It was the first day of college. The scholarship student my dad was "sponsoring" drove my brand-new Maserati to registration. I tried to suppress my rage and told her to give the car back. She rolled her eyes at me. "Just because I’m the billionaire’s main mistress, you think you can demand things? Even if you climbed into his bed right now, you’d only be number four in line!" I suspected I was going deaf. I couldn't help but ask a few more questions. She whipped out her phone to show me a selfie of them together. "The Big Boss sponsors you, but he sponsors me more! Look at you, you look like a total prude. In terms of status, I’m the honored concubine, and you’re just a maid who hasn't managed to sleep her way to the top yet!" "Since when do the servants use better stuff than the masters? I heard the Boss bought you a villa last week? Transfer it to my name, and maybe I’ll take you along tonight to serve him." I laughed out of sheer anger and called my mom immediately. "Mom, winter is coming. It’s time to let your trophy husband go bankrupt." 1 On registration day, I drove my Porsche Cayenne to campus. This was already my biggest compromise. To celebrate me starting college, my mom, without a second thought, had bought me a hot pink Maserati. As she put it: "Young girls should drive bright colors!" But the attention that car grabbed was just too intense. As a freshman, I couldn't handle that kind of heat. As soon as I parked near the freshman check-in, I heard a commotion to my right. "Holy crap! A Maserati! Is that the new GT?!" "Who is that? Making such a scene on the first day? That’s aggressive!" "Check the plate! Ending in 0728? Birthday plates? Damn, her family must be loaded!" My eyelid twitched. I followed the noise, and my heart skipped a beat. That flashy pink Maserati being surrounded, photographed, and screamed over... It wasn't the new car my mom gave me last week. It couldn't be anyone else's. The plate ended in 0728—my birthday. No mistake. My stomach dropped. I remembered my dad acting all mysterious this morning, borrowing my car key. "Daddy's got a surprise for you for school," he'd said. Surprise? This was a heart attack! But a tiny part of me was hopeful. I grabbed my suitcase and squeezed through the crowd. The chatter was getting louder, the sound of camera shutters non-stop. "Man, she must be a top-tier heiress." "I’m crying. I’m just trying to get my license, and she starts college in a Maserati..." Just then, the Maserati door opened. A foot clad in a four-inch stiletto stepped out. Followed by a girl squeezing out of the car. She was wearing a Chanel suit that looked suspiciously cheap, makeup thick enough for a nightclub, and carrying a canvas tote bag printed with "Sterling Charity Foundation." She acted like she owned the place, circling the car, blowing a kiss to the staring crowd, and speaking in a voice dripping with affectation: "Alright, alright, stop taking pictures. It’s just a daily driver. Keep it low profile." The tiny hope in my heart shattered into dust. It was officially a nightmare. My suitcase hit the ground with a loud thud. Seriously, who the hell is she? 2 The noise I made obviously caught her attention. She turned her head, her gaze sweeping over me like a searchlight dipped in chili oil—hot and stinging. When she saw the plain Converse on my feet, her look turned into undisguised contempt. She suddenly curled her finger at me, her voice sharp enough to scratch glass. "Hey! You with the suitcase! Yeah, you! Come here!" I frowned, standing my ground. My eyes locked on her dark purple fingernails as I asked, "That car is mine. How did you get it?" The crowd went silent for half a second. Then, like a powder keg lighting up, they exploded into laughter. "Did she say the car is hers? Is she crazy?" "Dressed like a high schooler, backpack, canvas shoes... trying to claim a Maserati? Brave, sister!" The girl paused, then laughed so hard she trembled, as if she’d heard the world's best joke. She puffed out her chest, pulling the tote bag with the logo prominently in front of her, practically shoving it in everyone's face. "Yours? You?!" She pointed at the canvas bag, emphasizing every word: "Do you know what this is? It's a special pass from the Sterling Charity Foundation! I am personally looked after by the Billionaire himself! Someone like you..." She glanced at my sneakers again and let out a scoff. "You can't even afford decent shoes. Do you really think we're on the same level?" Obviously, in the presence of a Maserati, everyone had stopped using their brains. The crowd’s murmurs turned malicious, attacking me like oil thrown on a fire. "Oh, she's trying to act like a gold digger to get noticed? Thick skin." "Takes all kinds, huh? Losing your dignity for money? I'm embarrassed for her." "Tsk tsk, she looks so innocent, who knew..." I was speechless. These were my most low-key shoes, and they still cost $800. But they were definitely better than the knockoff outfit she was wearing. And that tote bag... What "Sterling Charity Foundation"? I’d never seen my mom organize a charity foundation. Oh, wait... Mom didn't, but Dad did. I remembered three years ago, my dad mumbling something about the corporation having "charity quotas," so he set up a small foundation. He was in charge and said he was helping a "financially struggling student with excellent grades." I think her name was... "Jessica Jordan?" 