The day my parents’ marriage finally dissolved, my brother—born with a hair-trigger temper and a soul made of spite—already knew the score. He knew our father had clawed his way into the inner circle of a Chicago real estate heiress. Bennett didn't want a family; he wanted a dynasty. He wanted to be a blue-blood. He shoved me aside, practically stepping over our mother to grab my father’s hand. “I’m going with Dad,” he declared, his voice high and sharp. I didn't say a word. I simply reached down, took my mother’s trembling hand, and helped her up. I stood by her side, a quiet shadow in the wreckage of our living room. In my first life, Bennett had been the one to stay. He’d snuck into Mom’s private journals and discovered that Grandma wasn't just some estranged relative—she was the matriarch of one of the most powerful old-money families in Manhattan. He stayed because he thought he could use her to rule New York. He hadn't expected the reality: Mom never went back to the manor. She worked as a janitor by day and sold hot dogs from a cart by night just to keep him fed. She’d spent every cent of her meager savings to rent a cramped, one-bedroom apartment near a decent school, leaving them with barely enough for groceries. He grew to hate her for it. Meanwhile, I was the one who went with Dad. As the son of the most notorious social climber in the Midwest, I lived a life of obscene luxury. I had every resource at my fingertips. I wasn't just a straight-A student; I was a world-ranked chess prodigy and a semi-pro racer. Bennett’s jealousy turned into a sickness. When I returned home for a tournament, exhausted and vulnerable, he met me in the parking lot. He stabbed me seven times in front of a cheering crowd. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the divorce. Looking at the feral, triumphant glint in my six-year-old brother’s eyes, I knew he had come back, too. He thought he’d made the winning move this time. He thought he’d traded a life of poverty for a throne. He had no idea he’d just signed up for a nightmare. 1 I kept my head down, masking the cold fire of my hatred. “Matt,” my father, Adam, said, his voice hesitant. “Are you sure about this? You don't want to come with me?” Adam actually preferred me. Just like with my brother, Adam had only pursued my mother because he’d smelled the "Manhattan Elite" on her. He wanted to be the trophy husband of a billionaire heiress. But my grandmother had seen right through his cheap suit and cheaper soul. She’d forbidden the marriage. When Mom was torn between her family and the man she thought she loved, Adam made sure she got pregnant. He spirited her away, thinking the old woman would eventually cave and write a check. He was wrong. Once it was clear Grandma had cut Mom off for good, Adam started looking for a new mark. He played the part of the tortured, bohemian artist, using his charms to infiltrate the circles of powerful women. He was leaving now because he’d finally landed May Stanford. May was Chicago royalty—stunning, ruthless, and trapped by the one thing money couldn't fix: a biological inability to have an heir. After her family marginalized her for it, she’d spent her twenties systematically dismantling and then rebuilding their corporate empire from the inside. Now, in her thirties, her kingdom was secure, but she needed a successor. A son she could mold. Adam had offered us up like prize cattle. May’s "vetting team" had already decided I was the better candidate. In my last life, I’d gone willingly, unaware of the trap. The moment we arrived at the Stanford estate, May had me thrown into a decorative pond stocked with alligators. "Matt," she’d said, her voice like silk over gravel, "if you want to be my son, you have to learn how to survive. The gates will open in three hours. Get ready." "No!" I’d screamed, thrashing in the water. "Dad! Help me! Please!" But the elegant woman only smiled. "Matt, you have to save yourself." 2 I’d looked to Adam, who was standing right behind her, hovering like a loyal dog. "Dad! Do something! Please!" Adam ignored my terror. He leaned over the edge, his eyes cold. "Matt, your mother is right. Listen to her. Do this for me. You have to survive." "She’s not my mother!" I yelled. May knelt down, gripping my chin with fingers that felt like steel talons. "Matt, if you want a mother’s love, you have to forget Claire ever existed. Pass this test, and you can take the Stanford name." I didn't answer. I leaned forward and bit her wrist, hard enough to draw blood. Adam panicked, trying to pry my jaws open. "Matt! You little animal! Let go!" May didn't flinch. She looked at her bleeding wrist, then back at me. "Matt, even if you tear my hand off, the gators are still coming in one hundred and sixty minutes." That was the moment I realized I was powerless. I let go. I swam to the center, forced my heart to slow down, and began to watch the shadows in the water. I had to live. I fought those beasts for three days. When May finally killed them, she didn't give me a bed; she put me in a kennel and fed me raw protein. The "domestication" never stopped. I grew up "perfect." In public, she was the devoted, sophisticated mother, and I was the genius son she adored. But every time I fell short of her impossible