I spent 20 years searching for my twin sister, only to find her dead. My investigation revealed that she was killed by a pair of despicable people: her husband, Ryan Lindell, and his ex-wife, Lauren. At my sister’s funeral, Ryan wailed in fake grief, crying out, “Oh, my love, how am I supposed to live without you? God, please bring her back to me!” I walked into the room, and the moment his eyes met mine, he froze, collapsing to the floor in terror. “Ryan, I’m back. I didn’t die,” I said, pretending to be my sister. I was going to drag this scum and his accomplice straight to hell. In the car, Ryan cautiously asked me how I survived. The road outside was deserted, winding through a remote mountain pass. I told him I blacked out and couldn’t remember much. The last thing I recalled was waking up on a beach, being helped by the police, and eventually finding my way to the funeral home. “Do you remember falling off the cliff while watching the sunset? That’s how you… disappeared,” he asked nervously. He was lying. I knew he had pushed my sister off that cliff himself. The fire of hatred burned inside me, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. It took every ounce of self-control to suppress the urge to kill him right then and there. “I… don’t remember,” I replied calmly. He let out a relieved sigh but quickly grew wary. “We should probably head to the hospital to get you checked out.” At the hospital, the scans revealed a wound on the back of my head. The doctor explained that I might have hit my head on a rock when I fell into the ocean, which could explain my memory loss. After some tests, the doctor diagnosed me with retrograde amnesia—gaps in my memory, caused by trauma. “Will my wife ever regain her lost memories?” Ryan asked, feigning concern. “It’s possible,” the doctor replied. “Familiar surroundings and people might help trigger her memory.” Ryan’s expression darkened at the news. He finally believed I had amnesia. But the truth was, I had inflicted that head wound on myself before coming here. I already knew everything about my sister’s life. My twin, Michelle, had been married to Ryan for eight years. Ryan had a daughter, Mia, from his first marriage. After Michelle’s adoptive father passed away, he left her a massive inheritance, including the mansion Ryan and Mia now lived in. When I arrived at the house, Mia was lounging on the couch, playing a game on her phone. She looked up and exclaimed, “Michelle! Why aren’t you dead?” “Why? Are you disappointed?” I shot back. “Ugh, who wants you dead? Since you’re alive, go make dinner. I’m starving,” she said, not even looking up from her game. Ryan stretched and yawned. “Michelle, I’m exhausted. I’m going to take a nap. Call me when dinner’s ready.” He started heading upstairs. “Why should I cook?” I asked, annoyed. “Because you always do,” Mia replied matter-of-factly. “Really? I don’t remember that.” Mia stared at me, stunned. Ryan quickly explained, “Mia, your stepmom hit her head when she fell into the ocean. She’s lost some of her memories.” Then he turned to me and said, “Michelle, just make dinner, okay? I’m starving too.” I glared at him. “Are you and your daughter missing your arms? Can’t you cook for yourselves?” Both father and daughter stared at me in shock. I wanted to rip them apart right then and there. My sister had been kind and gentle, enduring their abuse for eight years. She had acted like a servant, cooking and cleaning for them, and even funded their lavish lifestyle with her inheritance. “Michelle, are you insane? How dare you talk to us like that!” Ryan barked, his face dark with anger. “Michelle, before I lose my temper, go make dinner!” Mia demanded, her tone entitled. I sneered. “Dogs stay in the house for so long they start thinking they own it.” “What the hell does that mean?” Mia snapped. “Who owns this house?” I asked. “You… you do.” “And whose money pays for everything you eat, wear, and use?” “Yours…” “That’s right. Everything you have comes from me. You’re nothing but parasites, yet you have the audacity to demand I cook for you?” “Once you marry my dad, everything you own becomes ours!” Mia yelled shamelessly. I laughed coldly. “Then let’s get a divorce.” Michelle’s inheritance was legally protected as premarital assets. If I filed for divorce, Ryan would walk away with nothing. Ryan panicked, quickly scolding Mia. “Mia, watch your mouth! Apologize to your stepmom right now!” Reluctantly, Mia mumbled, “Michelle, I’m still young and don’t always think before I speak. Don’t take it to heart.” “You’re 20, Mia. You’re in college. That’s not ‘young,’” I replied, unimpressed. “Michelle, I’m sorry. I was wrong,” she said through gritted teeth. “Good. But actions have consequences. From now on, you’re no longer allowed to use my credit card.” Earlier, on the way here, Ryan had handed me Michelle’s phone. Since we were twins, facial recognition unlocked it easily. I’d seen countless notifications from the bank about Mia using Michelle’s card to buy game items and skins. Hearing this, Mia panicked. “Michelle, think about it! I’m like your daughter! You’ve always spoiled me!” “You’re my daughter?” I asked mockingly. “Then why do you call me Michelle instead of Mom? That’s a bit contradictory, don’t you think?” “I’ve always thought of you as my real mom!” she insisted. “Really? Then why didn’t you attend my funeral? Instead, you stayed home playing games. Clearly, your games are more important than I am. Why would I spoil someone like you? Don’t try to fool me—I may have memory loss, but I’m not stupid.” Mia was speechless. Ryan jumped in. “Mia, I told you to come to the funeral! You’ve been playing games too much. From now on, no more games!” “Mom, I swear I wanted to go to the funeral! I just… lost track of time. If you’re upset, you can hit me to vent your anger,” Mia said, putting on a pitiful act. Slap! Slap! I didn’t hesitate, delivering two sharp slaps that