I used to think that the maid’s daughter, Daisy Carmichael, was born with a fatal flaw: she always had to be the center of attention. Every time she stepped out, she managed to look more dazzling, more the main character, than me, the actual heiress of the Bellwether name. In my past life, at my own engagement party, she cut up every single one of my custom evening gowns. She then swept in, decked out in the one she’d stolen, and became the undeniable focus of the entire room. Everyone murmured that shewas the real leading lady. My fiancé, Tate Donovan, was instantly smitten. They sealed their perverse bond right under my nose. When I finally uncovered the truth, I flew into a furious, irrational rage and tried to tear them apart. That decision cost me everything. My parents were framed, ruined, and died. As for me? Tate and Daisy tied me to his yacht and drowned me in the middle of the ocean. A second chance. I woke up back on the day Daisy had my dresses in her sights. I watched her through the security feed, her smile sickly sweet as she brought the scissors to the first panel of silk. I simply smiled back. Please. I am Charlotte Bellwether. I own the world she breathes in. How dare a low-grade parasite who eats my food and sleeps in my house think she can compete with me? 1. The first person I saw when I opened my eyes was Mr. Alistair, our butler. "Miss Charlie, it's dreadful! The custom lavender gown you ordered has been sneakily taken by Daisy Carmichael." I chased him out the door just in time to see the dust kicking up from the tires of my sports car as Daisy peeled out, leaving me nothing but the bitter, rich exhaust fumes. Tch. I should have never let her tag along when I took my driver's test. Back inside the manor, Mr. Alistair confirmed the inevitable: every single one of my haute couture dresses in the upstairs closet had been deliberately slashed, making them completely unwearable. Just like last time. I stood at the entrance of the walk-in closet, surveying the wreckage—the beautiful, expensive fabric scattered across the floor—and gave a calm, measured command. "Alistair, call the police." Then I took out my phone and dialed my mother’s number. As soon as she picked up, I switched my voice to a ragged cry. "Mom, something terrible happened! We've been robbed!" In the previous timeline, Daisy had stolen the dress and ruined the rest. I was so consumed by rage that I grabbed a random dress and sped to the engagement party. I hit traffic. By the time I burst through the doors, looking dishevelled and frantic, Daisy was basking in the spotlight. Tate, my fiancé, and even my stupid, blindly loyal brother, Spencer, were orbiting her like planets. I lost my head. I stormed the party like a lunatic, humiliating my parents in front of the entire elite social circuit. I still married Tate, but I walked right into his trap. He used my father’s trust to gain a high-ranking position in the company, smuggled goods through illegal channels, and then expertly dumped the entire scandal onto my dad. Dad went to prison. Mom, overwhelmed by grief and stress, got into a massive car accident and died from her injuries. Spencer, my idiotic, worshipping little brother, was also framed by Tate and Daisy and thrown into jail. Finally, Tate took me to the middle of the Pacific on his yacht and shoved me overboard so he could be with Daisy. "You are not even worth one of Daisy’s manicured fingernails," he hissed, his face contorted with disgust. "Marrying you was the most nauseating thing I’ve ever done." As the icy water closed over my head, the last thing I saw was Tate’s face, softened with sickening adoration, as he pulled Daisy into a deep kiss. 2. I arrived at the banquet hall with a police escort. Pushing open the massive doors, the scene was a perfect, sickening replica of my memory. Daisy was surrounded. She wore my pale lavender gown—the sleek, soft fabric molding perfectly to her deceptively demure figure. Tate and Spencer stood guard on either side of her, like two knights attending their sweet, innocent queen. The only difference was my parents. Last time, they were frantically trying to call me. This time, because I had warned them and told them to stay put, they sat quietly at their table, watching the unfolding scene with cold, appraising eyes. The lead officer walked straight up to Daisy. "Are you Daisy Carmichael?" The sight of the uniform startled her. "Yes, I am." "We have a report of grand larceny and criminal destruction of property. We need you to come with us for questioning." Daisy looked at me, her eyes immediately welling up. "Charlie, how could you do this to me?" I took a deliberate step back. "Do what to you? Please, don't start with the waterworks. It’s not like you’re the only person who knows how to cry." She turned back to the officer. "Officer, this is a misunderstanding. My older sister is just playing a joke! We’re like family, she and I—" I cut her