I was reborn. I woke up in the body of my twenty-year-old self. Right at this moment, my sister, Lily—no blood relation to me—was in the middle of a screaming match with her obscenely wealthy boyfriend, Dylan Harris. The reason was laughably trivial. She didn't want to have children, claiming that any man who asked her to was a man who didn't truly love her. In my last life, I watched her throw away a fortune that others could only dream of. That same night, Dylan, drunk and disoriented, stumbled into the wrong room. My room. I shoved him away in a panic. I spent the rest of that life being stupid and poor. This time, I looked at my own plain, unremarkable face in the mirror, and I smiled. I knew my chance had come—the chance to pick up the scraps Lily discarded and turn them into a life of unimaginable luxury. 1. The Ashford family’s villa was ablaze with light. I walked out of the kitchen with a platter of sliced fruit, just in time to hear Lily’s shrill voice cut through the living room’s opulent calm. “Dylan, I told you, I don’t want to have kids! Who the hell is your mother to pressure me? Is that all you see me as, too? Some kind of baby machine?” Beneath the crystal chandelier, the line of Dylan’s jaw was hard as granite. He pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to look at her. “Lily, my mother was just making a casual comment. We’re not even married yet.” “Not yet, but what about later? Can you promise me your family isn't just after my womb to pop out an heir?” Lily pressed on, her exquisitely made-up face flushed with anger. I lowered my eyes, placing the fruit platter silently on the coffee table, trying to make myself invisible. I was the Ashfords’ ward, Elara. A shadow they kept in the house, never meant for the spotlight. In my last life, this exact argument was the catalyst. Lily stormed off on a flight to Europe, and Dylan drank himself into a stupor at a bar. He was supposed to stay in the guest room the Ashfords had prepared for him, but he got the doors mixed up and found his way into mine instead. In the darkness, I smelled the sharp scent of alcohol on him. Then, with all my strength, I pushed him away and fled. I’d clung to my ridiculous pride and, in return, got an even more difficult existence in the Ashford house, followed by a lifetime of struggling at the bottom. This time, I wouldn’t push him away. The fight in the living room raged on. “Dylan, if you don’t give me a straight answer right now, we’re through!” “Lily, don’t be unreasonable.” “I’m being unreasonable?” Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “Fine. Then we’re through!” She snatched her Hermès bag from the sofa and stormed out of the villa without a backward glance. The sharp clack-clack-clack of her heels on the marble floor was a drumbeat against my heart. Dylan remained on the sofa, motionless. After a long while, he picked up his car keys from the table and left. I knew where he was going. Obsidian, the most extravagant nightclub in the city. I retreated to my own cramped, gloomy room in the attic, shedding the drab gray dress of a housemaid for the only decent piece of clothing I owned: a simple white dress. Then, I waited. At midnight, my phone rang. It was Hanson, the family butler, his voice laced with anxiety. “Miss Elara, Mr. Harris is intoxicated and insists on coming back to the villa. Could you please open the main gate? We need to get him to the guest room.” “Of course, Mr. Hanson.” I hung up, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. This was it. I didn’t go to the main gate. Instead, I went straight to the second-floor guest room, the one directly across the hall from my attic stairs. I left the door to the guest room slightly ajar. Then I returned to my own room and did the same, leaving a small crack. Half an hour later, I heard the sound of a car engine below, followed by the heavy, shuffling footsteps of men helping someone up the stairs. The footsteps stopped right outside the guest room. “Mr. Harris, we’re here. You can rest inside.” The door was pushed open, then closed. I held my breath, my eyes glued to that closed door. One minute. Two minutes. Ten minutes. The guest room door was suddenly yanked open. Dylan’s tall frame filled the doorway. He was unsteady on his feet, his eyes glazed over. He was clearly very drunk. He seemed to be looking for something, stumbling as he moved, yet his path was taking him step by step toward my room. My heart leaped into my throat. In my last life, this is exactly what happened. He mistook my room for the master suite where he and Lily had spent so many nights together. He pushed open my door. The heavy smell of alcohol washed over me. This time, I didn't scream. I didn't back away. I just stood there, watching him. He mistook me for Lily, murmuring her name. “Lily…” A scorching hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me into a searing embrace. The world tilted on its axis. He pressed me down onto the small, single bed. This time, I didn't push him away. Instead, I lifted my arms and gently wrapped them around his neck. Rather than struggle in the mud my whole life, I would use every chip I had—even my own body—to claw my way out. 2. The next morning, sunlight streamed through the crack in the window. I woke up first. The man beside me was still asleep, his brow furrowed, his handsome face etched with the fatigue of a hangover. I slipped out of bed silently, dressed, and then sat in the chair by the bedside, waiting for him to wake. Waiting for my sentence. About half an hour later, Dylan’s eyelashes fluttered. He slowly opened his eyes. His expression shifted from foggy confusion, to shock upon seeing me, to utter disbelief as he took in the unfamiliar, shabby room. Finally, his gaze landed on me, sharp and filled with an icy rage. “You?” His voice was hoarse, laced with danger. I met his gaze without flinching, my expression calm. “Mr. Harris, you were drunk last night.” He shot up, the blanket sliding off his torso, revealing a lean, muscular chest. His eyes fell on the damning crimson stain on the sheets, and his face grew even darker. He got out of bed and began to dress, his movements sharp with frustrated anger. He didn't say a single word. The air in the room was so thick with tension it felt hard to breathe. Once dressed, he pulled a black card from his wallet and tossed it onto my small desk. “The PIN is six zeroes.” His tone was glacial. “Forget what happened last night.” With that, he opened the door and left without looking back. I stared at the black card on the desk, not moving to pick it up. I knew this was only the beginning. I walked to the window and watched Dylan’s car speed away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. It wasn’t long before my door was kicked open. Lily burst in, her eyes red-rimmed and wild, clearly having been up all night. Her gaze immediately locked onto the black card on my desk, then to the faint, tell-tale marks on my neck that I hadn't been able to hide. Comprehension dawned, and she let out a piercing scream. “Elara! You little bitch! How dare you seduce Dylan!” She lunged at me, her hand raised to strike. I didn’t move. I knew I had to take this slap. CRACK. The sound echoed in the small room. My face stung, burning hot. “How could you? How could you!” Lily was hysterical, grabbing my hair and trying to drag me to the floor. I let her pull at me, my own gaze unnervingly calm. “Sister,” I said, my voice quiet but clear enough for her to hear. “You were the one who didn't want him.” Those words were the spark that ignited the bonfire of her fury. Lily froze. She stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, you were the one who didn't want Mr. Harris,” I repeated, enunciating every word. “You pushed him away, didn't you?” “Who the hell do you think you are? You think you have the right to pick up my sloppy seconds?” she shrieked, raising her hand again. This time, her wrist was caught in a firm grip. Hanson, the butler, was standing in the doorway, several other maids behind him. They had seen everything. “Miss Lily, your father and mother have asked to see you downstairs,” Hanson said, his voice grave. Lily wrenched her hand free, shooting me a look of pure hatred. “Elara, just you wait!” She stormed downstairs. I smoothed my rumpled clothes and hair, then picked up the black card from the desk and slipped it into my pocket. Then, I followed her down. My nest egg. The first real money I'd ever had. 3. In the Ashford's living room, Mr. and Mrs. Ashford sat on the sofa, their faces grim. Lily stood before them, tears streaming down her face. “Dad, Mom, you have to do something! That slut Elara… she climbed into Dylan’s bed!” I descended the staircase and stood in the center of the room. All eyes were on me—scorn, fury, a hint of morbid curiosity. Mr. Ashford slammed his hand on the table and pointed at me. “Elara! You have the nerve to show your face? We raised you for all these years, and this is how you repay us?” “I did nothing wrong,” I answered calmly. “You dare to deny it?” Mrs. Ashford shrieked. “Lily saw it! The card Dylan gave you! You shameless little tramp!” I took the black card from my pocket and placed it on the coffee table. “This card was compensation from Mr. Harris.” “Compensation?” Lily sneered. “What a nice way of putting it. It’s the money you earned for selling yourself, isn’t it?” I lifted my eyes to meet hers. “Sister, if you hadn't broken up with Mr. Harris, would he have been drunk last night? If you hadn't stormed out on him, would he have even come here?” “You…” Lily was speechless. