On my 18th birthday, I was tossed overboard 18 times like a worthless dog by a young master. And all of it—just to make his first love laugh. Outside the morgue. My mom clutched the $180,000 they handed her, smiling through her tears. In an instant, she transformed into their new “stepmother” and “mother-in-law.” Unbelievable. The woman I had endured endless humiliation to support—the fragile, helpless, eternally sick woman—turned out to be the long-lost first love of one of the wealthiest tycoons. But my mother’s hunt had only just begun. My mom is a lunatic. When I was little, she could still scrape together some money to raise me. But after I turned 15, her condition worsened, and she was sent to a psychiatric hospital. From then on, I dropped out of school and started working to support her. I never knew my father. When I asked, she’d either have a meltdown, destroy everything in sight, or hurt herself while screaming that he was dead. Eventually, I stopped asking. At the hospital, my mom spent her days playing the role of a rich heiress, claiming to be the unattainable first love of every high society bachelor. She even roped in other patients to act out ridiculous soap opera dramas with her. She had no idea. To keep her fed, clothed, and comfortable in that hospital, I had become nothing more than a plaything for the rich men.
My mom was beautiful and statuesque. Even the fragments of her beauty I inherited were enough to make those rich boys lose themselves. But between wealth and poverty lies a chasm called class. While my peers were busy enjoying their youth and burying themselves in books, I was on my knees, pouring drinks and laughing at jokes for some trust fund brat. I met Manhattan’s golden boy, Logan Carter, at one of those parties. One of the young heirs sneered, “If you can make Logan laugh, I’ll give you $10,000.” Ten grand—just loose change to them—was three days’ worth of my mom’s treatment. The doctor had said her condition was curable, but the cost of medication was astronomical. I had no choice. I wanted her healed. I wanted to go back to school. I wanted to sit in a bright, clean classroom like everyone else my age. But that dream could only come true if I kept her alive. I’d already heard stories about Logan Carter before I met him. Back in high school, he had fallen in love with a girl who rejected his passionate confession and moved abroad. Heartbroken, he hadn’t smiled since. How dramatic and precious, I thought. I’d never met his first love, Serena Brooks, but I imagined she was the kind of pure, perfect girl who lived in the daydreams of every teenage boy. So when I washed off my makeup, tied my hair into a ponytail, and put on a school uniform to stand before Logan, something unexpected happened. He cried. That was the night I made my name. I became Serena Brooks’ replacement—the little bird Logan Carter kept in a gilded cage. For three years, he made me dress like her, talk like her, laugh like her. He played games with me, confessed to me, and showered me with the kind of care I thought only existed in fairy tales. I thought Logan Carter was my salvation. But when Serena came back, everything I’d built crumbled to dust. On my 18th birthday, he cast me into the freezing depths of despair.
Logan Carter didn’t break his promise. He threw me a grand birthday celebration on his yacht—a party fit for royalty. “Baby, I’ll always protect you, no matter what…” he whispered as he knelt before me, holding a ring. Surrounded by the cheers of onlookers, he was just about to slip the ring onto my finger when a sob shattered the moment. Serena Brooks. Her sudden appearance caught me completely off guard. For three years, I thought I’d smoothed over Logan’s heartbreak and carved out a place for myself in his life. I even allowed myself to fantasize that their story had ended. But when Serena cried and threatened to jump overboard, Logan didn’t hesitate. He sprinted to her side, wrapping her in his arms as the crowd erupted into applause. I stood frozen, my entire body growing cold. All I could hear were the jeers around me: “She’s just a pathetic toy. What makes her think she could compare to Serena?” “A whore who’s happy with a few grand—let’s see how many splashes she can make!” Before I could identify the voices mocking me, someone shoved me into the ocean. Icy water flooded my nose and mouth as panic gripped me. They pulled me out, only to throw me back in again. Over and over, I was dragged to the brink of death. And Logan Carter? He didn’t stop them. Instead, when he saw Serena laugh at my humiliation, he joined in. He personally threw me overboard, like I was nothing more than a dead dog. On the 18th time he hurled me into the freezing waters, as Serena’s radiant smile lit up the night, I finally surrendered to the embrace of death.
