1 I was reborn at fourteen. My father’s smooth voice asked: “Stay with your mother, or take a $20 million trust fund abroad?” In my past life, I’d sobbed “I want Mom!”—only to watch him move his mistress (a company executive) into a mansion, raising their three illegitimate kids while tormenting my mother. She wasted decades before being discarded without a cent. I died destitute overseas, my corpse shipped home via crowdfunding. This time, I signed the papers. “Twenty million. I’ll take it.” Not heartless. Just awake: no one here ever loved us. I won’t be that pitiful girl again. This life, I’ll amass wealth, control the game—and when I’ve won everything, I’ll bring my mother home myself. … I was reborn at fourteen. My father had just come home from a board meeting. His suit was immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted. He sat on the sofa in the study of our old family home, a contract laid out on the table beside him. I stood before him in my wrinkled school uniform, my hair a mess from a long day of tutoring, looking every bit the clueless teenager, utterly ignorant of the family’s turmoil. “Anne,” he said, his voice soft. “Your mother has been… emotionally unstable lately. You have a choice. You can stay here and keep her company, or you can go abroad, to any school you like. When you graduate and come back, I can even let you start managing a portion of the company shares.” He sounded so sincere, so reasonable. The perfect, enlightened father. “I’ve already prepared your living expenses for when you’re abroad. Twenty million dollars, deposited into your personal account, for you to manage as you see fit.” In my past life, standing in this exact spot, I was terrified. Twenty million dollars. It was an astronomical sum. And it was. But what I know now is that it was nothing more than a strategic transfer of assets. My mother sat on the living room sofa, silent, her eyes red and raw. I had cried, torn the agreement to shreds, and thrown the pieces at my father’s feet, screaming, “I want my mother!” I truly thought I had won. Looking back, I was such a fool. I chose to stay with my mother, and what was the result? Within six months, my father sent me abroad anyway, dumping me in his mistress’s home in America. He called it “broadening my horizons,” “training the future successor.” I became the only person in that mansion with no one to rely on. By the end, even the nanny felt she could order me around. The mistress’s twins, a boy and a girl, seemed harmless enough. But they were my father’s secret children, and they were rotten to the core. They would eventually fight for the family fortune, and I, idiot that I was, had treated them like my own siblings. And me? In the end, no one even remembered that I was the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. My mother was still back home, guarding the empty mansion, desperately trying to contact schools, learn English, hire lawyers—anything to bring me back. She thought she was the rightful wife. She thought she still had a voice. Until the day she received a letter from a lawyer, informing her that the title to the house was being reclaimed. She didn't move. She sat in the cavernous living room, not even bothering to boil water, eating cold leftovers bite by bite. “I’m waiting for Anne to come home,” she’d say. I heard the rattle of pill bottles over the phone and knew. She was so depressed she was afraid to fall asleep. I graduated at nineteen. My first job was scrubbing floors in a diner in Melbourne. My second was cleaning dog kennels for a wealthy family. The day my mother was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I was handing out flyers in a parking garage. The doctor called me from across the world. “She’s tried to jump from her window three times tonight, but we don’t have your father’s authorization for involuntary commitment.” I stood on the street below the hospital, the phone pressed to my ear, unable to speak. The last time I saw her was five minutes before her cremation. She couldn’t hear me calling her name anymore. It was only then that I understood. She didn’t lose to my father, Edward Sterling. She lost to me. The daughter she had spent her life trying to protect wasn’t strong enough. This life, the agreement was on the table again. I didn't cry. I picked up the pen and signed my name—Anne Sterling—with a clean, decisive stroke. My father raised an eyebrow, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. “You’re sure about this?” “I’m sure,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice calm. I paused, then added, “As your only child, it’s about time I went out and got some experience.” I put a sharp emphasis on the word only. He froze for a second, then let out a low chuckle. “That’s my girl. Spoken like a true Sterling.” I smiled too. But my smile was colder, clearer than his. He thought I had finally come to my senses, that I was willing to be obedient. But I knew the truth. Sending me away was just an excuse to start bonding with his illegitimate children. He needed me out of the picture so he could finally get rid of "Mrs. Sterling" and install his mistress in her rightful place. My mother would never understand this. She was still living in a dream, believing he would eventually come back to her. She had no idea that the moment I signed that paper, she and I had both been kicked off the Sterling family game board. That night, I closed my bedroom door. The moon outside was a cold, indifferent sliver. I didn’t cry. I just opened my laptop and logged into the black card account he’d set up. Twenty million dollars. Confirmed. I stared at the balance for a full minute, then