3 The girl raised an eyebrow. She crossed her arms, lifting her chin even higher. "Oh? You have some sharp eyes after all. You recognize me? Then you should know not to mess with me." I couldn't stop the cold sneer forming inside me. I didn't expect my trophy-husband dad to prepare such a big "surprise" for me! Taking the key to my new car to let this charity case flex? Interesting. Since when did the "Billionaire" shift from my mom to Richard Sterling? I lost my patience, pulled out my phone, and took two steps forward. I looked Jessica dead in the eye. "I’ll say it one more time. This car is mine. The 0728 is my birthday. Give me the key. Now." Jessica laughed dramatically, clutching her stomach. "You’re saying the Boss gave you this car? You got proof?" She whipped out her phone, found a photo, and held it up high. "Look closely! This is me and Mr. Sterling! He said it himself, I’m his little baby, and he gives me all the good stuff!" "As for you... your last name isn't Sterling. You’re clearly not his daughter. Trying to get him to be your sugar daddy, aren't you?" In the photo, my dad, wearing the Armani suit my mom bought him, was carefully tying a Hermès scarf around Jessica's neck. The background was unmistakably the seven-figure crystal chandelier in our living room. The timestamp was exactly from last month when Mom and I were traveling abroad. Heh. Good job, Dad. Cheating is one thing, but erasing your daughter's existence? The crowd exploded again. "I know him! That’s Richard Sterling! He’s a top exec at Sterling Corp, the Marketing Director!" "Director? A director isn't exactly a billionaire, right? Did this Jessica girl get scammed by an old guy?" "You don't get it. Richard Sterling has deep connections. Rumor has it he gave up his own inheritance to work at Sterling Corp. His real net worth is at least in the billions! Calling him the Richest Man isn't a stretch!" "Yeah, and I heard Sterling Corp only survives because of his connections. Otherwise, it would have gone under ages ago..." I laughed out of pure anger. I had no idea my dad was packaging himself like this to the outside world. My mom was always too busy with the conglomerate’s actual business to care about this petty gossip. And the people in our circle wouldn't bother mentioning such trivial things to me. After all, everyone who actually matters knows: Without my mom, Richard Sterling is absolutely nothing. But clearly, this fox-borrowing-the-tiger's-power trick really worked on this idiot girl my age. Disgusting. I completely lost my patience, my voice turning ice cold. "Jessica, I don't have time for your performance. Last warning: give me the key." "Or face the consequences." Jessica wasn't scared. Instead, she craned her neck and shrieked: "Why should I?! Mr. Sterling said this car is for me to drive! Who the hell are you to order me around?!" I sneered. "He said that? Fine. Why don't you call your 'dear' right now, in front of everyone, and ask him whose car this is?" "And while you're at it, tell him Serena Sterling is standing right here. See if he still dares to admit he has any relationship with you!" The crowd, always eager for drama, started chanting. "Yeah, call him! Ask and we'll know the truth!" "Speakerphone! Put it on speaker, we all want to hear!" 4 Jessica clearly loved being the center of attention. She slowly pulled out her phone, deliberately swiping the screen with a flourish before dialing. After a few rings, it connected. Jessica immediately switched to a sickly sweet, baby voice that could induce diabetes: "Hiii honey~ What are you doing? I'm at the school registration, and something so funny happened." "Some crazy girl blocked me and claims your car is hers! But you gave this to me, isn't that hilarious?" "Oh, she says her name is Serena..." Suddenly, on the other end of the line, my dad started stammering: "Who... forget it, don't listen to her... she's being unreasonable... just go register first... I'll handle it later..." Jessica turned off the speakerphone, whispered a few more things to my dad, and hung up. She rolled a massive eye at me, looking triumphant. "Hear that? Still want my stuff? Give it up!" "My Richard told me all about you. You're the one stalking him!" "I'm the Boss's number three. Even if you climbed into his bed now, you'd only be number four!" I froze, terrified I had heard wrong. "Excuse me? Me? His number four?" I became my own dad's mistress number four? Who is she trying to kill with laughter? Jessica had zero shame about self-identifying as a mistress. She put her hands on her hips and scoffed: "Yeah, don't you know the rules?" "The Boss sponsors you, but he sponsors me more! Look at you, all buttoned up. You’re basically the concubine who hasn't been touched yet. I’m the favorite! You’re just a maid trying to get promoted!" "Since when do servants use better things than their masters? I heard last week you badgered the Boss into buying you a villa? Heh, you better transfer that villa to me right now. Maybe I’ll take you along tonight to serve him!" Her speech shocked the people around us. "Oh my god, did she just say that out loud? Shameless..." "But hey, catching a billionaire's eye is a skill, right?" "Is she insane? She looks decent, but her mind is so dirty." "I think she's just being real. People respect money, not morals these days." "Exactly. Better than this other girl, acting like a prude when she's probably a gold digger too. The Boss said Serena is the one stalking him. Plus, I saw a Porsche key in her bag. Probably her allowance from the Boss!" "Right! I support Jessica! Brave love isn't wrong. Getting a Maserati out of being a mistress is talent." Talent. Right. I was rendered speechless by the bizarre logic of this crowd. I rolled my eyes and opened my bag. I dug around and finally pulled out the spare key for the pink Maserati. Just as I took it out... A hand with purple nails snatched it from my grip. "Aha! I wondered why you were so confident! You stole my spare key! You are absolutely shameless! You'll use any dirty trick for money!"
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