The party on the yacht didn’t stop just because I sank to the bottom of the ocean. It wasn’t until dawn broke that they finally sailed away from international waters. I used to love the freedom and vastness of the sea. But now, floating on its endless expanse, I found myself longing for my mom. Days later, my broken body was discovered by a fishing boat and eventually sent back to the States. At the morgue. For the first time in three years, I saw my mom. She looked so much better now—her health had improved dramatically, her condition stable after years of care. The doctors had even said that she might soon be able to leave the psychiatric facility and try living like a normal person again. But now, as she stumbled out of the morgue, she was a hollow shell of the woman I’d nurtured back to health. Gone was the vibrant spark she wore while playing her dramatic heiress roles at the hospital. Her lifeless eyes and vacant expression made it seem like she was teetering on the edge of another breakdown. Calm on the surface, but I could feel the storm brewing inside her. Mom. My mom. Please, please don’t lose yourself now. If you fall apart, then everything I endured will have been for nothing. “Mrs. Parker, our deepest condolences. This $180,000 is a small token from us on behalf of Nia. Please, we hope you won’t refuse it.” Serena Brooks appeared, arm linked with Logan Carter, as if they hadn’t just orchestrated my death. Their audacity made my ghostly fury burn hot. How dare they? How dare they show up here with money to insult my mother like this? Serena held a paper bag filled with crisp, blood-red bills, shoving it toward my mom’s trembling hands. My mom blinked in confusion, raising her head slowly. “And… you are?” “We were Nia’s friends,” Serena said, dabbing at her dry eyes with a tissue, pretending to be overwhelmed by emotion. “We’re heartbroken over what happened. Please, Mrs. Parker, you have to stay strong for her sake.” She forced the bag of money into my mom’s hands again, her fake concern dripping with malice. I was seething, my ghostly rage flaring. Mom, don’t take it! That’s blood money! If she accepted it, the case would be buried for good.
But the next second, my mother took it. I watched in agony as her slender fingers closed around the bag. In the corner of the room, I noticed someone discreetly snapping photos of the scene. “Such kind children,” my mom mumbled. Her voice was flat, and her smile didn’t reach her vacant eyes. She gripped the bag tightly, muttering, “Thank you… thank you so much…” Serena’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a sneer, a flicker of disdain flashing in her eyes. My anger surged. She shivered as if feeling the cold touch of my wrath. Logan quickly made an excuse to leave. “Mrs. Parker, please take care of yourself. We’ll be going now.” My mom stood frozen, clutching the money as though it anchored her to this world. Her lips moved silently, whispering something I couldn’t make out. “Logan, I’m scared,” Serena said softly as they walked away, her voice trembling with mock vulnerability. “Do you think she’ll find out the truth?” “Don’t worry,” Logan replied, his tone dismissive. “Even if she does, it won’t matter. She’s crazy. No one would believe anything she says, and it’s not like she has any proof.” “You’re so good to me, Logan.” “You’re the treasure I thought I’d lost forever. If I’m not good to you, who else would I be good to?” “You’re terrible!” she laughed, lightly swatting his arm. “But I have to admit, I was surprised. Her mom’s so elegant—she reminds me of some old Hollywood star. Good thing Nia didn’t inherit too much of that. Otherwise, you’d have forgotten all about me ages ago.” “Impossible,” Logan said, leaning closer to her. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Their words sliced through me like knives as they walked straight through my ghostly form, oblivious to my presence. I was useless in life. Now, I was just as useless in death. I couldn’t protect myself. I couldn’t protect my mom. “Wait.” My mom’s voice broke through the silence. Logan froze, turning back to her. She stared at him intently, her gaze locking onto his face as though searching for something. “Logan Carter…” she said slowly, her voice trembling. “What’s your connection to Charles Carter?”
Logan Carter blinked in surprise. “Mrs. Parker, you know my father?” My mom snapped out of her trance-like focus and shook her head, mumbling under her breath, “No… no… I don’t know him. I don’t know anyone…” “She really is crazy,” Logan muttered, exchanging a smirk with Serena Brooks. Relieved, they turned and left. “$180,000?” “Hah!” “Charles Carter once begged me to have lunch with him for more than $180,000. Logan’s even more pathetic than his father.” Beneath the curtain of her long hair, the corners of my mom’s mouth curled into a slow, sinister smile. That predatory glint in her eyes—it was like watching a hunter preparing for the kill. I had no idea how my mom managed to get released from the psychiatric facility, but she did. I followed her back to the rundown apartment we used to call home. She spent hours methodically sorting through my belongings, rifling through my phone, and piecing together every humiliating detail of my life. She didn’t flinch, didn’t cry. Her expression was blank the entire time. When she stumbled across a few moments of happiness I’d recorded on my phone, she even chuckled softly to herself. “What an idiot,” she muttered. Excuse me? Mom, do you even hear yourself right now?! After sitting in eerie silence for an entire day and night, she suddenly got up, grabbed the $180,000 she’d accepted, emptied the last few thousand dollars I had in my savings, and stormed off to the designer boutiques downtown. By the time she was done, she’d blown all the money except for enough to buy a hamburger. This woman is insane! Even back when Logan Carter treated me like a princess, I never dared to spend money so recklessly. Two pieces of chiffon sewn into a cocktail dress—was that supposed to be more important than her medication or basic necessities? Did she think she’d die if she didn’t have the perfect hairstyle or high heels? She’s almost 40 years old, still clinging to some delusional dream of being a high-society debutante. I wanted to shove her right back into the psychiatric hospital so she could act out her soap opera fantasies there. “Silly girl,” she sighed later, as if lecturing me. “You know, men’s money is meant to be spent. If you don’t spend it, someone else will. And if you’re not careful, that money might just come back as the knife in your back…”
