The first day I was brought back to the Donovan estate, my biological parents laid down the law. “Even though you’re back, don’t think for a second you can compete with Sophie.” I looked at the power play this family was putting on and smiled as I pulled a contract out of my bag. “I believe you’ve made a mistake. Our parent-child relationship is a legal fact. But for me to play the role of a docile, obedient daughter who also serves as a stepping stone for your adopted child? That’s a premium emotional service.” “And it’s going to cost you.” 1 My biological father, Richard Donovan, tossed a black card onto the table. “There’s ten thousand dollars on this. It’s your allowance for the next six months.” “Now that you’re a Donovan, you will follow the Donovan rules.” “First, you are not to bully Sophie. She may not be our biological daughter, but we’ve raised her for twenty years. Don’t you dare think you can replace her.” “Second, do not discuss your identity with outsiders. For now, we will be telling everyone you’re a distant relative.” “Third, leave your backwater habits behind. Keep a low profile and do not embarrass the Donovan name.” Beside him, my mother, Anabelle, dressed like the socialite she was, added her own conditions. “Sophie is a very sensitive girl, and her health is fragile. She can’t handle any stress. You need to be considerate and not do anything to make her cry.” According to the plot of the novel I knew, the long-lost biological daughter—me—is brought back, desperate for affection, only to be gaslighted and manipulated by her entire family. My parents and brother find me vulgar. The adopted daughter, Sophie, undermines me at every turn, both openly and behind my back. And my fiancé, Marcus Blackwood, humiliates me every chance he gets. The original me, in an attempt to fit in, desperately studies etiquette, grovels for approval, and walks on eggshells around everyone. In the end, she’s still thrown out of the family and dies alone, consumed by despair. Now that I’ve taken her place, I looked around at the hundred-million-dollar mansion and decided to think bigger. If playing the part of the loving daughter is a death sentence, I’ll play the part of a consultant. And consultants get paid. I picked up the card with a small smile. “My apologies, but I’ve done my due diligence.” “Donovan Industries reported a net profit of four billion dollars last year.” “And from what I understand, Miss Sophie’s monthly expenses alone run well into six figures.” “Since you’re both so concerned about Miss Sophie’s feelings and so worried that your daughter from the country will embarrass you, why bring me back at all?” “Could it be because the Blackwood family specifically requested an alliance with the true heiress?” Richard, who had been about to stand, froze. His eyes sharpened. “Who told you that?” I smiled and pulled a printed document from my bag titled Functional Family Member Performance Agreement. “That’s not important. What’s important is the business I’d like to discuss with you both.” “Integrating a stranger, even one who shares your blood, into a family unit is, in essence, a high-risk merger and acquisition.” “I know you had no choice.” “Since we’re all uncomfortable, let’s commercialize it. You need me to act as a mascot, a tool for a marriage alliance, and, when necessary, a foil to highlight Miss Sophie’s superior grace. I am willing to cooperate on all fronts. But not for free.” Richard and Anabelle’s expressions soured. Reading the room, I pressed on before they could play the family card. “Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Donovan, please don’t talk to me about blood being thicker than water. That’s an outdated concept.” “In the world of business, providing emotional value and taking the fall for others are services that command a premium.” “If I’m mistreated in this house, that’s a workplace injury. If you expect me to handle a scumbag like Marcus Blackwood, that’s hazardous duty, billed on a case-by-case basis, and you will be taking out a top-tier life insurance policy in my name.” “As for the ten thousand you just offered? That’s what you give a beggar. Considering the unique and irreplaceable nature of my position, I require a monthly salary of fifty thousand dollars, a full benefits package, and an annual bonus to be negotiated separately.” “Are you insane? You really are from the sticks, with that crass, money-grubbing attitude!” My older brother, William, who had been watching silently from the side, finally spoke. I shook my head. “There’s no hollow affection between us, only a relationship maintained by money. So it’s only right that I get paid for my services.” “What do you say? Think of the return on investment. Fifty thousand a month for a peaceful and harmonious household. Sounds like a bargain, doesn't it?” Richard, ever the capitalist, was the