve always kept my family away from school. But the night before college, Dad paced around my room, Mom teared up on my bed, and my brother patiently packed my bags. “Sweetheart, what if Dad drops you off at school tomorrow?” “Absolutely not. If you show up, the school president will practically roll out a red carpet.” “Well, how about Mom? I’m out of the public eye anyway.” “Right. Tell that to Director John Carson, who stopped by last week trying to pull you back for a new movie.” “What if your brother…” “Nope. The whole dorm would get mobbed by his fans.” The thought made me shudder. The hypnotherapy helped block most memories, but I still can’t face crowds comfortably. Best to avoid it when I can. Seeing how adamant I was, they finally backed down. So, on move-in day, our butler, Mr. Benson, drove me to school in the oldest, beat-up SUV we own. He dressed like your average grandpa doing groceries. Totally low-key. Mr. Benson has worked for our family for over twenty years, and I see him as a relative. His style might be plain, but he’s been nothing but dedicated to our family. And trust me, we pay him well. Of course, that’s not what my roommates thought. To them, my “status” looked pretty low. At first, I had no issues with Talia Owens. But when I just barely made the “campus beauty” list, she felt her thunder stolen. Ever since then, she’s been subtly digging at me, throwing shade about my family’s background and mocking my “lack of style.”

Since that vague Twitter post, Talia’s popularity skyrocketed, and our dorm became a VIP shrine for her. Returning from class one day, I found her surrounded by gift bags and fan letters. Erika eagerly grabbed the things and set them on Talia’s bed, picking up some high-end gifts along the way. “Oh wow, a Cartier bracelet! So luxe.” “And this LV bag? I’ve been wanting it for ages!” “Look, Chanel’s collector’s perfume!” “Uh, and what are these… slippers?” “Get a grip,” Talia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Those are Fendi. Worth over $1,000. I’d expect you to recognize them.” Erika gasped. “Seriously?!” Talia tossed her a Dior perfume, smirking. “Here, it’s yours.” Erika hugged the bottle, asking, “Who sent you all this?” “Who else?” Talia replied, “My fans, of course.” Watching her show off, I hit record on my phone, capturing everything. “Every time, I say I don’t need anything, but the second I hint at it on Twitter, they’re practically throwing gifts at me,” she said, laughing. “Honestly, it’s a waste. One fan even ‘bought’ me a star for my birthday—like, what am I supposed to do with that? I’d rather they send things I can actually enjoy.” “Every letter they send goes right into the trash. As if I have time to read them.” I felt a pang for her fans, for every person who spent hard-earned money, showing her support. Not that she cares. She only sees the dollar signs. Talia held out a lipstick toward me. “Chloe, you look like you could use some decent makeup. Here, this shade would suit you.” I rejected it coolly. “No thanks. Keep the gifts—you seem to value them so much.” Erika scowled, “Ungrateful much? Talia was trying to be generous.” “I don’t think you even deserve it. Stick to your drugstore brands.” “What’s wrong with affordable brands?” I shot back. “Just because something’s expensive doesn’t mean it’s better. Plenty of homegrown brands are fantastic quality.” Our family might be wealthy, but we don’t chase designer labels for everything. My favorite tees are made from American-grown cotton, and our silk pajamas come from a top-notch family-owned workshop that crafts exclusively for us. Erika rolled her eyes, dismissing me, “Country bumpkin mentality. No point talking to you.” While they continued with their gift haul, I watched my phone’s recording, knowing that someday, I’d make sure everyone saw Talia’s true colors.

The next day, in our Acting Workshop, the professor handed out scripts for us to perform. I drew the role of the female lead, partnered with the most popular guy in our class, Ryan Hastings. Ryan’s a campus heartthrob and a former boy-band member turned actor, with over ten million Twitter followers. I never expected Talia to react by biting her lip and looking like she was about to cry. Immediately, everyone gathered around, concerned. “Talia, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” “If you’re not up to it, take a break.” Even Ryan and the professor approached her to check on her. Talia looked at me, then carefully unfolded her script. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just… didn’t get the role I wanted. Don’t worry, everyone. I’ll still do my best. I won’t let anyone down.” Wow, a masterclass in manipulation. The Queen of Green Tea herself couldn’t have done it better. Some of my roommates took Talia’s script and walked over to me. “Chloe, why don’t you trade roles with Talia? She’s the campus queen, after all, and has actual acting experience. She’d definitely bring more to the lead role than you.” “Right, Talia’s got the looks for it, too. She’s naturally meant for the lead. Are you sure you could pull it off?” Ever since they thought Talia might be Merritt Media’s “secret princess,” they all started sucking up like crazy. Unmoved, I replied, “Why should I? We all drew randomly. And besides, what makes you think I can’t handle the lead?” Ryan scoffed, “Lack of experience. And last I checked, you don’t share her last name either, right?” With that, he snatched the script from my hand and gently placed it in Talia’s. “Don’t worry,” he said softly to her. “Now we’re partners.” I looked at the professor, hoping she’d set things straight. “Professor, are you really going to let them steal the roles like this?” She sighed impatiently. “A role’s a role. You think you’ll get to pick your parts as a professional actor?” I wasn’t letting this slide. This was clear favoritism. I’d never been treated like this before. “Why don’t you tell her that?” I shot back. “She’s the one asking for a change.” “Teachers are supposed to be fair. If we allow people to swap roles whenever they want, who’ll take on the smaller roles?” “In every production, each part matters. Without supporting roles, the lead wouldn’t shine.” The professor looked irritated. “I say one thing, and you argue ten. You think you should be the teacher? Either take the role or leave.” I smirked. “You’re all letting her switch because she’s ‘Owens,’ right? What if she’s not even Graham Merritt’s daughter?” Talia froze, her face turning pale as she tried to keep her cool. “If she’s not,” she sneered, “then what are you saying? That you are?” “Obviously,” I answered confidently. The room erupted in laughter. “Oh my god, she thinks she’s Graham Merritt’s daughter. Hilarious!” “If she’s a Merritt, then I must be Jeff Bezos’ kid.” Graham Merritt—that’s my dad’s name. Sure, laugh it up while you still can. Soon enough, you won’t be laughing anymore. I don’t just want them to know the truth. I want everyone to know who the real imposter is. A week after school started, my brother Lucas Merritt was set to perform his concert. Ever since he’d won his season’s top spot on The Next Superstar, he’d gone viral nationwide, practically overnight, bringing me millions of sister-in-law “candidates” along the way. From day one, Erika bragged to everyone that she was Lucas’s biggest fan and held a spot on the Lucas Merritt Fan Society’s board. Tickets for his concert went on pre-sale three days ago. As expected, they sold out within seconds.

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