1 In my last life, I was the queen of the paparazzi. I knew where all the bodies in Hollywood were buried, and eventually, the corporate overlords buried me. Reborn, I became the one-woman rumor mill of a backwoods town called Hickory Hollow. Who’s chicken went missing, which husband was cheating—I knew it all. Then Penelope, the fake heiress, decided to launch her acting career. Her wealthy parents, terrified that I—the real daughter, their dirty little secret—would blow up their perfect lives, came hunting for me. They tracked me down in the dead of night and shoved a non-disclosure agreement in my face, a contract promising I’d never try to reclaim my birthright. “Take this fifty thousand dollars and rot in the mud where you belong. If you get in Penny’s way, we’ll end you.” On the video call, Penelope was already crying, her tears perfectly framed. “Sister, you’re only losing a family, but I can’t lose my dream!” I just smiled and quietly started a live stream. “Fifty grand? Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what a trending topic costs these days?” “I’ve already compiled all your family’s dirty laundry into a PowerPoint presentation.” “Now, give the camera a big smile. I’ve already got tomorrow’s headline picked out.” “‘Murder for Hire: Hollywood Moguls silenced their real daughter to launch a star.’ How does that sound?” … “You’re asking for it. Smash her phone!” Arthur Preston shot a look at his bodyguards, and the two men in black suits started towards me. I didn't flinch. I just tweaked the beauty filter on my stream. The viewer count instantly rocketed past two hundred thousand, the live chat scrolling too fast to read. 【Whoa, is this a real-life billionaire meltdown? This is better than reality TV!】 【Isn't that Arthur Preston, the CEO of Preston Global? And is that former A-lister Eleanor Vance with him?】 Just as a bodyguard’s hand reached for me, I sidestepped and yelled at the top of my lungs. “Help! The city slickers are here to kill us all!” On cue, the Hickory Hollow Senior Squad, who had been hiding along the fence line, made their grand entrance. Old Mrs. Gable led the charge, followed by a squad of seven or eight senior citizens, average age eighty-five and up. In perfect sync, they all threw themselves at the bodyguards' feet. “Oh, the humanity! They’re killing us! My back, my hip, my kneecap!” The bodyguards froze, dumbfounded. What could they do? One wrong move and they’d be paying off a new beachfront condo. Arthur’s hands were shaking with rage. “You peasants! Get out of my way!” I seized the moment, aiming my phone’s camera right at his contorted face. I smirked. “You all see this? The true face of the one percent.” “Since Mr. Preston is in such a hurry to shut me up, let’s speed things up.” With a tap of my finger, the PowerPoint slide changed. There was Arthur, his arm wrapped around a young model, his hand resting somewhere it definitely shouldn't be. I had helpfully watermarked the photo with the date, time, location, and even the hotel booking confirmation. The live chat exploded. 【SAVAGE! The receipts are pristine!】 【Isn't that the model who just debuted from that reality show? So he was her sugar daddy!】 【Go Arthur, still got it in ya. A wife at home and a side piece on the road.】 Arthur’s face went from crimson to a ghastly shade of purple. He clutched his chest, gasping for air. Eleanor shrieked and lunged at me, her nails out. “You little bitch! How dare you photoshop these lies!” I simply played a video. The clip showed Eleanor at a high-end gentleman's club. She was shoving the keys to a Porsche down the pants of a young male model, her laughter echoing, all her polished Hollywood poise gone. Arthur stared at his wife in disbelief. Eleanor guiltily looked away. The carefully crafted image of Hollywood’s perfect couple shattered into a million pieces, live for all the world to see. I flashed a peace sign at the camera. “Don’t go anywhere, folks. This is just the appetizer.” “Penelope’s plastic surgery records and her ‘casting couch’ audition tapes are up next.” “Spam the chat with a ‘1’ if you want to see it. If we hit a million likes, I drop it right now!” The screen was instantly flooded with a waterfall of【1】. Penelope, who was still on the video call, went pale with terror. I stared at her through the screen, my voice dripping with ice. “You said you couldn't lose your dream, right? Was your dream to sleep your way through every director in Hollywood?” Penelope screamed and disconnected the call. Seeing the situation spiral out of control, Arthur fumbled for a bottle of nitroglycerin pills and poured them into his mouth. “Let’s go! Now!” he barked at his bodyguards, trying to retreat. I picked up the check from the ground, tore it into tiny pieces, and flung them against the window of their departing Maybach. “Take your fifty grand with you! It's not that I think your money’s dirty—I’m worried it’s cursed!” My adoptive parents