first to regain his composure. He truly felt nothing for this unrefined, unpresentable stranger of a daughter. Fifty thousand dollars was less than the price of a single bottle of wine from his cellar. If the price of one bottle could secure him a compliant, professional, and trouble-free tool for the marriage alliance… the deal was exceptionally cost-effective. After all, in the world of the wealthy, problems that money can solve aren’t really problems at all. He picked up a fountain pen and signed the contract with a decisive stroke. “You’d better be worth it. Stay in line.” 2 The next day, I officially started my new job. At breakfast, the adopted daughter, Sophie, drifted into the room like a delicate willow in the wind. I had to admit, the product the Donovans had poured their money into was exquisite. She met every aesthetic standard for the damsel-in-distress archetype. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up. “Victoria, why are you glaring at me? What did I do wrong?” “I’m sorry, whatever it is. Please don’t be angry with me.” Before I could respond, she looked timidly at the other three. “Dad, Mom, William… should I not be down here for breakfast?” “I know I’m just the adopted daughter. I don’t have the right to eat at this table. I’ll go.” Richard and Anabelle’s hearts immediately went out to her, and they were about to scold me when I spoke first. “Miss Sophie, your performance is subpar.” Sophie looked confused, tears clinging to her lashes. “Wh-what?” I sized her up. “As the Donovan family’s signature socialite, your core competencies are beauty, fragility, and evoking pity. But look at your facial control.” I pointed to the corner of her mouth. “When you cry, the downward curve of your lips is too exaggerated. It looks stiff and theatrical.” “Furthermore, as the favored one, acting so meek in front of an ‘outsider’ like me makes you seem small-minded. It reflects poorly on Mr. and Mrs. Donovan’s upbringing.” “If anyone else saw this, they’d think there was a quality control issue with the Donovan brand.” Richard, who had been ready to yell at me, paused. He actually thought I had a point. The Donovans were a prestigious family. How could their daughter act so timid and submissive? “Then what do you suggest?” he asked. “I can act as her competitive analyst and part-time image consultant.” I adopted a more professional posture. “From now on, I will simulate various scenarios for her: the wicked older sister, the demanding mother-in-law, even the cunning romantic rivals she might encounter in the future. I’ll conduct comprehensive situational drills.” “Through my pressure, we will improve her resilience. Through my critiques, we will perfect her public image. I guarantee that when she marries into another prominent family, she will be a formidable presence and a credit to the Donovan name.” Sophie was dumbfounded. She had never heard “bullying” described in such a refreshingly corporate way. “Rest assured, this service is included in my monthly salary. I only require the subject’s cooperation.” “For instance… now.” My gaze sharpened, my tone turning imperious. “Come here and clear my plate.” Sophie instinctively looked to her parents. I sneered. “What are you looking at them for? In the future, when your powerful mother-in-law demands you serve her, are you just going to cry for your mommy?” “Did you think being a society wife was easy?” Richard mulled it over for a moment and then, to my surprise, nodded. “Victoria is right. Sophie, it’s time you started training.” Sophie, her face a mask of shock and humiliation, carried my plate to the kitchen. I turned to Richard with a slight smile. “See, boss? This is called the catfish effect.” “Sardines only improve their survival rate when they’re being chased by a catfish.” “A flower raised in a greenhouse has no core competency. It has no value on the open market.” For the first time, the way Richard looked at me held something different. A flicker of reassessment. 3 I adapted to my job as the "true heiress" quickly. In the original story, the protagonist was always jealous of Sophie and would dress in flashy, garish outfits to one-up her, only to be mocked for being tacky. I had no need for that. I was here to work. Every day, I wore sharply tailored business attire, my hair pulled back neatly, and I moved through the house with an air of purpose. When I saw Richard, it was, “Good morning, Mr. Donovan.” When I saw Anabelle, “Mrs. Donovan.” To William, “Mr. William.” And to Sophie, “Miss Sophie, your foundation looks a bit cakey today. I suggest trying a different formula.” One day, the male lead from the novel, my nominal fiancé, Marcus Blackwood, came to visit. This heir to a fortune was notoriously arrogant and unruly. He was in love with Sophie, but his grandfather was forcing him to marry the true heiress, so he was openly