I was reborn at fourteen. My father, his voice soft, asked me, “Do you want to stay here with your mother, or go abroad, and I’ll give you two hundred million dollars?” In my past life, I cried, “I want my mom.” Then I watched him, clear as day, keep an executive as his mistress, hire a nanny, and have three illegitimate children, all to spite my mother. She spent half her life in misery, couldn’t even get a fair divorce, and walked away with nothing. As for me, I was manipulated, ridiculed, utterly destitute, and died alone in a foreign country. My friends had to pool money just to buy my flight ticket home. This time, I smiled and signed the papers. “Two hundred million dollars, I’m taking it.” It wasn’t that I was heartless. It was that I finally saw the truth: in this family, no one genuinely cared about my mother or me. I refused to be that weak, pathetic girl again. This life, I’d earn the money, I’d protect my life, and I’d orchestrate the whole game myself. My mother? When I’ve won everything, when she no longer needs to beg anyone, I’ll personally bring her home.
I was reborn at fourteen. My father, Richard Vance, had just returned from a board meeting, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He sat on the study sofa in the old Vance family estate, a legal agreement resting on the table beside him. I stood before him, my school uniform wrinkled, my hair a mess. I’d just come back from a late study session, looking like a naive teenager oblivious to the family drama unfolding. “Eleanor,” he said, calling my name gently. “Your mother has been a little emotional lately. You can choose to stay here and be with her, or you can go abroad to the school you like. After graduation, you can return, and a portion of the company’s shares can be given to you to manage ahead of time.” He spoke sincerely and softly, like an understanding father. “I’ve already prepared the living expenses for your time abroad. Two hundred million dollars, transferred directly to your personal account, for your full discretion.” In my past life, when I stood in this exact spot, I was stunned. Two hundred million dollars. Such a massive sum. It was a massive sum, yes, but now I knew, it was just a way to discreetly transfer assets. Mom sat on the living room sofa, saying nothing, her eyes red and raw. I cried as I tore the agreement into tiny shreds, throwing them at my father’s feet, my eyes blazing as I yelled, “I want my mom!” I truly believed I had won then. Looking back now, I was so incredibly foolish. That year, I naively chose to stay with my mother. And what happened? Less than six months later, my father still sent me abroad, packing me off to his executive mistress, Seraphina Hayes’s house in America. He claimed it was to broaden my horizons and groom me as a future successor. I became the only person in that grand villa without a true ally, eventually even the nannies started ordering me around. Seraphina’s boy-girl twins, seemingly harmless, were actually my father’s illegitimate children, utterly spoiled and entitled. They eventually tried to snatch the family inheritance, and to think I once considered them my own siblings. And me? In the end, no one even remembered that I was the eldest daughter of the Vance family. My mother remained here, alone in the old estate, desperately trying to contact schools, learn English, hire lawyers, all to bring me back. She thought she was the legitimate wife, that she still had a right to speak up. Until one day, she received a lawyer’s letter. The house deed was being reclaimed. She didn’t move out. She sat in the empty living room, not even bothering to boil water, eating cold food, bite by bite, saying, “I’ll wait for Eleanor to come home.” I heard the soft clink of pill bottles in her room over the phone, and that’s when I knew she was so depressed she was afraid to sleep. I graduated at nineteen, and my first job was scrubbing floors in a diner in Melbourne. My second was cleaning kennels for a wealthy family. The day my mother was admitted to the hospital, I was handing out flyers in a parking garage. The doctor called me from overseas, “She attempted to jump from the building three times tonight, but we don’t have your father’s authorization for forced treatment.” I stood downstairs from the hospital, my phone pressed to my ear, unable to utter a single word. The last time I saw her was five minutes before her cremation. She couldn’t hear me call her name anymore. It was then I finally understood. She didn’t lose to Richard Vance; she lost