standards, the punishments became more inventive, more psychological. By the time I was twenty, I was a "prodigy" to the world, but inside, I was a hollowed-out shell. If Bennett hadn't killed me, I would have eventually killed May and then myself. But now? Now I was going to let Bennett be her dog. I was going to stay with Mom and find a way to heal. 3 Terrified of losing his "golden ticket," Bennett grabbed Adam’s leg and nodded feverishly. “Dad! I want to go with you! You’re the only one who cares about me! I’ll be the best son, I promise!” Adam hesitated, his eyes flickering toward me. At that moment, Mom knelt down so we were eye-to-eye. Her voice was a soft balm. “Matt? What about you? Do you want to go with your father?” “I’m staying with you, Mom,” I said instantly. She had just been rejected by her youngest, and my words brought a sudden, fragile light to her eyes. She pulled me into a hug. “I promise you, Matt. I will make sure you grow up happy. I’ll give you everything I can.” “I’ll stay with you forever,” I whispered, meaning it. In my last life, she had given Bennett all of her love, and he’d spat on it. This time, I would be the one to cherish it. “Claire!” Adam shouted. “I didn't agree to this! You can’t just take Matt!” Mom didn't even look at him. She told me to take Bennett upstairs to pack our things. I nodded and took Bennett’s hand. I forced my voice into the pitch of a frightened seven-year-old. “Come on, Ben. Let’s go upstairs.” My brother’s small face contorted with a sneer that no six-year-old should possess. He followed me, but I could feel the malice radiating off him. As we climbed the stairs, I was already calculating. I needed a way out—a way to ensure May wouldn't come for me. A few steps from the top, I felt his hand on my back. He shoved. In that split second, I saw my opening. Instead of catching myself, I leaned into the fall. I tumbled backward, aiming my forehead for the sharp corner of the mahogany banister. The pain was white-hot and immediate. My seven-year-old body wasn't as resilient as my adult mind, and the agony forced a jagged scream from my throat. Bennett scrambled down next to me, forcing out fake tears. “Matt! Oh my god, you fell! Mom! Dad! I’m so scared!” Mom was there in a heartbeat, screaming for an ambulance. Adam, however, just stared at the gash on my head. “Matt! You idiot! Look what you did! What if that leaves a scar?” May Stanford was a perfectionist. She viewed her children as curated works of art. A scarred heir was a flawed product. Seeing Adam’s panicked face, I knew I’d won. 4 “Get out, Adam!” Mom screamed. “Stop yelling at him and just get out! Matt is staying with me. You don't get to touch him ever again!” Adam couldn't explain his real motives without admitting he was selling his children to a socialite. He could only stall. “Fine! But we’re not deciding anything until he’s out of the hospital.” Mom was too worried about the blood to argue. “Fine.” Adam stepped outside to "smoke," but I knew he was calling May. In the hospital, Bennett hovered by Mom’s side, playing the innocent. “Mom, he was just jumping around on the stairs. He tripped over his own feet. You should tell him to be more careful…” Mom cut him off. “Go sit down, Bennett.” An hour later, Adam returned, his face a mask of feigned indifference. May had clearly given him new orders. “Claire, I’ve made my decision. I’m taking Bennett. You keep Matt. And after today, I don't want to hear from either of you unless it’s an absolute emergency.” “Good,” Mom snapped. Just like in the previous life, they sold the house. Mom walked away with eighty thousand dollars in cash—a pittance to Adam, but a fortune to her. May must have been footing the bill to make the "problem" go away quickly. While I was still in the hospital, Adam whisked Bennett away to Chicago for "inspection." I could only imagine the look on May’s face when she saw what she’d bought. Once I was discharged, Mom moved us to Boston. She wanted a fresh start. She fell back into the same routine: cleaning offices by day, selling rotisserie chicken and sides from a small stand at night. I didn't care about the grease or the long hours. I did everything I could to help her. The only "gift" May had given me in my past life was a high-functioning brain. I stopped hiding it. I let my intelligence show, little by little. By the time I finished middle school, I was the top-ranked student in the district. When I won a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship, Mom cried. She looked at me, her eyes red and hesitant. “Matt… are you ashamed of what I do? If you keep being this successful, people are going to ask. The reporters will want to know who your mother is. Do you really want to tell them I’m a janitor?” I took her hands. “I’ll tell them the truth. I’ll tell the whole world that my mother is the strongest woman I know. That without you, I’d be nothing.” She sobbed and pulled me into her arms. “You’re my pride and joy, Matt.” 5 With the scholarship money and our savings, I convinced Mom to open a small, brick-and-mortar rotisserie bistro. During the grand opening, it was a madhouse. We offered ninety-percent-off deals for the first three days. By the fourth day, things had settled into a steady, profitable