1 Three years. For three years, a stranger wore my skin, lived my life, and shattered my world. Today, I finally clawed my way back. I flipped open my phone, my hands trembling as I scrolled through the cloud-saved security footage. The last three years played out in a horrifying montage: 2021: My daughter, my sweet Rosie, hurt herself for the first time. After that, she never spoke another word. 2022: My husband, Julian, crumbled into a clinical depression. He had me—or the thing wearing my face—sign the divorce papers. 2023: Julian broke completely. He ran his company into the ground and then simply… vanished. No one knows where he is. The last video was from yesterday. The woman who had stolen my life waved cheerfully at the camera. "Mission complete! Company's bankrupt, husband's driven mad, and the kid's a write-off. System upgraded! So, I’m leaving this dumpster fire for you to handle~" Before the shock could even register, my vision was flooded with a stream of translucent comments, like a ghostly chatroom layered over my reality. 【LOL, the transmigrator actually made the villain’s family more villainous. She leveled up her system by maxing out their corruption stats.】 【The daughter bites anyone who comes near her now. The husband drinks himself into a stupor every night.】 【The original owner comes back to find the 'conquest' progress bar went in reverse. This is Hell Mode, for real.】 I shut off the video, my stomach churning. As I looked up, my eyes met a pair of small, guarded ones. It was Rosie. In her tiny hand, she clutched a crayon stained with blood. "Rosie…" I whispered, slowly sinking to my knees to meet her gaze. She scrambled back instantly, the crayon dragging a jagged red line across the wall—a warning. My eyes fixed on the back of her right hand. I saw the faint, puckered outline of a burn, the same one I’d seen in the footage, where the impostor had "accidentally" spilled scalding milk on her. Seeing it on a screen had felt suffocating. Seeing the raised, uneven scar in person made the taste of bile and blood rise in my throat. 【Lmao, who is this gentle act for?】 【The little villain won’t fall for that. The impostor brought in a dozen therapists over the years. None of them worked.】 【Honestly, just tie her up and give her a good spanking. A kid this broken is just gonna grow up to be a menace anyway.】 I ignored the floating text, pulling a small object from my pocket. "Look what Mommy found." It was her favorite strawberry-shaped hair clip from when she was three. A tiny, dried smudge of jam was still stuck to it. The impostor had deliberately thrown it in the trash before she left. Rosie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. The tip of her crayon pointed at me, a tiny, makeshift weapon. "Mommy washed it," I said softly, placing the clip on the floor and gently sliding it toward her. "Does Rosie want it?" She stared at the clip for a long moment. Then, with a jerky motion, she scrawled a single word on the wall: LIAR. 【Pfft, the little psycho is smarter than she looks. No trust there.】 【The transmigrator must have lied to her constantly. She did everything she could to crank up the kid's darkness points.】 【Just give up. You can't tame a wild animal like that.】 【Am I the only one who thinks the kid is just… a kid? She's the victim here. I remember Rosie used to be so sweet.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My daughter was six. She should be lost in a world of fairy tales and scraped knees, not armed with the word "liar" to fend off the person who was supposed to be her safest harbor. "I know Rosie doesn't believe me," I said, keeping my distance. I pulled a photo album from my bag. "But look. This is Rosie's third birthday…" In the photo, she was wearing a little yellow duck raincoat, laughing so hard in my arms that her face was a smear of birthday cake and pure joy. The Rosie in front of me now was drowning in a pajama set that was too small, the cuffs frayed and worn. Her gaze lingered on the photograph for a few seconds. Then, in a flash, she lunged forward, snatched the album, and clutched it to her chest as she retreated to the corner of the room. The crayon fell, the red wax snapping in two. 【Whoa, she didn't bite?!】 【Did the little villain have a change of heart? This is weird. I thought she attacked everyone.】 【This isn’t normal. For three years, that kid hasn’t willingly touched another person. Every time she tried, the impostor would catch her and, well… you know…】 I knew exactly what unspeakable cruelties were hidden behind that unfinished sentence. I forced myself to inch forward. "Rosie, are you hungry? Mommy can make you—" She suddenly flew into a frenzy, tearing at her own hair, her mouth opening in a silent scream. A choked, guttural sound escaped her throat, a desperate, animalistic noise of pure terror. My heart seized. I froze. In the videos, every time the impostor said she was "making food," she would end up dumping it over Rosie's head. I didn't say another word. I just turned and walked into the kitchen. Rosie didn't move. She just stood there, her eyes locked on me, wide with suspicion. Half an hour later, I came back and slowly pushed a small food container across the floor. "Mommy will leave the food right here, okay? It's Rosie's favorite strawberry cake. And no carrots." She used to hate carrots with a passion. The impostor had made a point of mixing carrot purée into everything she gave her. Rosie's little nose twitched. Her eyes darted to the container and then quickly away. But I saw her fingers, which had been clenched around the photo album, loosen just a fraction. 【She actually remembered her daughter hates carrots. Wonder if the kid can be saved after all.】 【Don't get your hopes up. The little villain is definitely going to kick it over.】 