because of me. The daughter she spent her entire life protecting simply wasn’t strong enough. This life, the agreement was laid before me again. I didn’t cry. I simply picked up the pen and, with a decisive flourish, signed my name, ‘Eleanor Vance’. My father raised an eyebrow, as if truly looking at me for the first time. “Are you sure about this?” “Completely sure.” I looked at him, my voice calm. I paused, then added, “As your *only* child, I really should go out and gain some experience.” I let the word ‘only’ hang in the air, a subtle challenge. He froze for two seconds, then chuckled softly. “You truly are my daughter, Eleanor. Ambitious.” I smiled too. But my smile was far more knowing than his. He thought I had finally come to my senses, willing to be obedient. But I knew in my heart that sending me away was merely a prelude to him fostering his illegitimate children. By getting rid of me, he could easily divorce Elara and officially legitimize his executive mistress. My mother, tragically, would never understand. She was still living in a dream, believing he would eventually come back to her. She didn’t know that once I signed this agreement, she and I were both completely kicked out of the Vance family game. That night, I returned to my room. The door closed, and the moon outside was cold and distant. I didn’t cry. I just opened my laptop and logged into my exclusive bank account. Two hundred million dollars. Deposited. I stared at the balance for a minute, then pulled open a drawer and took out a notebook. On the first page, I wrote: * Richard Vance’s illegitimate children: Dominic Hayes, Briar Hayes, born in New York. * Richard Vance’s offshore trust accounts: To be investigated. * Elara Vance’s dowry company shares flow: To be investigated. * Goal: Within four years, reclaim everything that belongs to my mother and me. I clicked on a picture of my mom. Her youthful smiling face was still vivid in my mind, wearing a ten-year-old trench coat, smiling so innocently. She later gave that trench coat to a nanny, saying the woman’s family wasn’t well-off. Later, I saw it in the trash, streaked with cake crumbs and smeared with dirty footprints. This life, I wouldn’t believe anything anymore. It wasn’t that I was heartless; it was that I finally saw the truth—in this family, no one genuinely cared about my mother or me. From today on, I, Eleanor Vance, will use these two hundred million dollars to completely dismantle the Vance empire, piece by agonizing piece.
The night I signed the papers, it was very dark, but the living room light remained on. As I went upstairs, I looked back from the landing and saw my mother still sitting there. Her eyes were red and swollen, like she’d been crying for hours, and she clutched the pencil case I used as a child. On it were the stickers I’d used to spell out my name: Eleanor Vance. She looked as though she wanted to say something, then closed her mouth, lowering her head, as if in a daze, or perhaps trying to convince herself of something. I didn’t say a word, turning and going back to my room. The door closed, and silence instantly enveloped me. But my heartbeat roared in my ears. I lay on my bed, eyes closed, counting to five hundred. The moon outside remained still, and she hadn’t slept either. I heard rustling from her room, the soft clink of pill bottles, the sound of a glass hitting the floor, and a whisper so faint I could barely make it out: “She’s changed…” She, of course, had no idea that what changed in me was an entire lifetime of regret and tears. At 2 AM, I crept downstairs. She was still on the sofa, propped against a cushion, eyes wide open, like a doll whose batteries had run out. I walked over and gently draped a thin blanket over her. She seemed startled, lifting her head slightly. “You’re still awake?” Her voice was a raw whisper, barely audible. “Writing applications,” I paused, telling a small lie. She nodded. I looked at her, and she looked back at me, as if searching my face for a hint of softening, a flicker of hesitation. But there was none. The hope in her eyes slowly extinguished, like the final drizzle of a fading summer. “Are you angry with me?” she asked, her voice strained. “No,” I said. She gave a bitter laugh. “Your father didn’t just suddenly offer you two hundred million. He doesn’t want to send you abroad; he wants to send you away.” “I know.” She looked up at me, her eyes frighteningly bright. “Then why did you sign it?” I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t explain it to her—explain