She’d been rambling nonstop these past few days, always throwing in little jabs at me. Her words hit so hard I almost wanted to come back to life just to argue with her. But every time I cooled off, I had to admit she wasn’t entirely wrong. Take now, for example. She strutted into the most exclusive club in the city, head held high, and booked the largest VIP diamond suite like she owned the place. Then, without batting an eye, she ordered eighty male models to fawn over her. She was sitting there like a queen, completely ignoring the fact that she had less than $10 left in her pocket. Because of her, I got to indulge in a bit of luxury myself, though I couldn’t help stressing over how she was planning to get out of this mess. Places like this didn’t operate without the backing of some serious power players. When she finally decided she’d had enough fun, she got up to leave, acting like nothing had happened. Predictably, a group of bouncers appeared to block her path. I floated above them, hopping mad. But my mom? She didn’t even blink. She sipped her wine gracefully, raised her chin, and said, “Go get your boss. Let’s see if he’s brave enough to take my money.” Mom, are you out of your mind?! This wasn’t the hospital—no one was going to humor her delusional high-society theatrics here. If she didn’t leave now, she was going to get herself killed. And sure enough, things escalated quickly. Word spread that someone was causing trouble in the club. Soon enough, Ryan Cole—one of the rich heirs who’d once paid me to amuse Logan Carter—showed up with a group of lackeys, making a big scene. “Do you even know where you are?” Ryan sneered. “Other than Logan, the last idiot to pull a stunt like this ended up six feet under, and that was 18 years ago!” “Logan hasn’t even been coming around since that whole Nia Parker mess,” one of his friends added with a groan. “This place has been so boring without him.” “Shut your mouth!” Ryan snapped. “Serena said no one’s allowed to mention that bad-luck ghost anymore. Keep your lips sealed about what happened in international waters, or you’re dead!” As they bickered, my mom sat in the middle of the room, perfectly composed, swirling her wine. At the mention of my name, her eyes narrowed dangerously. Before Ryan could say another word, she smirked and raised her glass toward him. “Kid,” she said coolly, “I’m not here for you. I want to see Liam Cole. Three minutes. That’s all I’ll wait.” Ryan’s face darkened with rage. But then, as he got a closer look at her, he froze. His anger evaporated, replaced by a flicker of fear. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and rushed to the corner of the room to make a call. I watched as he glanced nervously at my mom, his expression a mix of panic and disbelief. “Dad,” he hissed into the phone, “that lady from 18 years ago—the one who skipped out on her bill and started a fight—she’s back!” Excuse me?!
“Vivi… is it really you, Vivi?” Liam Cole, the elusive and powerful owner of the club, came stumbling out from the private floors below in less than two minutes. He practically fell to his knees in front of her, looking as awestruck as a loyal dog seeing its goddess. My mom, however, remained completely indifferent, her expression calm and unreadable. She leaned down, gently pinching his chin, and said three sentences: “Tell Charles Carter he has half a day to clean out the pests in his family.” “Your younger generation… they need better discipline.” “Oh, and remember what I told you years ago? Keep gambling, and you’ll end up at the bottom of the river.” Liam, visibly shaken, nodded frantically, agreeing to everything she said. He even begged her to stay in the presidential suite of the five-star hotel next door, all in the hopes of earning one approving word from her. As we left the club, my mom gave Ryan Cole, Liam’s son, a faint, enigmatic smile. I swear I saw the color drain from his face like the sky was falling. If that wasn’t bizarre enough, less than an hour later, Charles Carter himself—the legendary business mogul of the East Coast—showed up at the hotel. And then, to my utter disbelief, the man knelt before my mom with tears in his eyes, holding up an enormous diamond ring. “Vivi, will you finally marry me?” My mom accepted the ring, but her response was as cold as ever: “No marriage license. No public announcement. No shared bedroom.” “Anything you want!” Charles said desperately. “As long as you stay with me, I’ll agree to it all.” I stared, completely dumbfounded. So, it turns out all those over-the-top dramas my mom had acted out in the psychiatric hospital, with her “haughty heiress” persona? They weren’t just an act. And all those high-society characters she mentioned? They were real. Once the shock faded, an uncomfortable weight settled in my chest. If my mom was this capable, then why had she spent years holed up in a rundown apartment, raising a child alone and eventually losing her mind? If any of these powerful people had known about her struggles, would I have still suffered through all those humiliations? Would I have ended up dead at 18? The tangled relationships and the bitter irony of it all made me want to laugh. And yet, here she was, about to become Charles Carter’s kept woman. Just another gilded bird in the Carter family’s cage.
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