echoed through the room. Both Ryan and Mia were stunned. Mia’s cheek swelled instantly. “You… you hit me?” she stammered. “Didn’t you just ask me to?” I replied, feigning confusion. Speechless, she stormed upstairs in tears. I turned to Ryan. “Well? What are you waiting for? I’m hungry. Go make dinner.” Ryan didn’t dare argue. He obediently went to the kitchen. At Night I lied, saying I needed to be alone to “recover my memory,” and went to sleep in the guest room. On the way back from the hospital earlier, Ryan had handed me Michelle’s phone. Being twins, I could unlock it easily using facial recognition. As I opened her photo album and scrolled through the pictures and videos, tears streamed down my face. “Michelle, I’m so sorry. I came too late!” Michelle’s real name was Evelyn Lowe, and mine was Emma Lowe. When we were 11, our parents smuggled us from a small country. One night, as they were returning home from work, they were killed during a robbery. Not long after, the landlord threw us out of the apartment. For months, Michelle and I lived in a damp, dark alley, building a makeshift shelter out of cardboard. We survived by begging on the streets. That winter, when I was 12, Michelle got a high fever and fell unconscious. I ran to Sunset Boulevard, desperate to find a doctor. But by the time I returned with help, Michelle was gone. I spent 20 years searching for her. A week ago, I finally learned what had happened: a kind-hearted Chinese man had found my dying sister in the alley that day and saved her. The fever had taken Michelle’s memory. She forgot everything—including me. The man who saved her brought her back to East Asia and adopted her, treating her like his own daughter. When he passed away, he left all his wealth to Michelle. As for me, I ended up being taken in by the leader of a Sunset Boulevard gang. Three years ago, after his death, I inherited his position as the head of the organization. Our gang operates internationally, with branches in several countries—including the one Michelle had lived in. It was through these connections that I finally found her. I boarded a plane to reunite with my sister, filled with joy. But the moment I landed, my men greeted me at the airport with grim faces and told me the devastating news: Michelle was dead. That moment shattered me. It felt like my body was being torn apart by a thousand knives. 4 Three Days Later It was Saturday, and Ryan’s ex-wife, Lauren Smith, came over to “clean the house.” My poor, naive sister had never known that this housekeeper was Ryan’s ex-wife. The moment Lauren saw me, her eyes burned with anger. Clearly, Ryan had told her about the slap I’d given her daughter. She wasn’t there to clean; it was all for show. After half-heartedly wiping a few surfaces, she sat on the couch, opened a bag of snacks, and turned on the TV, looking completely at ease. To anyone who didn’t know better, she would’ve seemed like the mistress of the house. “This is your idea of cleaning?” I asked coldly. “Of course. That’s how I’ve always done it. Ask Mia if you don’t believe me,” Lauren replied, completely unfazed. “Mom, Lauren’s been with us for three years. She’s practically family,” Mia chimed in. “I hired a housekeeper, not a family member. You can pack your things and leave,” I said bluntly. “You don’t have the authority to fire me. Ryan hired me,” Lauren shot back. “But I’m the one paying your salary. Unless you’re willing to work for free, I suggest you leave.” “You… you can’t do this! This is worker exploitation! I’ll expose you online!” she shouted, panicking. “Go ahead,” I said calmly. Lauren was stunned. She had always treated my soft-hearted sister this way, but now she didn’t know how to handle me. “Mom, calm down. Lauren, go clean my room,” Mia said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. With a sour expression, Lauren stomped upstairs. Ryan finished cooking and called us to the table. Lauren joined us without hesitation, as if she belonged there. “It’s ridiculous, making the husband cook while the wife sits around,” she muttered under her breath. “Then why don’t you take over cooking from now on?” I said sharply. “I don’t know how to cook,” she retorted. “Ryan, why did you hire such an incompetent housekeeper? She can’t clean, and she can’t cook. Or is there something else going on between you two?” I asked, my voice dripping with suspicion. Ryan’s face turned crimson, and he stammered, unable to form a coherent response. “Mom, it’s not like that!” Mia jumped in to defend him. “Lauren and I just got along when she came to apply for the job, so I told Dad to hire her.” “Oh, I see,” I said with a sly smile. Then, I changed the subject. “Mia, what would you do if a thief broke into our house?” “Easy. I’d catch them, beat them up, and call the police,” Mia replied without hesitation. “Good. Because there’s a thief sitting right here. Go ahead and deal with her,” I said darkly. Mia blinked, confused. “What do you mean, Mom?” “I mean Lauren is a thief. She’s been stealing my bags and jewelry,” I said, my gaze locking onto Lauren’s now-terrified face. I had ordered my men to follow Lauren and Ryan from the moment I arrived in this city. Yesterday, Lauren had taken several designer bags and pieces of expensive jewelry to a secondhand shop and sold them for over $80,000. Michelle’s adoptive father had owned shares in a luxury goods company, and after his death, Michelle inherited 20% of the company. Every year, they sent her designer items as gifts, including bags and jewelry. Last night, I requested a detailed list of all the items Michelle had received over the years. After comparing it to what Lauren had sold, I confirmed that everything she pawned had belonged to my sister.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295922”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #重生Reborn #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #励志Inspiring
Leave a Reply