The fake heiress was allergic to lies—whenever she heard one, she’d sneeze and break out in hives. The day I was brought back, the fake heiress’s whole body swelled up red, tears and snot streaming down her face. From that moment on, my entire family labeled me a pathological liar with a rotten character. Later, when my stroke-paralyzed grandmother tumbled down the stairs in her wheelchair, I had barely shaken my head to say it wasn’t me. The next second, the fake heiress had an allergic attack and went into shock on the spot. Dad was furious. Mom screamed and cried. My brother slapped me hard across the face: “How could the Weston family produce a viper like you!” I was humiliated. I was tormented. I was tortured. It wasn’t until after I died that I finally learned the fake heiress’s secret. The day the Weston family came to get me, I drank a cup of scalding hot water without hesitation. Only after feeling that unbearable, burning pain searing my throat did I calmly get into the Westons’ Porsche. In my previous life, the moment I saw my birth parents and brother, I threw myself into their arms, crying uncontrollably. Mom’s eyes were red as she kept saying she’d finally found me. Beside her, Emma spoke timidly: “I’m sorry, Serena. All these years I’ve been taking your place. Now that you’re back, I should return everything to you.” Derek frowned and flicked her forehead. “Don’t be silly. Serena won’t mind.” I quickly took Emma’s hand and said: “Of course not. I think of you as my real sister. We’ll always be family.” It should have been a heartwarming scene. But right after I spoke, Emma started rubbing her nose, then sneezed several times in a row, scratching at her reddening arms. Derek’s expression darkened slightly as he ordered a servant to bring allergy medication. Dad and Mom also subtly let go of my hands. The warmth in their eyes was now tinged with scrutiny. I was confused and frightened. I didn’t understand how words from my heart could cause such a reaction. I’d heard about it before—Emma Weston, the family’s precious daughter, had a strange condition. She was allergic to lies. Supposedly, when they first adopted her, Emma had an allergic reaction to a loyal housekeeper. After investigation, they discovered the housekeeper was a spy sent by a rival family to steal the Westons’ secrets. Later, at a banquet, Emma kept sneezing, interrupting Dad’s deal with a businessman. They found out afterward that the businessman had already gone bankrupt—the “partnership” was just a scam for money. Even more dramatically, at Derek’s engagement party, Emma broke out in hives after meeting the bride-to-be and developed a high fever. Derek was furious when he learned his fiancée had been sleeping around and picked up some diseases—she was just looking for someone to take care of her mess. One incident after another turned Emma into the Weston family’s precious porcelain doll, treasured and protected by everyone. They trusted her absolutely and wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. So naturally, they were wary of me—their biological daughter who’d just been found. Mom awkwardly asked how my life had been all these years. Remembering the beatings at the orphanage, the bullying at school, the years of scraping by at the bottom of society, I could only say bitterly: “No matter how hard it was, it’s all in the past now.” Mom looked somewhat pained when she heard this. But unexpectedly, even after taking allergy medication, Emma didn’t improve. Instead, welts rose on her arms, swelling badly. Mom immediately called the family doctor, looking at me with wariness and displeasure. Without a doubt, she thought I was playing the victim for sympathy. Then Emma graciously offered to give me her room, saying it was only right to return what was mine.