were huddled in a corner, trembling. My mother tugged at my sleeve, her voice shaking. “Lexi, dear, those are your real parents. Did we just… cause a lot of trouble?” I patted her calloused hand, a pang of sorrow in my heart. “Mom, they’re not parents. They’re wolves. And the only way to deal with wolves is with a shotgun.” That night, a cease-and-desist letter from Preston Global’s lawyers was posted online. My streaming account was banned from all platforms for privacy invasion and malicious slander. Banned? They had no idea who they were dealing with. In my past life, I was the undisputed queen of the paparazzi. I dragged an old box out from under my bed. It was filled with everything I’d been preparing since I was a kid. Dozens of backup accounts. Contact information for hundreds of media influencers. I switched to a new account. My new handle: The Hollow’s Herald. My bio was a single, chilling sentence: 【Don’t go to sleep. The truth is coming.】 2 The Prestons’ PR team was good. I’ll give them that. Overnight, the narrative completely flipped. #LexiTheExtortionist# and #LexiUngratefulDaughter# were the top trending topics. An army of bots and paid trolls flooded the internet, painting me as a money-grubbing monster who would even blackmail her own parents. Penelope posted a photo set of herself doing charity work at an orphanage. Her caption read: Even though I’ve been hurt, seeing these children’s smiles reminds me that there is still good in the world. Her comments section was a sea of sympathy. Someone even doxxed my adoptive parents, posting their address online. The next morning, when my mom went to the town market to sell eggs, she was pelted with rotten vegetables. She came home with a hand pressed to her forehead, blood trickling through her fingers. “Lexi, I’m fine, honey. I just tripped and fell.” She forced a smile, trying not to worry me. A firestorm of rage ignited within me, searing its way to the top of my skull. I had planned to play the long game with them. But if they wanted to die on this hill, I was more than happy to bury them there. I opened my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard, typing out strings of code. In my past life, I’d taught myself to hack to get scoops. I was no master, but breaking into the eighteen-year-old system of a maternity clinic? Child’s play. An old nursing log. A grainy backup of a security tape. I packaged them together and uploaded them to my new account. The title was simple and brutal. The Abandoned Heiress: Lost or Left for Dead? The video showed Eleanor, eighteen years younger, looking down at a baby in a bassinet with utter disgust. “Cry, cry, cry, that’s all you do! You’re giving me a headache. Was this damn baby born just to ruin my life?” Arthur stood beside her, holding a piece of paper. It was a chart from a so-called psychic. “This child is a curse. She will bring ruin to this family. A jinx sent from hell. If we keep her, we’re all doomed.” “The psychic said we can’t keep her. Tonight’s a blizzard. We’ll leave her somewhere far away.” The footage cut to a road-side security camera. Arthur, holding a swaddled infant, tossed her into a snowbank and walked away without a second glance. That baby was me. The “psychic” was a charlatan who was later jailed for fraud. And Penelope? She was the “good luck charm” they adopted on his recommendation. The video went viral. The internet erupted. 【MONSTERS! These people are absolute monsters!】 【It’s the 21st century and people are still abandoning babies because of some bogus psychic’s prediction?】 【Leaving a newborn in a snowstorm in sub-zero temperatures? That's attempted murder!】 The same users who had been cursing my name a moment ago were now my staunchest defenders. Penelope’s comments section was a war zone, with thousands calling her a parasite who built her life on a dead baby’s future. I immediately released the second part of my attack: a series of side-by-side photos. Left: Eighteen-year-old Penelope on a luxury yacht for her birthday, wearing a fifty-thousand-dollar custom gown. Right: Eighteen-year-old me in a patched-up winter coat, helping my adoptive father collect scrap metal in a blizzard, my hands raw and red like beets. Left: A designer handbag Penelope casually discarded, which was worth more than my adoptive family’s income for five years. Right: Me, carrying a fifty-pound sack of potatoes for six miles just to save two dollars on bus fare. The stark visual contrast was more powerful than any words. Public sympathy surged. 【I’m crying. Lexi has been through so much.】 【Who's the real monster here? The whole Preston family is rotten to the core!】 