that I’d already lived through how she lost, explain that if I didn’t leave now, it would be too late for everything. She clutched a copy of the agreement, and tears splattered onto the paper, pinning me to the spot. “It’s not that I didn’t try,” she murmured. “I truly fought with all my might, but he never intended to let me win.” In that moment, I truly wanted to hug her, to tell her that this time, I would protect her. But I didn’t move. I just watched her slowly curl back onto the sofa, wiping away tears and biting her lip, living like a child thrown out of their home. My chest tightened. But I couldn’t afford to be soft. I knew, in my past life, it was a hug on this very night that pulled me back into an emotional quicksand. I let her emotions guide me, and the result was her eventually jumping from the building, while I had to work odd jobs to save up for a flight ticket home just to attend her funeral. This time, I couldn’t give in. I turned and went back to my room. At 4:30 AM, she finally fell asleep. But I wasn’t sleepy at all. I opened my email and began preparing my documents for going abroad: transfer applications, visa materials, transfer plans before account freezing, and the Plan B list my mother never knew about: * List of executives for Vance Group’s subsidiary companies; * Records of property transfers; * Contract loopholes; * Offshore asset management trust windows; * And – the future heir training program list, first entry: Dominic Hayes, 3, slated for a prestigious New York prep school. I gently bit the end of my pen, circling “Dominic” three times. Dominic. How utterly pathetic. To think that years from now, the renowned Vance Group, publicly boasting only one child, cherished by its father, would secretly be grooming *him*. It made me want to vomit. In my past life, I watched him join the group, sign contracts, lead projects, and be praised by the media as a young prodigy, all while the public ignored the fact that he was illegitimate. This life, he’d have to deal with me first. At 7 AM, my mom woke up, her eyes puffy, her face a sallow yellow. I finished getting ready to leave, but she stood by the door, blocking me. “Eleanor,” she called, her voice trembling slightly, “It’s not too late to change your mind.” I stopped and turned back. “Not this time,” I said. “I’m going out to win, and then I’ll bring you back.” She looked at me for a long time without speaking. Finally, she nodded, not a single tear falling from her eyes. She simply said, “Then don’t lose.” I smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” I closed the door. The moment I stepped out of the Vance family home, the sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the wind was a little cold.
The day I left the country, Richard Vance himself drove me to the airport. My mother was in the car too, sitting in the passenger seat, silent. She’d spent three hours doing her makeup; her lipstick was bright red, her powder too heavy, and her face looked ashen, as if she’d lost blood. She stared out the window the entire time, watching the road she’d traveled countless times, as if sealing herself off into her memories. Richard wore a slightly worn, navy blue suit, his smile perfectly polite. To outsiders, he looked like the ideal husband and father. He gripped the steering wheel, talking to me about the school while turning to tell my mother, “I’ve arranged Eleanor’s accommodation. Seraphina will take care of her. The child will be much more settled at her place.” My mother didn’t respond, only clutching the strap of her handbag, her knuckles white. She, of course, knew exactly who Seraphina was. The youngest female executive at the company, thirty-five years old, with two MBA degrees, beautiful, sweet-talking, and most importantly – she had given birth to Richard’s boy-girl twins three years prior. The Vance Group’s HR even had a nickname for her: the Corporate Crown Princess. My mother wasn’t oblivious; she just pretended not to know. Just like now, she was wearing her most expensive champagne-gold dress, supposedly the first valuable item my father bought her after he made his fortune. Mom sat bolt upright in the passenger seat. She would see me off, and she would do it like a true Mrs. Vance. Even if, after I left, she would become a woman no one remembered. At the airport, my father’s driver was already waiting at the VIP channel, pulling my luggage. My mother held my hand, softly asking, “Did you bring your passport? Do you have any cold medicine? Don’t forget that cashmere scarf…” I