pulled open a drawer and took out a small notebook. On the first page, I wrote: • Edward Sterling’s illegitimate children: Julian & Aria Vance. Born: New York City. • Edward Sterling’s offshore trust accounts: To be investigated. • Disposition of Mrs. Sterling’s dowry shares in the company: To be investigated. • Objective: Within four years, reclaim everything that belongs to me and my mother. I clicked on a photo of my mother. Her young, smiling face stared back at me. She was wearing a ten-year-old trench coat, her smile endearingly goofy. She later gave that coat to the nanny, saying the woman’s family wasn’t well-off. I found it in the trash later, stained with cake frosting and a dirty footprint. This life, I would trust nothing and no one. It’s not that I’m merciless. It’s that I finally see the truth—in this family, no one ever truly cared about me or my mother. Starting today, I, Anne Sterling, will use this twenty million dollars to burn the entire Sterling family to the ground. 2 The night I signed the papers, the house was dark, but the lamp in the living room was still on. As I started up the stairs, I glanced back and saw my mother, still sitting there. Her eyes were as red and raw as shucked oysters. In her hand, she clutched a small pencil case I’d used in elementary school. My name, Anne Sterling, was spelled out on it in faded stickers. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth, lowered her head, and drifted off, either lost in thought or trying to convince herself of something. I didn’t say a word. I turned and went to my room. The moment the door clicked shut, the world went silent. But my heart was pounding like a war drum. I lay in bed and counted to five hundred, but sleep wouldn’t come. The moon hung frozen in the sky, and she was still awake. I could hear the faint rustle from her room, the soft clink of a pill bottle, the sound of a water glass falling to the floor, and a whisper so quiet it was barely there: “She’s changed…” Of course, she had no idea. What had changed was an entire lifetime of regret and tears. At 2 a.m., I tiptoed downstairs. She was still on the sofa, leaning against a pillow, her eyes wide open, like a doll whose batteries had died. I walked over and draped a light blanket over her. She flinched, startled, and slowly looked up. “You’re still awake?” Her voice was hoarse, like an echo in a sand dune. “Writing my application essays,” I said, a small lie. She nodded. I looked at her, and she looked at me, searching my face for any sign of softness, of hesitation. But there was none. The hope in her eyes died out, like the last rain of summer. “Are you blaming me?” she asked, her voice raspy. “No,” I said. She gave a bitter smile. “Your father didn’t just offer you twenty million dollars out of the blue. He’s not sending you abroad. He’s sending you away.” “I know.” She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly bright with a frightening intensity. “Then why did you sign it?” I didn't answer. Because I couldn’t explain it to her. I couldn’t explain that I had already lived through one version of her defeat, that if I didn’t leave now, it would be too late for both of us. She clutched the copy of the agreement, and a tear splashed onto the paper, pinning me to the spot. “It’s not that I didn’t try,” she murmured. “I fought with everything I had. But he never intended to let me win.” In that moment, I wanted so badly to hold her, to tell her that this time, I would protect her. But I didn’t move. I just watched as she curled into a ball on the sofa, wiping away tears, biting her lip, looking like a small child who had been cast out of her own home. My chest tightened. But I couldn’t be soft. I knew that in my past life, it was a single hug on this very night that had dragged me back into the emotional quicksand. I let her emotions guide me, and the result was her jumping off a building while I was slaving away at a dead-end job just to save enough for a plane ticket home. This time, I could not afford to be soft. I turned and went back to my room. At 4:30 a.m., she finally fell asleep. But I was wide awake. I opened my email and began preparing. Transfer applications, visa documents, a plan to move the funds before the account was frozen, and the B-plan I had never told my mother about: • A list of all executives in Sterling Corporation’s subsidiary branches. • Records of all recent property transfers under the family name. • A list of all known contract loopholes. • The contact window for the offshore asset management trust. • And—the training program list for the “Future Heirs Initiative.” The first name on the list: Julian Vance, age 3, future student at a prestigious preparatory school in New York. I chewed on the end of my pen and circled the name Julian three times. Julian Sterling. The future heir. How laughable. To think that in a few years, the world would be told that the renowned Sterling Corporation had only one child, a daughter treasured by her father. The thought made me want to vomit. In my last life, I watched him join the company, sign contracts, lead projects, and be praised by the media as a young prodigy, while the world conveniently ignored the fact that he was illegitimate. This life, he would have to go through me first. At 7 a.m., my mother woke up, her eyes swollen, her face sallow. As I was getting ready to leave, she stood in the doorway, blocking my path. “Anne,” she called, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s not too late to change your mind.” I stopped and turned back. “Not this time,” I said. “I’m going out there to win. And then I’m coming back for you.” She looked at me, silent for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. Not a single tear fell. She just said, “Then don’t you dare lose.