When the stock market opened, Preston Global’s shares immediately plummeted, wiping out billions in value. My phone rang. It was Arthur. This time, his voice held none of its previous arrogance, only a weary, pleading tone. “Lexi, it was all a misunderstanding. I was tricked back then.” “How about this? I’ll give you five million dollars. You take down the videos, and we can come home and talk this out.” Five million? In my last life, I might have been tempted. Now, it just made me feel sick. “I don’t think I’ll be coming home, Dad.” “The psychic said I was a jinx, bad for your finances.” “Looks like your luck really did run out, didn’t it?” I hung up and blocked his number. Outside, my mom was dabbing antiseptic on her forehead. I walked over and gently took the cotton swab from her. “Does it hurt, Mom?” She shook her head. “Lexi, can we just stop fighting? I’m so scared you’ll get hurt.” I wrapped my arms around this frail, small-town woman. “Don’t be scared, Mom. You protected me my whole life. Now, it’s my turn to protect you.” 3 Arthur Preston was clearly desperate. He dropped the loving-father act and went straight to hiring thugs. The next morning, before the sun was up, a deafening roar shook the entire town awake. A dozen bulldozers rolled up to the edge of town, led by my dear brother, Sterling Preston. “Tear it down! I want this whole dump leveled!” The bulldozer’s shovel rose high and then smashed down on the stone sign at the town entrance. With a deafening crack, the sign, our town’s landmark, crumbled to dust. I frantically tried to start a live stream, but the signal was jammed! The bulldozers then plowed into the orchards—over a hundred acres of ripe pumpkins and fruit trees, the town’s entire livelihood for the year. Old Mr. Henderson ran out, screaming, clutching a giant pumpkin. “No! You can’t! This is all we have!” A bodyguard rushed him, kicking him square in the chest. Mr. Henderson went flying, landing hard in the mud. The pumpkin shattered, its bright orange guts splattering everywhere. “Mr. Henderson!” I screamed, my eyes burning with rage as I tried to run to him, but two burly men blocked my path. Mrs. Gable and the Senior Squad tried to form a human barricade. Sterling just sneered and snapped his fingers. “Release the dogs!” Two massive, snarling dogs, as tall as a man’s waist, leaped from a truck and charged the elderly crowd. One of them latched onto Mrs. Gable’s leg, its teeth sinking deep. Blood instantly soaked through her pants. Her screams tore through the morning air. “Help! Somebody help!” The townspeople scattered in terror. The sounds of crying, shouting, and barking dogs created a symphony of chaos. A group of tattooed thugs stormed my house, smashing everything in sight, even tearing the stove from the wall. My dad tried to protect my computer—my only evidence. A goon brought a crowbar down on his leg. A sickening crack echoed through the room. My father’s scream pierced my eardrums. “Dad!” I tried to lunge forward, but Sterling grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back. “Lexi, I thought you were so tough? Thought you were a big shot streamer?” “Why don’t you stream this?” He stomped on my dad’s broken leg, grinding his heel into the shattered bone. My dad’s face was slick with sweat, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry out. “Lexi… run…” he gasped. My mom was on her knees, begging for mercy, but a bodyguard grabbed her by the hair and dragged her away. The town mayor tried to call the police, but Sterling smashed his phone to pieces. “I’ve decided I want this land for a new development,” Sterling announced. “Anyone who calls the cops is an enemy of the Preston family! I’ll make sure their entire family disappears!” Pure, unadulterated rage consumed me. I pulled the pepper spray from my sleeve and emptied the canister into Sterling’s face. “Ah! My eyes!” he shrieked, clawing at his face. I broke free, grabbed a loose brick, and charged at him, ready to die fighting. But it was hopeless. A group of them swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. Sterling, his eyes red and swollen, staggered towards me like a madman. He took a cigarette from one of his men. “Look closely,” he hissed, taking a long drag. “This is what happens to those who help you.” “These peasants are dying because of you!” He flicked the lit cigarette into a nearby haystack. Flames erupted, roaring towards the sky. That was our home. The home my parents had built with their own two hands. I watched the fire reflect in their despairing eyes, and my heart shattered. It was my fault. I had brought this on them. I had been so naive, underestimating the depths of their cruelty, the ruthlessness of their power. Sterling motioned to one of his men, who produced a syringe. “Give her a shot. Take her with us.” My consciousness began to fade. The last thing I saw was Mrs. Gable, twitching in a pool of her own blood. The last thing I saw was my father’s mangled leg. The last thing I saw was the fire devouring everything I had ever loved. Darkness closed in. The same helpless feeling from my past life washed over me. Was I reborn just to bring ruin and death to even more innocent people?
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