In our last life, my sister was adopted by a billionaire dynasty. I was taken in by a school janitor. She thought she’d won the lottery. Instead, she stepped into a shark tank of corporate infighting, cold parents, and a brother who made it his mission to break her. She ended up with nothing. Meanwhile, I grew up in a house full of warmth. My life played out like a teen drama—the brooding, wealthy heir fell for the "poor but brilliant" girl. Me. Consumed by jealousy and rage, my sister killed me. Now, we’re back. Back to the day of the adoption. This time, she didn't hesitate. She threw herself into the arms of the woman in the faded jumpsuit. "Mom! Take me home! I want to be your daughter!" she cried. She looked at me with a triumphant smirk. “Sis, this time, I’m the leading lady.” What she doesn’t realize is that being the "heroine" was never about where I started. It was about how I played the game. 1 We were back in the Director’s office at the orphanage. Two couples stood before us: The Westons and the Millers. The Westons looked like they stepped off the cover of Forbes. The husband was in a bespoke suit; the wife was draped in Chanel and diamonds. Their only son, Becket Weston, stood there in his private school blazer, rocking a pair of limited-edition sneakers that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. They were the most powerful family in the city. Real estate, tech, philanthropy—they owned it all. Becket was the "Prince of the City." Then there were the Millers. They looked exhausted. Their hands were calloused from manual labor. They’d clearly put on their "Sunday best," but you could still see the faint stains of hard work on their collars. The Director introduced them: Mr. Miller was a high school custodian; Mrs. Miller was a cleaning lady at the same school. In our first life, my sister, Macy, had fought tooth and nail to be picked by the Westons. But now? She lunged for Mrs. Miller as if she were afraid I’d beat her to it. "Take me! I want to be a Miller!" The Director whispered to himself, confused. "Strange. Macy usually only looks at people wearing Rolexes. Why the change of heart?" The Director didn't know. But I did. 2 In the last life, Macy became Macy Weston. She thought she’d be a pampered princess. She thought Becket would be the protective older brother who eventually realized he loved her. It’s the oldest trope in the book: The Billionaire and the Adopted Daughter. She was dead wrong. Becket didn't have a protective bone in his body for her. He loathed her from day one. "I hate gold-diggers," he’d told her. "You’re just a social climber with an orphanage pedigree. Don't touch my stuff." At home, he bullied her. At school, he turned the entire student body against her. Their parents didn't care; they only adopted a girl because a "spiritual advisor" told them a daughter would bring good luck to their next merger. While Becket was tormenting Macy, he became obsessed with me—the janitor’s daughter. He saw me working three jobs, maintaining a 4.0 GPA, and helping my mom scrub floors at night without a single complaint. "There's something about Chloe Miller," he’d say. The arrogant prince fell for the "indomitable wallflower." It was the ultimate Cinderella story. When the Weston parents died, Becket’s legal team made sure Macy was cut out of the will entirely. She left with nothing but a suitcase. A few months later, Becket married me. At the wedding, he declared, "Everything I own is yours, Chloe." Driven to madness, Macy ran me over with her car a week later. Now, she thinks she’s being smart. She wants the "simple life." She wants the unconditional love of the Millers and the chance to be the "poor girl" Becket rescues. She smiled at me as we walked to our separate cars. "Sister, it’s my turn to be the star. Enjoy the Westons. Let's see how you handle the 'Prince' when he’s your brother." 3 Macy’s prediction was half-right. Becket’s bullying started even earlier this time. In the school locker room, my head was shoved into a sink full of water. The sound of boys laughing echoed off the tiles. Just as I was running out of air, a hand grabbed the back of my neck and hauled me up. Becket Weston looked at me with a cruel, handsome smile. "Want my family's money, Chloe? Fine." He pointed at the floor. "Lick the water off my shoes. Ten thousand dollars a lick. Deal?" His goons cheered. I looked at him. In my past life, this man had looked at me with such tenderness. Now, he was a monster. But Becket wasn't even looking at me. His eyes moved past me, toward the hallway. Macy was there, kneeling on the floor, scrubbing the tiles. "Isn't that the new Miller girl?" one of the goons asked. "Yeah, her mom’s the cleaning lady. She works with her after school." Becket’s eyes flickered with a strange emotion—shock, then a hint of pity. "Hey!" Becket shouted at Macy. "Stop scrubbing. It’s freezing out. No one’s checking the halls." Macy stood up, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. She looked pale, stubborn, and perfectly "tragic." "I can't," Macy said, her voice trembling. "If the floors aren't clean, they’ll dock my mom’s pay. A hundred dollars is nothing to a guy like you, Becket. To us, it’s a week’s worth of groceries." She went back to scrubbing. It was a masterclass in manipulation. She knew exactly where to stand to get the best lighting. She knew Becket’s "hero complex" was his greatest weakness. Sure