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I said, lowering my gaze, my voice tinged with a well-practiced vulnerability. “Mr. Harris was drunk. He thought I was you. I couldn't fight him off.” My story was a cocktail of truth and lies. But it was enough to soften the expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Ashford. What they cared about most was their relationship with the Harris family. “That’s enough!” Mr. Ashford silenced Lily, who was about to argue further. “This matter is not to be spoken of again! Elara, go back to your room. You are not to come out without my permission!” He was putting me under house arrest. I didn't resist. I turned obediently and went upstairs. Back in my room, I locked the door. Step one was complete. Now, all I had to do was wait for Dylan’s next move. I was confined for three days. I didn’t go anywhere, just stayed in my room and read. Lily would come to my door every day to hurl insults at me, each more vile than the last. I ignored her. I knew the more she behaved like this, the more immature she would seem to Mr. and Mrs. Ashford. On the morning of the fourth day, my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered. “Hello?” “It’s me.” Dylan. My heart skipped a beat, but my voice remained steady. “Mr. Harris. Is something wrong?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Did you get the money from the card?” “I did.” “Buy yourself whatever you need.” His tone was that of a benefactor bestowing charity. “Thank you, Mr. Harris.” “I’ll be there tonight.” He stated it as a fact, then hung up. I clutched the phone, letting out a long, slow breath. The fish was on the hook. That evening, I took a shower and changed back into the white dress. Mr. and Mrs. Ashford were out, and Lily had gone to a party. The villa was quiet. Around ten o’clock, Dylan’s car pulled up to the gate. I went downstairs and opened the door for him. He smelled faintly of alcohol, but he wasn't drunk. He walked into the living room, sat on the sofa, and loosened his tie. He looked at me, his expression complicated. “Did they give you a hard time?” I shook my head and sat on the sofa opposite him. “No.” “I know Lily’s temper,” he said, almost to himself, as if explaining something. “She’s just spoiled.” I didn’t respond, just listened quietly. He didn't seem to need an answer. After a moment of silence, he stood up and walked toward me. He loomed over me, reaching out to grip my chin. “That night… why didn't you push me away?” I tilted my head back, looking directly into his deep, fathomless eyes. “Why would I push you away?” His fingers tightened, a sharp pain radiating through my jaw. “You know who I am.” It wasn't a question. “I know,” I said, not looking away. “You're Dylan Harris. The man Lily threw away.” A storm gathered in the dark depths of his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.” He let out a cold laugh and released me. He turned, as if to leave. But in the instant he turned, I wrapped my arms around him from behind. His body went rigid. “Mr. Harris,” I whispered, my cheek pressed against his broad back. “My brother is sick. He needs a lot of money for surgery.” This was the excuse I had prepared for myself, a story plausible enough to lower his guard and perhaps even stir a flicker of pity. In my past life, my brother had died a slow, painful death because we couldn't afford his surgery. This time, I wouldn’t let that happen. Dylan’s body slowly relaxed. He didn't turn around, nor did he push me away. “How much?” “Fifty thousand dollars.” He was silent. I could feel him weighing the options. Weighing the fifty thousand dollars against me, deciding if I was worth it. “Isn’t there money on the card?” he finally asked. “I gave the card to my parents,” I lied. “They said it was my fault and that I couldn’t keep the money.” I was painting myself as an innocent, pitiful victim, oppressed by my own family. Men, especially proud, privileged men like Dylan, were suckers for that kind of story. He finally turned to face me. He studied me, his eyes filled with a mix of scrutiny, suspicion, and a flicker of something playful. “How dutiful of you.” I lowered my gaze, saying nothing. “I can give you the fifty thousand,” he said, then paused before adding, “but on one condition.” “Name it.” “Be my mistress.” He said the words so casually, but I could see a struggle I didn't understand churning in his eyes. I knew this was both a humiliation and an opportunity. I looked up at him and smiled. “Alright.” My swift agreement seemed to surprise him. He stared at me for a few seconds, then, without another word, scooped me into his arms and carried me up the stairs. This time, he didn't go to the guest room. He went straight to the master suite on the third floor. The room that had been prepared to be his and Lily’s.
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