As if on cue, she lifted her foot to kick the container, but her movement was so frantic that she tripped over her own feet. My instincts screamed. I reached out to steady her. She flinched back like a startled cat, her body curling into a tight ball, the album her only shield. "It's okay, it's okay! Mommy won't touch you," I said, quickly pulling my hand back and retreating. I pushed the container a little further away. "It's alright if the cake gets smashed. Mommy can always make more." She peeked at me from behind the edge of the album, one eye visible. Her fingers unconsciously traced the image of my smiling face in the photograph. The sun was setting, casting a single golden ray through the curtains that landed on her hair. I realized then that it had grown all the way to her waist. The impostor never cut it. Once, she'd even threatened Rosie with a pair of scissors, telling her she'd cut off her fingers. "Rosie's hair is so beautiful," I said, my voice soft. "Does Mommy want to help you braid it? Like we used to, with two little pigtails…" Suddenly, she threw the album to the floor. Photos scattered across the wood. I bent down to pick them up, but she was faster. She snatched the birthday picture, shoved it deep into her pajama pocket, and then grabbed the container of cake and fled into her room. 【??? The little villain actually took the cake? She's going to eat something the original owner made?】 【Holy crap, the world's ending. Did the little villain just crack? The impostor worked for three years to make her like this.】 【Don't get too cocky, original owner. Just wait until the villain husband gets back. You're in for it then.】 I knelt and picked up the broken pieces of red wax from the floor. The tip was wet. It wasn't blood. It was Rosie's tears. 2 When Rosie finally emerged from her room, the container was empty. She’d eaten every last crumb of the cake. A fragile warmth bloomed in my chest as I looked at the empty box. But as she stepped out, her large eyes were still filled with that same wariness, like a fawn poised to bolt at the slightest sound. Her gaze kept flicking toward her bedroom door—a door that had no lock. To make monitoring her easier, the impostor had removed the entire mechanism. 【Hah, the little villain is still paranoid about surprise inspections. She used to put a single hair on the door to see if it was opened. Looks like the hair is still intact this time.】 【Seriously, that transmigrator was messed up. Doing that to a little kid… Who could stomach that? She’s just a child.】 【Hey, don't forget she's the villain's daughter. She's destined to be a villain too. Stop with the bleeding-heart act.】 【Yeah, this original owner is just dithering around. The divorce papers are signed, the kid was given to the father. What is she even still doing here?】 Rosie’s fingers twisted the hem of her pajamas, her knuckles white with tension. I followed her gaze to the door and understood her constant, gnawing anxiety. "Rosie," I said, crouching down to her level. "Mommy has a present for you." Half an hour later, a repairman finished installing a brand-new lock. With Rosie watching, I placed the one and only key into her small palm. "From now on, only Rosie can open this door," I said, gently closing her fingers around the cool metal. "Anyone who wants to come in has to knock first. That includes Mommy." She stared down at the key, her long eyelashes trembling. The sunlight streaming in from behind her cast a tiny, fluttering shadow beneath her lashes, like a butterfly had momentarily paused there. 【Is the original owner insane? Giving the villain-in-training a lock?】 【Get ready to be locked out and left to cry. The kid’s already a recluse. If something happens to her in that room, the villain dad will literally strangle her.】 【My advice: fill the keyhole with superglue. Don’t show mercy to a villain. What a waste of my premium subscription.】 Suddenly, Rosie reached out her other hand. Her fingertips brushed against my wrist, a touch so light it was like the whisper of a feather. It was enough to make my nose sting with tears. But just as quickly as it came, the touch was gone. She spun around and ran back into her room. A moment later, I heard the solid, reassuring click of the new lock. 【Welp, she’s feeding the tiger that’s gonna eat her.】 【Just waiting for the little villain to sneak out with a pair of scissors in the middle of the night.】 【The original owner is gonna get what’s coming to her.】 【Wait, am I the only one who noticed? The little villain hasn’t bitten anyone in two days.】 I leaned against the wall outside her door, listening to the soft rustling sounds from within. As curious as I was about what she was doing, I refused to disturb her. I trusted my Rosie. She was my daughter, after all. Later that night, I found the empty food container placed outside her door. Tucked inside was a wrinkled piece of paper. On it were two wobbly, lovingly drawn strawberries. 3 Contrary to the grim predictions of the floating comments, Rosie didn’t do anything extreme. That night, we both slept soundly. She didn't emerge with scissors to stab me, nor did she barricade herself in her room forever. In fact, she was up early the next morning. I found her standing in front of the mirror, a comb clutched in her small hand, looking at me with hesitant eyes. It took me a second to understand. She was waiting for me to brush her hair. "Does Rosie want Mommy to do your hair?" I asked softly. She didn't speak, but she held the comb out to me and then sat dutifully on the little stool, her back straight and facing me. I began to carefully comb through her long hair, my fingers gently working through the knots, terrified of hurting her. It was so long, nearly to her waist, the ends dry and brittle. The impostor had never brushed it properly, often yanking it on purpose to make Rosie fear the simple act of grooming. But today, she had invited my