The poor girl I spent a million dollars sponsoring turned out to be a master manipulator. She chased after my son while sleeping with my husband. When I was on my deathbed in the ICU, desperately waiting for money to save my life, she took all our assets and went on a world tour with my husband. She even had the gall to mock me: “Mrs. Lewis, didn’t you always tell me to pursue my dreams and be brave in love? My dream was to inherit your money, sleep with your man, and take over your life.” In the end, I died full of hatred, powerless to fight back. But when I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn—back to the day she first stepped into my house. “Hello, Mrs. Lewis. Thank you for taking me in.” Standing at the door with her oversized bags, Wendy smiled shyly. She looked so timid, glancing nervously around my house as if overwhelmed by her new surroundings. In my previous life, I thought her reaction was because she felt uneasy about entering an unfamiliar environment. Now I knew better. She wasn’t nervous—she was coveting my wealth. Wendy was an orphan, her parents having died when she was still a child. She had grown up in the remote mountains, barely surviving on scraps. The story of her eating a single piece of stale bread over three days had made national headlines. I felt sorry for her back then. Her tragic situation moved me so much that I decided to sponsor her escape from poverty. For 15 years, from grade school to college, I spent over a million dollars on her education and living expenses. But Wendy was nothing more than an ungrateful snake—a manipulative, scheming woman. She started by pursuing my son, Ryan, relentlessly. When Ryan had finally had enough and confessed to me that Wendy had been harassing him at school, I thought I’d finally see her true colors. But Wendy, ever the actress, immediately burst into tears, her voice trembling as she pleaded: “That’s not true, Mrs. Lewis… I only treated Ryan kindly because I’m so grateful to your family.” “I don’t have any friends at school, and Ryan feels like family to me. I envy my classmates because they have loving parents and siblings… but I’m always alone.” Her tearful confession left Ryan speechless. In the end, he apologized to her. Even my husband, who was never particularly kind, comforted her gently: “Who said you’re alone? Aren’t we your family too?” Wendy looked up at him with watery eyes, whispering: “Thank you… Mr. Lewis.” Her tears made her seem pitiful. Yet when she smiled, she looked so pure and resilient, like someone who had endured great hardships but remained innocent. It was the kind of act that made people instinctively want to protect her. That one word, “Mr. Lewis,” was spoken so sweetly and softly—it was enough to make anyone’s heart melt. Even then, I felt something was off about her. But Wendy was too clever. She turned to me, her expression full of sincerity, as she said: “And Mrs. Lewis, I promise I won’t disappoint you. I’ll work hard to repay your kindness.” Her acting was flawless. Her eyes sparkled with such genuine gratitude that I dismissed the unease in my heart. I continued to help her, supporting her all the way through college. But as soon as she graduated, she seduced my husband. I caught them in my bedroom—her clothes a mess, her body covered in the marks he’d left behind. When I confronted her, shaking with rage, she smirked and replied: “What’s the rush, Mrs. Lewis?” “It’s not my fault you’re getting old. Mr. Lewis just prefers someone younger.” “I’m just… repaying your kindness.” As she spoke, she deliberately adjusted her clothes to reveal more of the evidence, as if she was proud of her conquest. And my husband? He had the audacity to shield her behind him, saying: “Rebecca, don’t blame Wendy. This is all my fault. I was the one who insisted on being with her.” Years of overwork had taken a toll on my health. My heart was already weak, and this betrayal pushed me over the edge. I collapsed, clutching my chest as pain ripped through me. While I lay dying in the ICU, Wendy used my money to fund a luxurious trip around the world with my husband. In the end, I died alone, consumed by anger and despair. Before I passed, Wendy finally came to see me. Smiling triumphantly, she said: “Mrs. Lewis, didn’t you always encourage me to chase my dreams?” “Well, my dream was to inherit your money, sleep with your husband, and live your life.” Her shamelessness was so astonishing that it left me speechless, even in my final moments. As my consciousness faded, I made one last desperate wish: if I could have another chance, I would never let them get away with this! The next moment, I opened my eyes— And found myself back on the day Wendy first arrived at my house. The day I had let the wolf into my home.
“Mrs. Lewis, I’ll be starting high school when the semester begins.” Wendy’s voice broke the silence, as if testing the waters when she noticed I hadn’t spoken for a while. Her words pulled me back from the memories of my previous life, and I refocused my gaze on her. I studied her carefully, forcing down a wave of disgust as I gave her a faint smile. —She’d been living quite comfortably off my money these past few years. When I first saw her in the mountains, she was dark-skinned, malnourished, and scrawny. Now? Her skin was fair and smooth, her figure well-fed, and even her voice carried a soft, sweet tone. “Come in,” I said, gesturing toward the door. “The guest room is ready. Make sure to focus on your studies.” As I spoke, I glanced at the man standing beside me—George Lewis. I had no intention of sending Wendy back to where she came from. Trash should be thrown into the trash can, after all. I had even gone out of my way to “dress up” George for the occasion. He wore a crisp white shirt paired with tailored slacks, and on his wrist was the six-figure Cartier watch I had gifted him for our wedding anniversary. From the outside, he looked flawless—a charming, successful man. But in reality, I was the one with the money. George held a useless position at my company, a job I gave him just so he’d have something to do. He had no real power. But girls like Wendy—greedy and shallow—were easily fooled by appearances. Hah. If she was so desperate to play the part of a manipulative gold-digger, I’d hand her over to the dog myself. This time, I’d push George straight into her arms so she wouldn’t have time to go after my son. Sure enough, from the moment George appeared, Wendy’s demeanor changed. She pretended to be shy and obedient, but her gaze kept drifting toward him. I nudged George deliberately and said, “Honey, don’t just stand there. Help Wendy with her luggage.” George, snapping out of his daze, finally reached out his well-manicured hands to pick up Wendy’s suitcase. He led her into the living room. When their hands accidentally brushed during the handoff, Wendy’s cheeks turned pink. She lowered her head bashfully and murmured, “Thank you… Mr. Lewis.” I watched the scene unfold, a cold smile forming in my mind. Perfect. The fish was starting to nibble at the bait.
