I transmigrated into a novel as the adoptive mother of five future titans—a self-sacrificing saint destined to burn out for their success. Now, my most beloved son shielded his childhood sweetheart, accusing my mute biological daughter: "She pushed Vivian down the stairs!" The other four sons glared coldly as Vivian smirked from their protection. [WARNING: -20 FAMILY HARMONY! MAINTAIN SAINTLY PERSONA OR FACE PUNISHMENT!] I laughed, hurling a crystal ashtray at my "darling" son's feet. "She's mute! If you're so heartbroken, get out!" Did you think my 20 years of sacrifice meant nothing? The show's just beginning. 1 The crystal chandelier cast a cold, unforgiving light on every face in the living room. My eldest son, Ashton, the future titan of industry, stood at his full six-foot-two height, his body a formidable shield for the girl cradled in his arms, Vivian. Vivian's knee was scraped, a minor injury she was milking for all it was worth, her face a mask of tear-streaked, damsel-in-distress fragility. Ashton's accusing finger was nearly touching the nose of my biological daughter, Nina. "It was her!" "Nina! She's the one who pushed Vivian down the stairs!" His voice was hoarse with rage, his eyes shot through with red veins. "She almost died!" My five-year-old Nina, born without the ability to speak, was trembling, her small face ghostly white. She tried to shrink behind me, her little hands making frantic, meaningless gestures as she let out choked, "Ah, ah," sounds. She was trying to explain. But no one was giving her the chance. My second son, Caleb, the future superstar actor, leaned against the sofa, his gaze coolly detached. "Mom, this has gone too far." My third, Dylan, the future genius doctor, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "Nina needs psychological intervention." My fourth, Ethan, the future master hacker, sat silently with his laptop, but the clacking of his keys had stopped—a silent, suffocating pressure. And my fifth, Leo, the future top lawyer, spoke with a voice as cold and hard as ice. "Mom, we need an explanation. Vivian is a guest. And she has a heart condition." The five boys I had raised with my own two hands, the five future titans into whom I had poured all my blood, sweat, and tears, now stood like five icebergs, trapping my mute daughter and me in the center. Behind them, Vivian buried her face in Ashton's chest and, for a moment, peeked up at me, a silent, victorious smile playing on her lips. [BEEP—SYSTEM WARNING!] [HOST BEHAVIOR DETECTED. DEVIATION FROM "SAINTLY MOTHER" PERSONA. FAMILY HARMONY RATING: -20.] [IMMEDIATELY APPEASE ADOPTED SON ASHTON, AND REQUIRE NINA TO APOLOGIZE TO VIVIAN TO MAINTAIN FAMILY HARMOnY.] [WARNING! FAILURE TO COMPLY WITHIN TEN MINUTES WILL INITIATE LEVEL-ONE ELECTRIC SHOCK PUNISHMENT!] The cold, mechanical voice in my head was a death knell. I laughed. The sound was jarring in the dead silence of the room. Everyone stared at me, stunned. I slowly rose to my feet, walked to the coffee table, and picked up the heavy, crystal ashtray. Ashton watched, his eyes wide with disbelief, as I raised my arm and hurled it at his feet. CRASH! Crystal fragments flew everywhere. A shard sliced through the expensive fabric of his trousers. He jumped back, shocked. Everyone was frozen in astonishment. "Are you blind?" My voice was quiet, but it was like a poison-tipped needle, piercing the ears of everyone present. "She's mute. How is she supposed to explain anything to you?" "With sign language? Which one of you bastards even knows sign language?" I pointed a trembling finger towards the front door, each word a slap across Ashton's face. "Since you're so heartbroken over her, since you have so little faith in me, in this family…" "Get out." "You and her, get out of this house together!" [WARNING! WARNING! HOST BEHAVIOR SEVERELY DEVIATING FROM PERSONA! FAMILY HARMONY RATING: -50!] [PUNISHMENT INITIATED!] BZZZT— A sharp, agonizing current shot through my body, convulsing every muscle. The pain was so intense it felt like it was coming from my very bones. My vision swam with black spots. I bit down hard on my back teeth, the taste of blood flooding my mouth. I gripped the table for support, refusing to let myself fall. Ashton's face was a storm of shock, rage, and utter incomprehension. "Mom, are you crazy?! You're kicking me out? For a mute?" "I'm your son!" I forced a cold laugh past the pain. "My son? A son of the Sterling family wouldn't point a finger at his own sister and play the blind and deaf fool for an outsider." "Butler!" I yelled, my voice sharp. The butler scurried in, his face a mask of alarm. "Ma'am…" "Pack up the young master's and Miss Vivian's things. All of them. And throw them out. Now!" "Freeze all his credit cards. Take back his car. From this day forward, he has nothing to do with the Sterling family!" The electric current continued, each wave more intense than the last. Cold sweat poured down my back, soaking my dress. But I stood ramrod straight. Vivian finally dropped her act. She stepped out from behind Ashton and walked towards me, tears streaming down her face on command. "Auntie, please don't be angry. It's all my fault. It has nothing to do with Ashton…" As she spoke, she leaned in close, whispering in a voice only I could hear, "You can't win against us, old woman." Her eyes were full of taunting disdain. I looked at her pitiful, angelic face and felt nothing. I just pulled my terrified, near-fainting daughter into my arms, holding her tight, gently patting her back. Nina is my biological daughter. In the original story, she was my only "weakness." Now, she is my sharpest weapon. 