off, my voice sharp. "Don't you dare! Sister? Who said I was kidding around? This is grand larceny!" I turned to the officer. "My sports car is missing. All the household staff confirmed they didn't touch it. And all the dresses in my closet have been damaged. I have arranged for the security footage to be copied and delivered to the precinct. The evidence will speak for itself." The buzz among the guests intensified. They looked at Daisy with sudden suspicion. Daisy’s tears finally spilled over. "Charlie, I know you come from a high-born family, but that doesn't give you the right to insult me! I may be poor, but I have my pride! You can't just humiliate me in public, step on my self-respect like this!" "Hold it right there." I held up a hand. "I’m rich. So what? My parents worked for that money. Does having money make me a monster?" I swept my gaze over the room. "Everyone here has means. Does that make us all soulless villains? Even if I were the villain you claim, it certainly doesn't fall to the maid's daughter to dispense justice." "And while we’re talking about pride and justice: you’re wearing my custom gown right now, standing cozied up to my fiancé. What kind of justice is that? Before you preach about your self-respect, maybe you should hand over the dress I had custom-made for my engagement. It’s not meant to be your wedding veil." The focus in the room became laser-sharp—every eye on the gown Daisy was wearing. "I thought that dress looked a little ill-fitting on her. She stole it?" "I heard she was the maid's daughter. No wonder I've never seen her at an event." "The sheer audacity! Stealing from your employers and then preaching about dignity. She’s truly shameless." Daisy’s face cycled through white, green, and red. She was trapped. She couldn't take the dress off, but she couldn't stand the judgment. It was then that Tate finally stepped forward. 3. "Enough!" Tate moved in front of Daisy, shielding her. "Charlotte, you’ve gone too far!" He looked at Daisy with a tenderness that made my stomach churn. "It's just a dress. She looks far more beautiful in it than you ever would. Why can't you be the bigger person and simply gift it to her?" He met my eyes, his cold and dismissive. "On such an important day, did you really have to cause such a scene? Do you have to make everyone uncomfortable?" He then addressed the police officers. "This is clearly a huge misunderstanding. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. You can go now." The lead officer gave him a skeptical look. "Are you the person who filed the report, sir? If not, please stand back." Tate was the product of Harrison Donovan's extramarital affair. After Harrison's legitimate wife died, he immediately brought Tate and his mother into the family. That illegitimate status was an open secret in our social circle. In my past life, I was obsessed with Tate. I chased him, threw myself at him, and gave him everything he asked for. He repaid that devotion by killing me. But I was no longer the lovesick fool I once was. My gaze landed on Harrison Donovan, who was hiding near the back of the room with his new wife. "Mr. Donovan," I said, my voice ringing out clearly. "This is only the engagement. I haven’t even officially married into your family, and Tate is already treating me like this—for the sake of another woman, no less. Do you think this engagement is still necessary?" The Donovan family’s standing was leagues below the Bellwethers’. Tate’s and his mother’s only claim to status was their impending marriage alliance with my family. Harrison, hearing his name called out publicly, had no choice but to awkwardly approach the front. He glared fiercely at Tate. "Apologize!" Tate jutted his chin out. "I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?" Tate’s mother rushed over and subtly dug her nails into his arm, but he was too stubborn to back down. My father walked up, his eyes full of contempt for Tate. "Who do you think you are? If my daughter hadn’t, inexplicably, been interested in you, you wouldn't even be allowed to stand here." My mother pointed at Daisy. "Officers, we insist on pursuing this investigation. Please take her in." My brother, Spencer, who had been silent, suddenly burst out. "Dad!" "Shut up!" My father’s glare was like ice. "Look at you, Spencer. Like a hungry penguin begging for scraps at the zoo. You’re an embarrassment." Spencer could only watch, his eyes burning with resentment, as the police led Daisy away. 4. The security footage was damning. It clearly showed Daisy walking into my closet, taking the lavender dress, and walking out. When she reappeared, she was wearing the stolen dress, but now she was holding a pair of shears. She systematically opened the dress bags and cut through the expensive garments, one by one. The garage footage then showed her getting into my sports car and driving off. The evidence was ironclad. Daisy had no room to deny it. At the police