nodded, watching her eyes well up. She tried hard to smile but couldn’t keep it up. Her voice was tight, “If it’s cold over there, FaceTime me, and I’ll send you clothes…” My eyes felt a little warm, but I held back my tears. This wasn’t just saying goodbye; it was a parting. My father stepped forward, gently putting his arm around her shoulder, and smiled at me. “Your mother worries so much; she hasn’t slept well these past few nights.” Mom’s eyes widened, clearly disoriented by the phrase “your mother.” Her eyes actually welled up, as if she was being loved again. I looked at her, both angry and heartbroken. This was her. Even knowing she had been betrayed so completely, she still desperately tried to snatch a tiny bit of security from any scraps of false affection. Perhaps it was because her entire youth had been spent by his side. I stood up. Before I entered the boarding gate, Mom suddenly hugged me. “Eleanor…” She buried her face in my shoulder, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “If it’s too hard over there, just come home. Mom will always be here.” I patted her back. “Mom, just wait for me.” “Wait for what?” “Wait for me to come back and take back everything that belongs to you.” I whispered in her ear. She paused, her eyes momentarily blank, then nodded. “Okay… Mom will wait for you.” When I looked back, I saw my father still holding her, looking like an affectionate old couple, reluctantly sending their daughter abroad. Only I knew that in his office drawer, he had a photo of Seraphina and the two children at Disney, smiling more genuinely than in any family photo he’d taken with us. Only I knew that this wouldn’t stop him from giving all his family fortune to his illegitimate children decades later. I entered the VIP lounge. Seraphina sat on a sofa, waiting for me. She wore a camel trench coat, her makeup impeccable, her lipstick a cool rose-red. Her Chanel earrings gleamed, clearly a new design. My dad must have given her quite a lot of money. She stood up, extending her hand with a welcoming smile. “Eleanor, it’s so good to see you again. Your father has told me so much about you.” I didn’t shake her hand, only nodded. “Thank you for going through all this trouble.” She didn’t seem to mind, turning her hand to pick up her handbag. “No trouble at all. From now on, you can think of me as family here in America. Just tell me if you need anything.” I smiled. She thought I didn’t know who she was. In my past life, I lived in her house for four years. I knew which drawer held the children’s vaccination records, which passport was hidden in the safe, how many nannies she’d replaced, and at what time of night she liked to call Richard Vance. I knew everything. She thought I didn’t remember anything. She didn’t know I was back to settle scores. Seraphina took me onto a private jet. The seats were spacious, the flight attendants bowed as they offered water; everything felt like a fairy tale. I sat down and didn’t say a word. I just inserted the new SIM card into my phone, activated location services, internet, recording permissions, and bound my financial accounts to SMS verification. I knew that by leaving, I was completely saying goodbye to my identity as the eldest daughter of the Vance family. They could raise their illegitimate children in peace. But soon, they would realize I wasn’t a daughter sent away. I was a creditor returning to collect.
I landed at 5 AM. The Los Angeles sky hadn’t yet brightened; outside the cabin, it was a quiet, pale blue. I pulled my suitcase, following behind Seraphina. Her smile was gentle, her stride confident, like the perfectly composed caretaker. “Eleanor, you didn’t get much rest last night, did you? We’ll grab breakfast first. Do you prefer American or international cuisine?” She asked affectionately, as if she truly thought of me as her own daughter. I offered a faint smile. “Either is fine, thank you, Aunt Seraphina.” Her eyes flickered, a hint of surprise that I called her ‘Aunt Seraphina’. She didn’t know that ‘Aunt’ was a title I’d forced myself to say for three years in my past life, and it was the first chip I’d play in this life to collect my interest. The car was her own, a black Porsche Cayenne, clean, luxurious. The trunk was neatly organized, already stocked with a toiletries bag, school uniform-style information packets, and a comprehensive lifestyle guide. I got in the car, and as the window rolled up, everything fell silent. Seraphina talked the entire way, asking what color room I liked, if I wanted a