2 Ashton was, in fact, thrown out of the house. When the butler dumped his suitcases and Vivian's handbag on the curb outside the villa, he still couldn't believe it. "Mom! You'll regret this!" he screamed at me. I ignored him, simply signaling for the guards to close the heavy, ornate iron gates. The four remaining sons looked at me as if I were a stranger. "Mom, you're playing favorites," Caleb, the actor, said first, his voice laced with undisguised disappointment. "Ashton was just worried about Vivian. You didn't have to take it this far," Dylan, the doctor, added with a frown. Leo, the lawyer, was more direct. "Legally speaking, you can't unilaterally terminate an adoption." I held Nina close, turned, and faced them. "Favorites?" I smiled. "Fine. I'll show you what playing favorites really looks like." That night, the news of Ashton being kicked out spread like wildfire through their social circle. The next day, the internet exploded. #SuperstarCalebSterlingAllegedlyAbusedByStepmother #RichStepmotherFavorsBioDaughterDrivesOutAdoptedSon The hashtags shot to the top of the trending lists. It started on a live-streamed variety show. The host asked Caleb if anything was bothering him lately. He looked into the camera with his famously melancholic eyes and sighed. "It's nothing. Just… some minor friction at home. I guess since I'm not her real son, there's always going to be a distance." He didn't say much, but it was more than enough to set his fans off. They immediately began concocting elaborate stories of a wicked, abusive stepmother. My social media accounts and my company's official website were instantly flooded with furious comments. Vicious woman! He thought of you as a mother, and you treated him like a slave? My heart breaks for Caleb! Just because he's not your biological son, he deserves to be bullied? That mute daughter is probably no good either. Bet she's a manipulative little snake! My PR manager's phone was ringing off the hook. "Mrs. Sterling, what do we do? The company's stock is starting to drop!" I was in the garden, enjoying the sun with Nina. My voice was calm. "Do nothing." I hung up and scrolled through the vile, hateful comments on my phone, completely unfazed. I made another call, this time to the manager of my private trust fund. "Mr. Davies, I need you to prepare the documents for the trust funds I set up for my five sons. I want to make them public." "Each one is worth ten million dollars. They can access a portion upon reaching adulthood with proof of identity, and they get full control at twenty-five." Mr. Davies was confused, but he did as he was told. Half an hour later, a notarized copy of the trust fund documents was released by a well-known financial influencer. EXCLUSIVE! The "wicked stepmother" from the rumors, Susan Sterling, established a ten-million-dollar trust fund for EACH of her five adopted sons years ago, accessible upon adulthood. The documents are verified and can be authenticated by any legal institution. Public opinion flipped on a dime. Ten million. For each of them. Five times over. What did that even mean? Holy crap! Ten million each! That's fifty million! This is abuse? This is loving them with her whole life! I hereby declare that this is my real mother! Mom, are you looking for another son? One who can feed himself? Get in line! She's MY mom! So what is Caleb even complaining about? For a mom who gives me ten million, I'd wash her feet every day on my knees! Wait, I think I get it. The biological daughter probably doesn't have one, right? So the brothers feel like their mom is being unfair and want to stand up for their sister? This family's relationship is so good! Caleb's management team was in a full-blown crisis. He had tried to cultivate a "tragic but talented" persona, but with one move—my "superpower" of overwhelming cash—I had turned him into an ungrateful brat who was biting the hand that fed him. His agent scrambled to release an apology, claiming Caleb was just in a bad mood and spoke without thinking, and had absolutely no intention of criticizing his adoptive mother. Caleb himself was forced to repost the apology. He returned home looking defeated, and when he saw me doing a puzzle with Nina, his face was, for the first time, tinged with unease. "Mom." I didn't look up. "Have you learned your lesson?" He fell silent. "I did nothing wrong," he muttered stubbornly. "You kicked Ashton out. You're still playing favorites." I finally raised my eyes to meet his. "Caleb, you need to remember something. What I give you is a gift. It's given out of love. And I can take it back anytime I want." "Including everything you have now." His face went pale. Just then, Vivian arrived, carrying a fruit basket. "Auntie, I came to see you. Caleb, please don't make Auntie angry," she said, playing the peacemaker. She walked over to Nina, crouched down, and smiled sweetly. "Nina, I'm sorry. The other day was my fault. I was clumsy. Please don't hold it against me." As she spoke, she reached for the pot of hot soup on the table, as if to serve Nina a bowl. And then, her hand "accidentally" slipped. The scalding hot soup tipped, heading straight for Nina's hand! My eyes flashed. In a split second, I grabbed Vivian's wrist and twisted it, hard. "Ahhh—!" A scream ripped through the air. The bowl of hot soup splashed all over the back of her own hand. Her fair skin instantly turned a blotchy, angry red. "Vivian!" Caleb and Dylan, who had just walked in, both cried out and rushed over. Vivian was in tears from the pain, looking at me with disbelief. But I was "panicked" even faster than she was. "Oh, Vivian! How could you be so careless!" I cried, grabbing her burned hand, my face a mask of "concern." "Quickly! Dylan, you're a doctor, take a look at her!" I shouted, all while squeezing her wound, my words full of feigned worry. "Oh, Vivian, I know you feel wronged. I know you wanted to show everyone your resolve, but how could you hurt yourself just to frame Nina?" "Nina doesn't understand anything! You're going to scare her!" My voice was filled with "heartbreak." Caleb and Dylan were frozen. They looked from Vivian's rapidly blistering hand to my daughter, cowering in my arms, the picture of innocence. Vivian's lips were white with pain. She shook her head frantically. "No… Auntie, you… you accidentally…" "Yes, yes, it's my fault. I couldn't stop you," I immediately "blamed" myself. "It's all my fault I couldn't prevent you from hurting yourself. Please, don't ever do this again. It breaks my heart." Dylan, the doctor, immediately began emergency treatment for Vivian's burn. His gaze, for the first time, shifted back and forth between Vivian's pale, protesting face and my own "concerned" expression. A tiny seed of doubt had been planted.
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