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” The moment I closed the door and walked away from the Sterling house, the sun was bright, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the wind was cold. 3 The day I left for good, my father, Edward Sterling, drove me to the airport himself. My mother was in the passenger seat, silent. She had spent three hours on her makeup. Her lipstick was a defiant red, the powder on her face too thick, but her complexion was still ashen, bloodless. She stared out the window the entire time, watching the familiar roads pass by, as if sealing herself away in her memories. Edward wore a slightly worn navy blue suit, his smile impeccable. To any outsider, he was the perfect husband and father. He gripped the steering wheel, talking to me about school, then turning to my mother. “I’ve already arranged Anne’s accommodations. Serena Vance will look after her. The child will be much more settled at her place.” My mother didn’t respond. She just tightened her grip on her handbag, her knuckles turning white. Of course she knew who Serena Vance was. The youngest female executive in the company. Thirty-five years old, a double MBA, beautiful, charming, and most importantly—three years ago, she had given birth to Edward Sterling’s twins. The HR department at Sterling Corp even had a nickname for her: the Corporate Princess. My mother wasn’t ignorant. She just pretended to be. Just like now, she was wearing her most expensive dress, a champagne-gold sheath, supposedly the first expensive gift he’d ever bought her after making his fortune. She sat bolt upright, her posture rigid. She was sending me off, and she was going to do it looking like a proper wife. Even if, after I was gone, she would be just another forgotten woman. At the airport, my father’s driver was already waiting in the VIP lane with my luggage. My mother held my hand, her voice a soft whisper. “Do you have your passport? Your allergy medicine? Don’t forget that cashmere scarf…” I nodded, watching her eyes redden. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. Her voice tightened. “If it gets cold over there, video call me. I’ll mail you some clothes…” My own eyes started to burn, but I held back the tears. This wasn’t a goodbye. It was a deployment. My father stepped forward and wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders, smiling at me. “Your mother’s been so worried. She hasn’t slept well these past few nights.” My mother flinched, visibly shaken by his use of the phrase “your mother,” as if it had jolted her out of a daze. Her eyes actually welled up, as if she were being loved again. I looked at her, my heart aching with a mixture of anger and pity. This was her. Even knowing she had been betrayed completely, she would still try to scrape together a shred of security from the smallest crumb of false affection. Maybe it was because she had spent her entire youth by his side. I stood up. Just before I walked through the gate, my mother suddenly hugged me. “Anne…” She buried her face in my shoulder, her body trembling. “If it’s too hard over there, just come home. Mom will always be here.” I patted her back. “Mom, wait for me.” “Wait for what?” “Wait for me to come back and take everything that belongs to you.” I whispered it in her ear. She froze, her eyes going blank for a second. Then she nodded. “Okay… Mom will wait.” When I looked back, my father still had his arm around her. They looked like a loving old couple, seeing their daughter off on her great adventure. Only I knew that in his office drawer, there was a photo of Serena with their two children at Disneyland, their smiles more genuine than any in our family portraits. Only I knew that this tender moment wouldn't stop him from leaving his entire fortune to his children on the side decades later. I walked into the VIP lounge. Serena Vance was waiting for me on a plush sofa. She wore a camel-colored trench coat, her makeup was flawless, her lipstick a cool shade of rose. Her Chanel earrings sparkled. It was clear my father had been generous. She stood up and extended a hand with a smile. “Anne, it’s so good to see you again. Your father has told me so much more about you.” I didn’t take her hand. I just nodded. “Thank you for going to all this trouble.” She wasn’t offended. She smoothly retracted her hand and picked up her tote bag. “It’s no trouble at all. From now on, just think of me as family in America. If you need anything, just ask.” I smiled. She thought I didn’t know who she was. In my last life, I lived in her house for four years. I knew which drawer held the children’s vaccination records, which passport was hidden in the safe, how many nannies she’d gone through, and what time of night she liked to call Edward. She thought I remembered nothing. She didn’t know I was back to settle the accounts. Serena led me onto a private jet. The seats were spacious, a flight attendant bowed as she offered me water. It was all like a fairy tale. I didn’t say a word after I sat down. I just inserted a new SIM card into my phone, enabled location services, network access, and voice recording, and linked my financial accounts to the new number for text verification. I knew that this departure marked the final farewell to my identity as the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. They could now raise their illegitimate children in peace. But they would soon find out that I wasn't a daughter being sent away. I was a creditor coming to collect.
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