tutor, if I was interested in learning horse riding, tennis, or golf. Her words were beautiful, every sentence seemingly for my benefit, but I didn’t believe a single word. She claimed I’d be like her own daughter in her home, but her *real* children were sleeping in the kids’ rooms of her suburban villa, their custom English names on the doors, their rooms filled with thousands of dollars’ worth of picture books and toys. They were boy-girl twins, born in America by Seraphina the year Richard Vance turned forty-two. She did it quietly. They were only three now, too young to bother me, too young to appear on social media, and certainly too young for Elara Vance to ever know about them. Seraphina was a clever woman. She knew Richard Vance wasn’t divorced yet, and she knew Elara Vance still held voting rights on the board. So, she hid everything well—her children, her ambition, and her grand plan for the entire Vance Group to fall into her son’s hands. I was merely a pawn in her elaborate cover-up. She believed I was good in school, soft-spoken, easy to control, and obedient and sensible. Sending me abroad was just Richard Vance finally giving in to her constant nagging. “Your father says you’re very intelligent, not like some children who just bury their heads in books,” she said, studying me with a smile. “I’ll tell you honestly, he thinks highly of you.” I smiled back. “Really? I had no idea.” She paused, then softened her voice. “Don’t overthink it. Your father just isn’t good at expressing himself. Men, you know, their minds are on their careers. You focus on your studies now, and when he sorts things out, you’ll get everything that’s coming to you.” “After all, you’re his only daughter.” I nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Seraphina. I’ll listen to you more from now on.” Her brows relaxed; she seemed to let her guard down completely. “Good girl.” I lowered my gaze, my fingernails digging into my palm. I was just as ‘good’ in my past life, living in her house for four years, as invisible as a shadow. She’d celebrate my birthday every year, inviting a few children of my father’s friends for dinner. Her own daughter was always among them. The little girl looked like Richard Vance. At three, she could already call me ‘Big Sister,’ but she never truly accepted me as one. She just watched the adults laugh at how redundant I was. And my mother, at that time, was already living in a psychiatric ward, repeating my name over and over. This life, I wouldn’t be a ‘good girl’ anymore. But on the surface, I’d pretend to be even better than anyone else. Seraphina’s house was decorated like a showroom, even the dinnerware was a limited edition. She arranged for me to stay in the guest room; outside the window was a pool, and on the French doors, a “Welcome Eleanor” sign, like a meticulously planned grand gesture. I came out after showering and saw that she had already set out my enrollment materials for tomorrow, even thoughtfully printing out the school’s introduction and course schedule. “Get some rest, adjust to the time difference. I’ll drive you to school tomorrow; someone should be with you on your first day,” she said softly. I nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Seraphina.” She smiled, satisfied. At 11 PM, the lights in her room went out. But I sat at the guest room desk, opening the small laptop I’d brought with me, and began synchronizing my memories from my past life with my current plans. I stared at the screen for a long time, until the moon rose outside the window, and the night deepened like still water. This life, I wasn’t here to live under someone else’s roof. I was here to overturn their entire world.
Seraphina knocked on my door promptly at 6:30 AM the next day. I was already awake. “Eleanor, time to wake up. Breakfast is downstairs.” Her voice was gentle, like coaxing a small animal. I sat up in bed and casually opened the door. “Morning, Aunt Seraphina.” She paused, probably not expecting me to be so quick to adapt. “Such a good girl,” she chuckled. “Come down for breakfast. I’ll drive you to school in a bit.” On the table were milk, sandwiches, cereal, and an exquisitely sliced fruit salad. As I sat down, a small shadow darted out from the living room. “Mommy, I want a hug.” The little girl threw herself into Seraphina’s arms, her words saccharine sweet. I looked over. She was wearing pink Daisy Duck pajamas, her hair soft, her eyes a little timid, and there was a bit of milk on the corner of her mouth. It was then I noticed her eyebrows