For the first few days after Wendy moved in, she behaved herself. Well, mostly. There was just one incident: she wandered into the living room in her pajamas, pretending it was an accident, and deliberately lingered in front of George. It was subtle, more like a test than anything outright inappropriate. But I could tell—she was itching to make her move. Every day, I watched her play the role of the innocent, sweet girl, flitting around George Lewiske a little butterfly. I pretended not to notice. The more she thought she was getting away with it, the bolder she became. Then, the fall break arrived. My son, Ryan, was coming home from boarding school. In my previous life, this was when Wendy and Ryan first met. I was curious to see if she’d try to pull the same tricks on him this time. And, predictably— It seemed Wendy had decided George would take too long to seduce. She’d set her sights on Ryan instead. That day, as soon as I walked into the house, I heard her sugary voice: “Ryan, have some water.” Ryan, bless him, had a good eye for trouble. From the moment he saw Wendy, he clearly didn’t like her. He glared at her attempt to fawn over him and snapped, “Get lost. I’m not your brother, and I don’t have a sister. Stay away from me.” Wendy’s face froze, but she quickly recovered. Her eyes turned red, and tears started streaming down her cheeks. “Ryan, do you… not like me?” she whimpered. She then turned her tearful gaze toward George, sniffling pitifully. “Mr. Lewis, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I must’ve done something wrong to make Ryan hate me…” George, predictably, softened at her display. He immediately tried to smooth things over. “Don’t worry about Ryan, Wendy. He’s always been spoiled by us—don’t take his words to heart.” I decided it was time to step in. Wendy’s lingering gaze on George hadn’t even faded yet when I walked into the room, catching her off guard. The moment she saw me, her expression stiffened. She quickly masked it with a look of vulnerability and said, “Mrs. Lewis, it’s all my fault. I upset Ryan earlier. You can blame me, but please don’t be mad at him.” Ryan’s face darkened as he glanced at me, clearly wanting to explain himself but unsure how to start. And honestly, I didn’t blame him. In my previous life, even I had fallen for Wendy’s act. How could my son stand a chance? Back then, I had scolded Ryan harshly for being rude to Wendy. He’d always been an obedient child, taking my words to heart. Because I constantly praised Wendy in front of him—telling him to treat her like a little sister and protect her—Ryan reluctantly put up with her. When Wendy got into trouble at school, he even defended her, getting into fights on her behalf. That led to a disciplinary record right before his college entrance exams. Looking back, I must’ve been out of my mind to favor an ungrateful snake over my own son. But this time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. Meeting Wendy’s gaze, I smiled faintly. “Why would I blame Ryan?” I said coolly. “Wendy, Ryan works very hard at school, and this is his chance to rest. Don’t bother him unless it’s important.” Then I added pointedly, “I only have one son, after all.” Wendy’s eyes widened in disbelief, and for a split second, I caught a flash of hatred in her gaze. But she quickly suppressed it, replacing it with a pitiful expression as she whispered, “Of course, Mrs. Lewis. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure not to disturb Ryan again.” Ryan let out a sigh of relief and walked over to me. “Mom, I’ve missed your cooking. The food at school is terrible.” George patted Ryan’s shoulder, saying, “You’ve been working hard, son. I’ll take you shopping for new shoes tomorrow.” Wendy watched our warm family interaction, biting her lip so hard it turned white. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Maybe the problem wasn’t that no one had taught her properly. Maybe she’d been rotten to the core all along.
When I started sponsoring Wendy, she was just in the third grade. She lived in the remote mountains where the roads were nearly impassable. To get to school, she had to climb over hills and leave the house before the sun even rose. Her parents had passed away, and she lived with her grandmother, barely scraping by. They were so poor that they couldn’t afford proper meals or clothing. Feeling sorry for her, I decided to sponsor her education all the way through college, giving her a monthly stipend of $500 for living expenses. Over the years, she would write me letters from time to time, bragging about her excellent grades. Out of kindness and goodwill, I believed every word she said. I never once questioned whether she was lying. But when she took her high school entrance exams, she only managed to get into the worst-performing school. Based on the grades she had claimed to have, she should have easily gotten into one of the best schools in the district. As her sponsor, I felt it was only natural to ask why she had “underperformed.” Her explanation? “Mrs. Lewis, I’m so sorry for disappointing you. “My grandma got sick, and I was so worried about her that I couldn’t focus on studying.” She used her grandmother’s health as an excuse, leaving me with no room to argue. Not long after, her grandmother passed away. At the funeral, Wendy clung to my hand tightly, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded: “Mrs. Lewis, I have no family left. “Can I live with you? “Please, let me call you Mom. I’ll take care of you when you’re old. I’ll repay you no matter what.” Looking at her tear-streaked face, I sighed and agreed. In public, she always played the role of the pitiful, apologetic girl, making herself seem so small and humble. In my previous life, I was touched by her act and tried to be as kind to her as possible. It wasn’t until my death that I realized it had all been an act. She did it to make me let my guard down.
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