enough, Becket walked over, grabbed the rag from her hand, and threw it at one of his friends. "You guys finish the floor," he barked. He took off his designer jacket and draped it over Macy’s shoulders. "It's late. How are you getting home?" "Bike." "In this weather?" Becket frowned. "Wait downstairs. My driver will take you." As Becket led her away, Macy glanced back at me. She threw me a look of pure, concentrated smugness. Once everyone left, I was alone by the sinks. "Here. Use this." A quiet, cold voice came from behind me. I turned. It was Avery Lane, our class president. Avery was a shadow. Brilliant, silent, and always in long sleeves, regardless of the heat. In the last life, she had tried to help Macy when Becket bullied her. She’d offered Macy towels and told her to report the abuse. Macy had slapped her hand away. "What do you know? He’s my brother! He’s just misunderstood!" Macy had been too busy dreaming of a romance with her adoptive brother to see a real friend. Avery eventually stopped trying. By graduation, Avery had committed suicide. Only then did we find out how poor she really was—her grandmother was bedridden, and her father was a gambling addict who beat her and planned to "sell" her to pay off his debts. Now, Avery stood there holding a clean towel. I took it. She turned to leave, likely thinking she had nothing to say to a "Weston." "Avery!" I called out. She stopped. "I’m new here," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I’m lost. Can you show me where the cafeteria is?" 4 In the cafeteria, I ordered everything. Ribs, wings, pasta, salad, and soup. "Oops," I said, looking at the table. "I over-ordered. It’s a sin to waste food. You haven't eaten, right? Join me." Avery sat in silence for a moment before picking up a fork. She ate in tiny, controlled bites. I looked at her thin wrists. Avery was the kind of girl who actually needed a "fairy godmother." But because she wasn't "pretty" in a loud way and didn't scream for help, she was just treated like background noise. This time, I was going to save her. "Man, this calculus is killing me," I lied. "I don't get it at all. Avery, you’re the smartest person in class. Can you tutor me?" Avery looked at me like I was insane. "I’ll pay you," I added quickly. "Think of it as a job." 5 I gave Avery a "pre-payment" of five thousand dollars. She was stunned. To the Westons, that was a rounding error. To Avery, it was medicine for her grandmother and a down payment on a small apartment away from her father. I went back to the Weston mansion. It was cold and empty. My "parents" were out at galas; Becket was probably at Macy’s house. I knew exactly what was happening there. Becket would be sitting in their cramped, "cozy" kitchen. He’d be eating a home-cooked meal, feeling the "warmth" of a working-class family for the first time. The Miller parents would be smiling their "honest" smiles. Macy thought she was in heaven. She didn't realize the Millers were the most dangerous people in this story. They were sexist to the core. They wanted a boy, but since they couldn't get one, they chose a pretty girl they could "sell" to a wealthy suitor later. Their "warmth" was a performance. In my last life, when I told the Millers I didn't want to marry Becket, my "mother" locked me in a room and my "father" beat me nearly to death with a belt. Macy thinks she’s the lead in a romance. She doesn't realize she’s in a trap. The Westons are a hell made of gold. The Millers are a hell made of poverty. The only way out is to stop being a "heroine" and start being the architect of your own life. 6 Over the next few weeks, Becket’s bullying intensified. I found thumbtacks in my lunchbox. Dead spiders in my toothpaste. My designer dresses were found in the closet with cigarette burns in them. Becket would smirk at me. "You deserve this, Chloe." He expected me to cry. I didn't. I cleaned up the mess and went to study. I had resources now. I didn't have to work three jobs. I had a driver. I had a tutor (Avery). I had the best prep books money could buy. In the last life, I survived on black coffee and grit. This time, I had a war chest. Meanwhile, Macy was falling apart. She was sleeping in class because she was forced to help Mrs. Miller clean offices until 2 AM. Her grades were tanking. To her, being Becket’s "future wife" was more important than an Ivy League education. She spent her time writing diaries for Becket to "find" and skipping dance rehearsals to go stargazing with him. But when the school talent showcase approached... she was cut from the program. I saw her crying in the hallway—the perfect "heroine" cry, head tilted at 45 degrees, tears glistening but not falling. Becket walked by. Right on cue. "What happened?" he asked, his voice full of protective rage. "The dance team..." Macy sobbed. "Chloe kicked me out. She said... she said because my mom is a janitor and my dad is a guard, I’m not 'classy' enough for the stage. She said I can't afford the costume." Becket’s face went dark. "How dare she? It's just a costume. I'll buy it for you." "No," Macy sniffled. "She’s a Weston. Her dad is the Chairman of the Board. Even if the teachers knew she was a bully, they wouldn't stop her." She didn't notice the reporters standing behind her. They were at the school for a feature on "Elite Education." They pounced like sharks. "Bullying? What bullying?"
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