touch. My eyes started to burn. I braided her hair into two small pigtails, and as a final touch, I fastened the little strawberry clip she loved so much when she was three. In the mirror, Rosie stared at her reflection for a long moment. Her small hand reached up to tentatively touch the clip. The corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. I knew she was happy. At the breakfast table, I set out strawberry toast and warm milk, along with a bowl of fresh strawberries. She ate with her head down, occasionally glancing up at me before quickly looking away. After she finished, I helped her change into a new strawberry-print sundress I’d bought. Strawberries had been her absolute favorite, but the impostor had deliberately dressed her in clothes covered in carrots, the one thing she detested, making the simple act of getting dressed a daily torment. Today, she finally wore something she loved. She stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. She was silent, but I could feel the quiet joy radiating from her. When it was time to leave, Rosie paused at the front door. She hesitated for a second, and then— She reached out and took my hand. Her small, cool fingers curled nervously inside my palm. She held on. My heart skipped a beat. I stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement would make her let go. It was the first time she had willingly initiated contact. But the closer we got to the school, the tighter her grip became. Her steps slowed, her eyes started darting around, and she began to shrink behind me. I knelt down, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Is Rosie scared?" She didn’t answer, but her eyelashes fluttered. I took out her smartwatch and pulled up the emergency contact screen. My number was the only one there. "If you're not happy at school today, or if anyone is mean to you, you just press this button. Mommy will come get you right away, okay?" She stared at the watch for a long time. Then, she gave a tiny nod. 4 School let out, but after waiting at the gates for what felt like an eternity, there was still no sign of Rosie. The other children had all streamed out, their laughter and chatter filling the air, but my daughter was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread began to seep into my heart. I rushed into the school building and finally found her cowering behind the classroom door. She was alone, huddled in a corner, her hair a mess. The strawberry clip was gone, and the hem of her new dress was torn. A group of kids stood over her, chanting, "Monster! You're a thief! Little thief!" Rosie just kept her head down, her hands clenched so tightly in her dress that her knuckles were white. Tears fell, one by one, splashing silently onto the floor. But she hadn't pressed the button on her watch. 【Why didn't she call?】 【Didn't you see? In the past, whenever she was bullied and called for help, the impostor would just scream at her. She'd get punished even worse at home.】 【I don't think she's afraid of being yelled at. I think Rosie's afraid that if she causes any trouble, her mom will decide she's not worth it and leave her.】 【My heart… that last comment makes so much sense. What did she ever do to deserve this? She's only six.】 I strode over and knelt in front of her, gently cupping her face in my hands. "Rosie. Mommy's here." She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her lips trembling. She was too scared to even try to speak. My gaze snapped to the other children. "Which one of you did this?" They fell silent. One boy, bolder than the rest, jutted out his chin. "She stole my eraser!" Rosie’s head whipped up. She shook it frantically, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me, desperate to explain but unable to form a single word. Seeing her like this tore me apart. I smoothed her hair back, trying to calm her. 【Oh no, Rosie can't talk. How can she defend herself?】 【How is she supposed to prove anything?】 I looked back into her desperate eyes and asked gently, "Rosie, where is the eraser?" Her hand trembled as she pointed toward a schoolbag lying in the corner. The bag had been ransacked, its contents strewn about. I walked over and lifted it. Lying underneath was a dirty eraser, clearly stamped with a shoe print. 【They went through her bag?】 【Of course the villain’s daughter is a villain. Like father, like daughter. Stealing things, just as expected.】 【Seriously, this original owner needs to stop being a saint. A kid like that should just be gotten rid of.】 I picked up the eraser and turned to the children. "Who stepped on this?" They exchanged nervous glances, no one daring to speak. I fixed my eyes on the boy. "You said she stole your eraser. What does your eraser look like?" He stammered, "It… it looks just like that one!" "Really?" A cold smile touched my lips. "Because this eraser has a name on it. It says 'Rosie.'" In the corner of the eraser, written in shaky, childish letters, was her name. 【!!! The mom is a genius!】 【Rosie's writing is so small, I almost didn't see it.】 【Hahaha, the look on those kids' faces!】 The boy’s face paled. He turned and ran, and the other children scattered like frightened birds. I knelt down again, gently wiping the tears from Rosie's face. "It's okay, Rosie. The bad people are gone. Mommy believes you." She froze, a tear hovering on her eyelash, and just stared at me. "Rosie would never steal anything. Mommy knows that," I said, taking her small hand in mine. "If anyone ever bullies you again, you have to tell Mommy, okay?" And then, it happened. A heart-wrenching sob broke from her lips, and she threw herself into my arms, her little hands clutching my shirt as if she was afraid I would vanish into thin air. She finally believed it. She finally believed her mother was really here to protect her.
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