Feeling anxious and uncomfortable, I quickly shook my head: “How could I take your room? I didn’t come back to take your things.” Those words were like a match to gunpowder, setting off Emma’s condition completely. She started wheezing heavily, clutching her chest, looking like she was about to suffocate. Derek pushed me away in a panic, forbidding me from getting near Emma. Dad’s face turned dark as coal: “That’s enough for today. Mrs. Patterson, prepare a guest room for her and take her away.” I watched helplessly as they all surrounded Emma. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. I was rejected by the very family I’d longed for. After that, no one in the Weston family gave me a kind look. I overheard the servants gossiping—saying the newly found heiress was a pathological liar with terrible character, that trash raised from the bottom couldn’t compare to the Westons’ precious pearl. I could only keep my head down lower, becoming completely invisible in the Weston household. The incident that made them despise me completely happened one evening. The family had gone out for a walk while I stayed in my room doing homework. Suddenly, I heard a loud crash from outside. When I went to check, I found my stroke-paralyzed grandmother had fallen down the stairs, wheelchair and all! I screamed and was about to rush down to help. But the family happened to walk in right at that moment and witnessed the scene. The housekeeper collapsed to the floor in terror, pointing at me: “Miss Serena said she wanted to take the old madam to the garden for some fresh air, but then she suddenly pushed her down the stairs!” Derek’s eyes turned bloodshot—that was his beloved grandmother. Dad frantically dialed 911, his voice trembling. Outside the emergency room, the doctor said the situation wasn’t looking good. Tears streaming down my face, I shook my head: “Please, you have to save Grandma. I don’t know how this happened. It wasn’t me.” But the moment I spoke, Emma immediately had an asthma attack. Her face went deathly pale, and she collapsed into shock. Everything became even more chaotic. Emma was also rushed into the emergency room. Dad clenched his teeth, barely containing his rage as he told me to shut up. Mom kept wiping away tears, silently praying for Grandma and her daughter to be okay. Derek was like a crazed lion, his eyes blood-red as he slapped me hard across the face: “How many people do you have to hurt before you’re satisfied! How could the Weston family have a venomous snake like you? Is there a single word of truth in your mouth!” I fell to the ground, my mind going blank. I didn’t know why either. I wanted to know how all of this happened! I hadn’t done anything, yet I’d become the family’s criminal! That day, Grandma died. Emma was transferred to the ICU. The Weston family completely gave up on me. Mom wanted to kick me out and sever all ties. But Derek disagreed. He said coldly: “A life for a life. She killed Grandma. I won’t let her off easy.” After that, I was either locked in a dog cage or hung from the second-floor railing. Derek tormented and insulted me every day. Mom and Dad turned a blind eye. I fell into complete despair. My will to live grew weaker and weaker. One time, the housekeeper forgot to feed the Tibetan Mastiff. The starving dog bit into my leg. I watched helplessly as it tore at me, bite after bite. Finally, I closed my eyes and let the pain swallow me whole. Remembering every detail of my past life, I clenched my fists. This time, I refused to be anyone’s puppet, living such a pathetic life!
Just like before, the Weston family hugged me and cried when we first met. Emma said the same words: “I’m sorry, Serena. All these years I’ve been taking your place. Now that you’re back, I should return everything to you.” But this time, I didn’t respond. I just looked at her silently. Her eyes reddened as if I’d wronged her, and she kept apologizing. The family started to look at me with some resentment. But I just shook my head pitifully, pointed to my mouth, then my throat. Red, swollen, and raw. Their expressions changed immediately, and they called for the family doctor. After examining me, the doctor said it was a burn—with medication and time, it would heal. Mom finally relaxed. But the doctor sighed: “Miss Serena has many wounds, both old and new. She must have had a very hard life these past years.” Mom started dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief, her voice trembling with guilt and heartache: “Serena, you’ve suffered so much. From now on, Mommy won’t let anyone hurt you again.” Dad stood beside her, his gaze falling on the crisscrossed scars on my body. He let out a heavy sigh: “No one will ever bully a Weston again!” Derek’s jaw tightened, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. Emma was caught completely off guard by this turn of events. No one was paying attention to her anymore. She stood frozen in place like an actress who’d had her spotlight stolen. Then I saw Grandma sitting in her wheelchair, and my nose stung with emotion. I rushed to her side. In my past life, trying to figure out what had really happened, my spirit followed Emma after I died. That’s when I learned—she never had any allergy to lies at all. She could hear people’s thoughts. Whenever she sensed someone’s words didn’t match their thoughts, she’d fake an allergic reaction to gain the family’s protection. The most terrifying part was what I heard her say: Years ago, Grandma had gotten information about me and was overjoyed, planning to bring me home. But Emma heard her thoughts. To protect her own position, she’d sicced a large dog on Grandma, causing her to have a stroke from the shock and become vegetative. And all these years, Grandma’s condition never improved because Emma had bribed the servants long ago. The medicine Grandma drank every night wasn’t healing her—it was poison! All these years, Grandma had watched everything Emma did, unable to do anything, only able to wait helplessly for death. I pressed my face against Grandma’s hand, tears flowing uncontrollably. Grandma had truly loved me, but in my past life, I couldn’t save her. Worse, I was blamed when Emma’s bribed servant staged her fall down the stairs, letting her die with her name uncleared! This time, I would save Grandma no matter what! Though Grandma couldn’t move, her eyes glistened with moisture. Beside us, Derek looked moved and turned his face away. Mom and Dad exchanged glances, their eyes filled with comfort. Only Emma stood in the distance, as if she’d been cast out. The first battle—I won! That night, Emma crept into my room with a sinister look: “Don’t celebrate too early. In one month, it’s my eighteenth birthday. Dad promised long ago to give me his shares as a coming-of-age gift. The Weston empire will be mine eventually.” One month, huh? I laughed softly. I would make sure your eighteenth birthday was one you’d never forget.
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