and eyes were quite similar to my father’s. She looked up and saw me, instantly quieting, her eyes darting over me as she softly asked, “Who is she?” Seraphina stroked her hair. “She’s your big sister.” “Big sister?” The little girl tilted her head, then looked at me again. “Why don’t you look like me?” I lowered my gaze and smiled, my voice gentle. “Because my mommy and daddy are different from yours.” She bit her straw, nodding as if she understood, but only I noticed the flicker of displeasure in Seraphina’s eyes. Just then, the little boy came down the stairs, clutching a very cute bunny toy. He didn’t speak, only stood on the steps, watching me, his eyes as wary as a cat’s. I smiled at him. “Good morning, Dominic.” He ignored me, just lifting his bunny a little higher, as if asserting his dominance. Seraphina looked slightly embarrassed. “They’re a bit shy around new people, don’t mind them.” “It’s fine, they’ll get used to it,” I said, still smiling. “They’re still so young.” I spooned some cereal, lowered my head, and took a bite, hiding the turmoil in my eyes. Seraphina wasn’t even bothering to hide it. Did she truly think I was stupid? Both children had Richard Vance’s surname, yet she kept saying their father worked abroad. In my past life, I ate breakfast like this too, watching one call her ‘Mommy’ and the other ignore me. Four years. I went from being a sister to an unwanted Vance, then to a guest, and finally not even a guest. My school enrollment was inexplicably canceled, and I even needed their approval to apply to go back home. Not this time. This time, I’d make them hand over their future themselves. Before Seraphina drove me to school, she didn’t forget to pull the two children closer and say, “Come, say goodbye to your big sister.” “Goodbye, big sister!” The little girl waved cheerfully. The boy didn’t speak, just grunted softly. I looked back at them, smiling and nodding. “Goodbye, good children.” That ‘good children’ was meant for them, and for Seraphina too. I knew she was smart, and highly perceptive. She would notice my every glance, every word, even my posture. So I had to act even more harmless than she did. As she dropped me off at the school gate, she helped me with my bag, then started to fuss again. “The school provides lunch, remember to stay hydrated, Los Angeles is dry. Call me anytime if you need anything…” I watched her, her eyes gentle, her smile perfectly poised, thinking she was a natural-born actress. I pretended to listen intently. “I’ve got it, Aunt Seraphina, thank you.” She nodded, satisfied. Before I walked through the school gates, her last words were almost a whisper, right by my ear: “Eleanor, you need to know that abroad, no one will protect you. You have to rely on yourself.” I paused, then smiled faintly. “Yes, I understand.” I walked through the school gates with my backpack, the sunlight so bright it made me squint. Ahead lay new classmates, new teachers, new courses, and the entirely new game I was meticulously planning. But I wasn’t afraid. Because I wasn’t here to hide from the storm. I was here to lay the mines. At lunchtime, I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to a nearby library to meet a former schoolmate I’d already contacted – a student in accounting who had worked on Vance Group’s North American accounts in my past life. “You’re saying there were false accounts in that Vance Americas acquisition?” I asked in a low voice. He nodded, his eyes darting nervously. “I don’t want to get too involved. I was just asked to modify two invoices; it was definitely a money-laundering channel. I can’t say who…” I pulled out a business card. On it was the logo of the headhunting firm he would seek out in his future. “I know whose desk your future resume will land on, and I know which company you’ll intern at after graduation. Whether you get your career off the ground depends on how much you say today.” His face went pale. “…Who are you?” “I am Eleanor Vance, daughter of Richard Vance of the Vance Group,” I said slowly. “The legitimate, rightful, Elara Vance’s daughter.” He hesitated no longer, sending the two hidden false account documents to my email. As I received the files, I couldn’t help but smile. This life, I was no longer ‘good’. Nor was I slow. I would use every rule they taught me to nail them to the table, one by one. When I returned, I would make Richard Vance, Seraphina Hayes, and her little prince and princess know: I wasn’t a pawn they’d hidden in America. I was a hunter they’d unwittingly raised.
