When I was seven, my older brother was too busy chasing a scholarship girl to watch me, which resulted in me being kidnapped. By the time I finally escaped and made it back home years later, that same scholarship girl had essentially taken my place, living as the fake heiress of our family. Wearing an outrageously expensive princess dress, she pinched her nose and looked at me with undisguised disgust. "She smells terrible. Do you think she has some kind of infectious disease?" And just like that, the way my parents looked at me shifted. My brother’s face was filled with outright revulsion. "Why did you have to come back and ruin our perfect lives?" That was the moment I realized the fake heiress was also my brother's fiancée! In the end, I was tortured to death by her, while my parents and brother watched, completely indifferent to my suffering. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to being a five-year-old. This was the exact year my parents' corporate rivals targeted my brother, intending to kidnap him to force my parents into surrendering a massive contract. This time, I chose to be selectively blind. My useless brother and my heavily biased parents can all go straight to hell! 1 "Little girl, go tell your mom and dad to drop the current project, or they'll never see your brother again." A middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap and a surgical mask growled at me viciously. His hand was clamped tightly around my brother's arm. At this time, my brother was just a little kid—not tall, not strong, and not yet the malicious monster he would become. The look he gave me wasn't filled with hatred, but with pure terror and desperate pleading. A large, dark wet spot was spreading across the front of his Spider-Man jeans. My brother had peed himself. I feigned an expression of utter horror, nodding my head frantically like a woodpecker. Satisfied, the kidnapper scooped my brother up and swaggered away, tossing him into a black Honda. He didn't even bother to cover or remove the license plate. What kind of amateur kidnapper was this? "Wow, that smells so good! What is that?" I sniffed the air, following the sweet scent until I found myself in front of a small convenience store. The colorful cotton candy looked absolutely delicious. By the time I happily waddled home clutching my cotton candy, my parents had already returned. Seeing me alone, they looked confused. "Where's your brother?" I took a small lick of my cotton candy, answering in my sweetest, most innocent toddler voice: "I don't know~ The cotton candy is so yummy! Do Mommy and Daddy want a bite?" My parents searched the house for a while, then combed the neighborhood multiple times. Finding absolutely no trace of my brother, panic finally set in, and they called 911. But in an era before security cameras were on every corner, finding human traffickers was like finding a needle in a haystack. The police officer looked puzzled: "This doesn't make sense. Your gated community has excellent security. How could kidnappers even get in? I just spoke with the guards, and they didn't see anyone suspicious entering or leaving." My mother collapsed onto the floor, wailing uncontrollably. My father was yanking his own hair out, consumed by grief. I sat on the edge of the planter box, swinging my little legs, watching them unblinkingly with my wide, innocent eyes. They looked so heartbroken, so devastated. So why, in my past life, when they watched me being tortured to death right in front of them, were they so utterly indifferent? Right. My brother's life mattered to them. Mine didn't. Since that's how it is, then none of you deserve to have a good life. 2 By that afternoon, missing person flyers with my brother's face were plastered across every street and alley, and the story was broadcast on the local news, offering a $30,000 reward. In this era, $30,000 was a massive sum of money. Initially, I had wondered if the kidnappers would reach out to negotiate privately. But the moment those flyers went up, I knew my brother was never coming back. A private ransom exchange was now completely off the table. With countless major and minor cases occurring every day, my brother's kidnapping case was eventually moved to the cold case files. In my past life, because I remembered the license plate number and told the police, they easily tracked down and rescued my brother. His repayment for my saving his life was negligently allowing me to be kidnapped when I was seven. After all, we were biological siblings; the same blood ran in our veins. Returning the favor is only fair, right? ... As I grew, I gradually revealed my intelligence and business acumen, occasionally suggesting highly profitable investment ideas. Slowly, these successes pulled my parents out of the abyss of losing their son. My father happily ruffled my hair: "Mia really is our lucky charm. She's helped Mom and Dad make so much money." I giggled sweetly: "I saw on TV that rich people live in huge houses with giant swimming pools in the front! It looks so cool!" "Mom, Dad, let's move to a big house too! If we live next to other rich people, maybe we can share ideas and make even more money!" "I heard people say that your social circle is the most important thing!" My words struck a chord. My parents exchanged a look. The money we were making now was more than enough to buy a luxury villa. But deep down, they were still holding onto the hope that my brother might be found. What if he came back and they had moved? So, I had to completely sever that hope and erase every last trace of my brother from their lives. My father nodded decisively: "Alright, we'll listen to Mia. Your social circle is everything." The very next day, my parents started house hunting. They eventually spent a fortune on a massive estate in the city center, surrounded by neighbors who were either old money or political heavyweights. With my adorable looks and sweet talking, I easily won over the neighbors. Carrying plates of my mother's homemade cookies, I visited several of the surrounding households and quickly built a rapport with them. Because of these connections, my parents secured several major contracts. Even though they intentionally bid low to the point of breaking even, the crucial relationships were established. I took the opportunity to speak up: "Mom, Dad, you guys are always so busy with work, and it gets so quiet and lonely at home when I'm by myself. Why don't we adopt a brother so he can play with me?" Why a brother? Because I needed to completely obliterate my biological brother's position in my parents' hearts. If he miraculously managed to find his way back, my deeply misogynistic parents would immediately hand all my hard-earned accomplishments over to him. Acting as his stepping stone? Not a chance in hell. At this point, my parents doted on me completely and agreed without hesitation. 