hostile toward me. “So you’re the one from the countryside?” Marcus sneered, looking down his nose at me. “You have a passing resemblance to my aunt and uncle, I suppose. A shame about the lack of refinement.” “You can put a pig in a dress, but it’s still a pig. Don’t think returning to the Donovan family means you can just climb the social ladder.” Such painfully cliché lines. I couldn’t be bothered with this idiot. Sophie nestled against him, her eyes welling up again. “Marcus, don’t say that about my sister. She’s trying her best. We shouldn’t mock her.” “Sophie, you’re just too kind,” Marcus said, pulling her into a protective embrace before glaring at me. “I’m warning you, stay away from me. Don’t get any foolish ideas. The only woman I will ever marry is Sophie.” Fine. I admit it. My tolerance for idiots is zero. I put down the tablet I was holding, which contained the company’s latest financial report that Richard had asked me to review. That’s right. After repeatedly proving my value, Richard had finally agreed to let me get involved in some of the company’s peripheral business. I cherished every opportunity to work, but this moron was disrupting my focus. “Mr. Blackwood, regarding our engagement—this non-performing asset—due to its uncontrollable risks and extremely low rate of return, I have no interest in acquiring you.” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “What did you say? A non-performing asset?” “Isn’t that what you are?” I met his angry gaze without flinching. “Poor emotional regulation. Inappropriate public conduct. A complete lack of basic respect for a potential business partner, engaging in blatant personal attacks.” “As a future spouse, your performance is severely inadequate.” “You!” Marcus shot to his feet, trying to intimidate me with his height. “Stand still.” My voice was a sudden, sharp command. The sheer force of my presence made him freeze instinctively. “Since you’re so determined to be Sophie’s white knight, you should at least have the assets of one.” My eyes scanned him from head to toe, as sharp as an X-ray, finally settling on his midsection. “Unbutton your shirt.” Marcus was completely bewildered, unsure how the situation had taken such a sharp turn. “What?” “What are you trying to do?” “Get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert.” I cut him off with a cold eye-roll. “I am currently conducting quality control for the family gene pool. In the current market, there’s a surplus of alpha CEO types. Looks and physique are the only hard currency.” “Sophie is so delicate and fragile. She’s bound to be harassed by all sorts of vultures at social events.” “If you don’t even have a six-pack, how are you supposed to protect her? How can you be a fashionable accessory she can proudly display on her arm?” “Are you planning to defend her with that foul mouth of yours?” Marcus’s face turned beet red. He hated being looked down on, especially in front of the delicate Sophie. “I work out three times a week! I have plenty of muscle!” I raised an eyebrow, my expression dripping with disbelief. “Talk is cheap. For all I know, you’re all bark and no bite. An empty suit with a soft body underneath.” Then, I turned to Sophie with a sigh. “Sophie, darling, I’m not trying to cause trouble.” “But if Mr. Blackwood isn’t even willing to show this small token of sincerity, I doubt he truly loves you.” “And even if he does, you should be careful.” “Men like him look impressive on the outside, but they’re often all show. A man who lacks the confidence to show his physique is probably insecure. It might even mean he… has performance issues in other areas.” At my words, Sophie frowned and began to scrutinize Marcus. “Marcus, if Victoria is just trying to help our future, maybe you should just show her. It’s no big deal.” “I’d also like to see if you really have a six-pack.” Marcus stared at Sophie in disbelief. Under our united front of “it’s for the greater good,” this proud heir experienced the first real gaslighting of his life. 4 Gritting his teeth, desperate to prove to the woman he loved that he was “man enough,” and to wipe the smug, condescending look off my face, Marcus acted on impulse. He ripped open his shirt. “Open your damn eyes and look!” Sophie gasped, covering her mouth with a blush. Marcus shot me a defiant look, as if he’d just won a great victory. “See that, you country bumpkin? Can you shut up now?” However, I didn’t show the slightest hint of the slapped-in-the-face embarrassment he expected. Instead, I stepped closer, my expression neutral, inspecting him as if I were picking out a cut of pork at the market. “Body fat percentage is average, at best. The lines aren’t well-defined.” “On a scale of Hero to NPC, you’re barely a background character.” “Alright, button up. You’re an eyesore.”
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