Time flew by in America. I immersed myself completely in my demanding studies. Besides my school courses, I also used my status as the eldest legitimate daughter to learn many things. I had to admit, Seraphina took excellent care of me – at least on the surface. I lived in the guest room she meticulously prepared, the curtains were my favorite cream color, the desk always had fresh stationery and a daily planner, the kitchen fridge was always fully stocked, and she was always at the school gate promptly after dismissal. Just like a real mother. She was also very cooperative with the things I needed to learn. She had to be. After all, according to my past life’s trajectory, I, the capable but naive older sister, was supposed to pave the way for her son. She never gave me a cold shoulder. In fact, she often praised me for being independent, smart, and well-mannered, often introducing me to others as the future corporate successor. Sometimes, I had to admire her acting skills. Even more natural than Seraphina were the twins. They had completely come to see me as their one and only big sister. Every night, the little girl insisted I tell her a bedtime story; the little boy would only go to sleep if I helped him arrange his toys, and he even liked me to carry him to wash his hands. They clung to me like ivy to a tree, cautiously yet with all their might. But I knew it wasn’t out of love – it was because they were still so young. They didn’t know who I was, didn’t know I wasn’t part of their ‘family of three.’ They also didn’t know that as they slowly grew up, Seraphina would personally pull me down from this ‘big sister’ position, little by little, until I was trampled into the dirt. But for now, I wasn’t in a hurry. The more they loved me now, the more it would hurt them later. I drew with them, played the piano, read English picture books, played role-playing games. In their eyes, I was the best, kindest, most thoughtful big sister. They called me ‘Eleanor Big Sister.’ In kindergarten, they even argued with other children, saying, “My big sister is the prettiest, and she protects me.” I always smiled and ruffled their hair. “Of course, I’ll protect you for your whole lives, okay?” I wasn’t lying. I would protect them – until they understood how their mother ‘protected’ my mother. That evening, I was curled up on the sofa doing homework, and a business interview program was on TV. A familiar logo flashed, and the host said enthusiastically: “Today, we’re honored to have Mr. Richard Vance, Chairman of the Vance Group! Welcome!” The camera zoomed in. My father was still in his well-tailored suit, his smile gentle, sitting primly in front of the camera. I stared at his face for a few seconds. It was so familiar it reminded me of watching cartoons in the living room as a child, when he’d stroke my head and say, “Eleanor, you’ll go to an Ivy League someday.” The host smiled and asked, “Mr. Vance, we hear you have a happy and fulfilling family life, with one daughter, Ms. Eleanor Vance. Is it true she’s currently studying in the States?” My father nodded, his smile unwavering. “Yes, I only have one child.” The host teased, “Oh dear, with so many businesses, such a vast empire, Ms. Vance will have quite a lot of pressure to take on all by herself.” My father paused for a moment, his smile faltering slightly. “Hmm… yes, but I believe she can do it.” I straightened up, staring at the familiar face on the screen, a faint smile playing on my lips. This was Richard Vance. In front of the camera, he was as perfect and impenetrable as always. But I saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, a trace of… guilt. That subconscious evasion, only I could understand. It wasn’t that he was reluctant for me to take over alone. It was that he longed to tell the world: “Actually, I have a son.” “The true heir isn’t her.” I turned off the TV, sitting in the dark for a long time without moving. Until my phone screen lit up with a reminder from here at home: the quarterly board meeting live stream was about to begin; Vance Group planned to launch its next round of overseas acquisitions. I clicked into the live stream, entering my hidden access password. On the screen were contracts, gambling clauses, fund flow reports, and pages of executive speeches from Vance Group. I scanned the list of executives, and a smile once again touched my lips. —Seraphina Hayes’s name was prominently listed. Her title had been upgraded to Global Strategic Executive Advisor, and she was a core member of the overseas acquisition team. Everything was just as it had been in my past life. She climbed the corporate ladder step by step, pacifying me, pretending to be a benefactor, doing it all flawlessly. And on my end, I, too, systematically pressed the sync button, saving all meeting records to my private cloud drive. Including the internal employee performance evaluation she had submitted last time – signed by her own hand – recommending that my mother’s former nominal shares and voting rights in the group be classified as “historical issues pending resolution.” I laughed. She was acting. And I was acting too. Only our scripts were different. She thought I was a horse, that once I was bridled, she could lead me anywhere. But I was just waiting – waiting for her to run faster and faster, so I could trip her and send her tumbling to the ground. At 2 AM, I sat at my desk, the lamplight falling on my notebook. The screen displayed names, profiles, and timelines. I wrote a line: “Eleanor Vance, now sixteen years old, Vance’s sole legitimate heir, assets in preparation for return.” Four years, not too long, not too short. The sunsets in Los Angeles were still golden, but I knew it was time for me to go. On my college graduation day, I didn’t invite my father. I only invited my mother.
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