rhythm. I was in the back prepping vegetables when the bell rang. Two figures walked in, both dressed in tailored Italian wool. Adam and Bennett. I stepped out from the kitchen, blocking their path. “What are you doing here?” Bennett adjusted his silk tie, looking around the small shop with a sneer. “Matt, please. You think this little ‘business’ is impressive? My tie costs more than your mom makes in a month.” He looked comfortable in his wealth, but there was a frantic, hollow look in his eyes. He clearly wasn't handling May’s "training" well. If he’d actually been reborn, why hadn't he improved? Adam cleared his throat, looking uncomfortably at me. “Be nice, Ben. Remember why we’re here.” He turned to me with a plastic smile. “Matt, son. It’s been years. We just wanted to stop by and support your mother’s little hobby.” “We’re doing fine,” I said coldly. “We don't need your support. Please leave.” “Don't be an arrogant prick, Matt!” Bennett snapped. “Get out,” I barked. Adam stepped between us. “Matt, listen. May… your Aunt May… she wants to see you. She’s been following your academic progress. She’s very impressed.” So, May was willing to overlook my scar now because Bennett was a disappointment. She was trying to trade up. “I have one mother,” I said. “Her name is Claire. I don't have a father, and I don't have a brother.” Adam’s face darkened. “You think because you’re a big fish in a small pond that you’re special? The Stanford family has more money than God. This is your one chance to actually matter.” “I’ll pass.” Bennett exploded. “Dad, forget it! He’s just a scholarship kid! There are thousands of them! May can just find some other charity case to adopt! Look at him—he’s a peasant. In three years, my SAT scores will bury his!” Adam spat on the floor. “Ungrateful brat.” He turned to Bennett. “Let’s go. We’ll tell May he’s not worth the trouble.” As they left, I turned around and saw Mom sitting at a table, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Matt… I’m so sorry. I should have told you…” 6 She was going to tell me about Grandma. But I knew there was a reason she hadn't reached out in eight years. Even when we were starving, even when she was working four jobs, she never called Manhattan. There was a wound there I didn't want to poke. “Mom, don't,” I said. “It doesn't matter. You raised me. I’m staying with you until the day I can take care of you.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she just whispered, “Thank you, Matt.” We went back to work. I tried to shake the feeling of dread, but it sat in my stomach like lead. That night, as we were closing up, the door didn't just open—it was kicked in. Bennett walked in, followed by a phalanx of twenty-two private security guards in black suits. I ran to the front. “What the hell is this? Get out!” Before I could move, two guards grabbed my arms and pinned me against the wall. Bennett kicked over a table, the crash of breaking ceramic echoing through the empty restaurant. He looked at the few remaining customers. “If you want to live, get the hell out! Now!” The customers scrambled for the exits, terrified. I knew Bennett was unstable, but this was a new level of mania. “Bennett, there are cameras here,” I said, trying to stay calm. “The footage is being uploaded to a cloud server on my phone at home. If you do anything, you’re going to prison.” Bennett laughed, a shrill, jagged sound. “I don't care about your cameras. I have the Stanford lawyers.” He leaned in close. “You’re coming to Chicago with me. If you don't, things are going to get very bloody, very fast.” I struggled against the guards. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’d already hit the silent alarm under the counter, and I had my phone in my pocket, dialing 911. I just needed to buy a few minutes. Suddenly, a guard dragged Mom out from the back. Her hands were zip-tied, her mouth duct-taped. He threw her onto the floor like a sack of grain. She let out a muffled cry of pain, but when she looked at me, she tried to smile, shaking her head as if to tell me not to worry. “Mom!” I screamed. I fought with everything I had, breaking free for a second before four guards swarmed me, kicking me back down. “Bennett! Stop! She’s your mother too!” Bennett pulled a switchblade. He knelt down, grabbing Mom by the hair and pulling her head back, the blade resting against her throat. “My mother is May Stanford. Now listen to me, Matt. If you refuse me one more time, I’ll start with her face. Do you want to see what this does to her skin?” “Don't you touch her!” Bennett smirked, the blade nicking her cheek. A thin line of red appeared. “Try me.” “Stop! Okay! Stop!” I yelled, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Good,” Bennett said, his eyes wild with triumph. “Then you’re coming home. You’re going to be the perfect little ward for May.” Mom was shaking her head violently, ignoring the blade at her throat, begging me with her eyes not to give in. I was about to say the words—anything to save her—when the sound of sharp, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the doorway. A woman walked in. Her hair was silver, her suit was Chanel, and her aura was pure, unadulterated power.
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