3 You can't choose your biological parents, so if they're garbage, you're stuck with them. But I could choose an adopted brother. Naturally, I was going to pick one that suited my exact needs. I have a severe allergy to stupidity, so anyone dim-witted was immediately disqualified. Ugly ones were out too; it ruins the appetite. The most important criteria were a good personality and a genuinely kind heart. I absolutely refused to deal with a second ungrateful, backstabbing brother. After scouring every orphanage in the city, I finally found a boy who met all my requirements. What really sealed the deal was the faint glint of fierce determination hidden deep in his eyes. In my past life, I dealt with monsters and demons of all kinds. A kid with that kind of edge would be hard to control if I met him as an adult, but grooming him from a young age? That sounded incredibly rewarding. "My brother got lost. Do you want to be my brother?" I pulled a piece of premium milk candy from my pocket and placed it in his slender hand, my voice soft and sweet: "I have so many toys and snacks, and I can share half of everything with you. Do you want to come home with me?" No little boy could resist a kid as cute as me, and he was no exception. He carefully took the candy from my hand, making sure his fingers didn't brush against mine, seemingly terrified he might get my hands dirty. I, however, proactively grabbed his hand and happily paraded him in front of my parents. "Mom, Dad, I really like this brother." My parents were pleased with his appearance. After asking him a few questions and finding him to be exceptionally well-mannered and polite, they agreed to the adoption. ... I gave him a new name: Julian. Julian Vance. Because his eyes were as beautiful as a starry night. He moved into the bedroom directly across from mine. The layout was identical to my room. It was the room my parents had been saving for my biological brother, but now, it belonged to Julian. At the dinner table, he sat in the seat to my father's right—the seat that used to belong to my brother. Gradually, he truly replaced my brother's presence entirely. My parents started taking him everywhere out of habit. Even in private conversations, they casually referred to him as "our son." At first, Julian was a bit timid, but under my influence, he grew outgoing and fiercely confident. However, my initial display of adorable vulnerability must have left a permanent imprint on him. Because of it, he truly treated me like a fragile little sister who needed constant protection. Every night, he read me fairy tales until I fell asleep. He would quietly transfer the vegetables I hated from my plate onto his and eat them without a word. If I accidentally bumped into a table and bruised myself, he looked like he wished he could absorb the pain for me. 4 In the blink of an eye, we were in high school. Surrounded by love and support, Julian had blossomed into a brilliant, radiant young man. The moment he stepped onto campus, he caused an absolute sensation. Even though he was older, we were in the same grade and the same class. It was both my parents' wish and his own insistence, so he could protect me more closely. Simultaneously, an old acquaintance made her appearance: Chloe Jenkins. The very same fake heiress who had personally orchestrated my torture and death in my past life. She looked delicate and fragile. Every smile, every frown radiated a pitiful, "damsel in distress" aura. Her large, watery eyes were specifically engineered to elicit sympathy. "Julian, look at three o'clock. Do you think that girl is pretty?" Julian followed my gaze and saw Chloe, standing there in a plain white sundress, her long black hair blowing in the wind. He looked confused but answered seriously, "I don't know. Maybe she's the type other guys like?" More than just what guys like, I thought. She was the exact type my biological brother would be obsessed with. He was so obsessed he watched his own sister suffer a fate worse than death just to please her. I licked my lips and asked, "Do you like that type?" A flash of absolute disgust crossed his eyes, though his face remained perfectly composed and polite. "I don't." I chuckled. "Then what type do you like?" He looked down at me, raising an eyebrow. "I like girls who are arrogant, demanding, bossy, and totally unreasonable." Me: ? ... Chloe was in our class. She didn't test in; she was an access student. The designated "scholarship case." Every year, our elite prep school admitted a few scholarship students to maintain the illusion of an egalitarian, merit-based tradition. In reality, these scholarship kids were usually bullied relentlessly, considering everyone else was either a corporate heir or old money. In my past life, because my biological brother acted as her aggressive, violent bodyguard, she basically ruled the school. But this time, my brother wasn't here. I couldn't wait to see how she planned to survive. The first period was dedicated to self-introductions. Everyone confidently walked up to the podium, completely unfazed. We were all used to large crowds and high-pressure situations, so a simple classroom introduction was nothing. When it was Chloe's turn, her face flushed crimson. She acted painfully shy, twisting her hands together, refusing to walk up. "I... I'm too embarrassed." The teacher smiled kindly. "It's okay! We're all meeting for the first time, don't be nervous. Class, let's give her a warm round of applause!" The class applauded politely. Seeing I didn't clap, Julian kept his hands resting on his desk as well. But after three rounds of applause, the class was visibly annoyed. Chloe still hadn't moved. She bit her lip, her face turning even redder, and tears began to well up in her eyes. What an absolutely pathetic display.
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