station, she pleaded with me through torrents of tears. "Charlie, I’m so sorry, I made a mistake! It was just a stupid joke, I didn't mean to ruin your engagement. Please, please forgive me!" I pulled out my phone, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to her. "All the damages, the dress, the car—it comes to seventy-five thousand dollars. If you transfer the full amount, I’ll sign an agreement not to press charges. You messed up. You take responsibility. That’s how it works." Seventy-five thousand dollars. Her mother, Mrs. Rodriguez, earned maybe seven thousand dollars a month. There was no way Daisy could produce that much cash. Tate was grounded by his father because of the scene, so he wouldn't be riding in on a white horse. Even if he could, Tate, with his illegitimate status, was far from financially independent. No one in our circle would lend that kind of money to an ambitious bastard who'd just disgraced himself. No one except the old me, the lovesick fool. But the new me was not the old me. I signed the non-prosecution agreement and walked out of the police station feeling victorious. It wasn't until I reached the car that I realized how Daisy had managed to gather the funds so quickly. It was my dear brother, Spencer. Daisy had merely whined "Ah-hao" over the phone, and the idiot had immediately transferred the money from his account to hers. My blood boiled as I watched them embrace, the transfer essentially moving my family’s money from one pocket to the other. To make matters worse, Spencer had the gall to bring Daisy right back to my house. 5. The next morning, I stepped out of my room and immediately heard the sickeningly sweet voices of Daisy and Spencer downstairs. I walked down to the dining room and saw Daisy plastered against Spencer like a barnacle. They looked up at me with a shared expression of resentment, as if I were the monster for having Daisy arrested. A lavish breakfast was set before them. My place setting was bare, like a locust-stripped field. Not even a glass of water. In the kitchen, Mrs. Rodriguez, the maid, saw me, gave me her back, and continued tidying up, pointedly ignoring me. This was her attempt to give me a subtle punishment for taking her daughter in. I cleared my throat twice. Silence. I called out to Mr. Alistair. "Alistair, if a maid can’t even manage a simple breakfast, perhaps it's time to find a replacement." Alistair nodded crisply. "Very good, Miss Charlie. I’ll see to the hiring process immediately." Daisy shot out of her seat. "Charlie Bellwether, you can’t fire my mother!" "Why? Because I’ve been downstairs for almost ten minutes and haven't seen a glass of water? This is a household, not a charity. I have no interest in paying a useless employee." Spencer pulled Daisy back into his arms. "Don’t you have hands, Charlie? Get your own damn water!" I shot him a withering look. "Spencer, don't force me to slap you before 9 a.m. She’s an employee; she’s supposed to work. What do you think we hire her for? To sit around and collect a paycheck?" "And you, my brother, are defending an outsider without even knowing the facts. Is your brain filled with lukewarm oatmeal?" Mrs. Rodriguez stepped out from behind Spencer, her expression surprisingly composed. "Miss Charlie, I was hired by the Master and the Mistress, not you. You don't have the authority to dismiss me." "I have been here for over ten years. I treated you like my own daughter. To speak to me, your elder, with such disrespect—do you have no manners?" "Mrs. Rodriguez," my mother’s voice cut in from the second-floor landing. She looked down at the maid. "If my daughter's lack of manners offends you so much, perhaps you should find a family with more polite children to employ you." Mrs. Rodriguez’s composure shattered. "Madam, I didn’t mean that! I only meant to look out for Miss Charlie, to ensure she wasn't taken advantage of." "Exactly, Mom! Mrs. Rodriguez is right. It's Charlie who's always being a bully to Daisy!" Spencer chimed in, completely oblivious to the frostiness in Mom's eyes. "If Daisy weren't so forgiving, I would have—" "Spencer!" Mom snapped, cutting off his pathetic rant. "Go back to your room. You are grounded until I say otherwise." He didn't dare cross Mom. He glared at me, then stomped up the stairs. As he passed me, he muttered, "Charlotte, you’ll pay for this." 6. In the end, Mrs. Rodriguez was not fired. I had intervened, pleading with my mother to let her stay so that I could monitor her behavior. Telling Alistair to hire a new maid was merely a scare tactic. This mother and daughter had ruined my life once; I couldn't let them off the hook so easily. Mrs. Rodriguez bowed and scraped, thanking me profusely, but when she lifted her head, the look of seething hatred in her eyes was barely concealed. That was exactly what I wanted. Tormenting them would be so much more satisfying.
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