Three days after waking up in the body of this spineless heiress, my childhood friend-turned-fiancé demanded I give up my last piece of my grandmother's legacy to our adopted sister. "Just do it out of pity for her, Natalie. Is that so hard?" His voice was cold, clipped. I couldn't help myself. The words spilled out before I could stop them: "If you hate seeing her deprived so much, why don't you buy it for her yourself?" Both he and the golden child froze. Looking at their stunned faces, I smiled. The revenge script of my new life had only just begun. 01 When Chase's call came in, I was clasping the antique jade pendant my grandmother had left me around my neck, letting the cool stone settle against my collarbone. "Natalie, give grandmother's jade pendant to Isla." His voice through the receiver was utterly devoid of warmth. I gripped the phone, staying silent. It was my third day inside this body. Over the past forty-eight hours, I had absorbed twenty years of the original Natalie's memories. Every single one of them was a record of endless concession and silent defeat. "Isla has a very important gala to attend next week, and she doesn't have the right accessories," Chase continued, his tone laced with a familiar, sharp impatience. "That pendant would match her gown perfectly." Isla. The sweet, fragile girl my parents had adopted. Chase. The boy I had grown up with, my supposed fiancé. Together, they played a perfect game: one acted helpless, and the other demanded sacrifices on her behalf. "Are you listening to me?" "I'm listening," I said, my voice remarkably even. He seemed to let out a brief sigh of relief on the other end. "Bring it down now. Isla is waiting for you at the house." "Chase," I interrupted. "Yeah?" "Who the hell do you think you are?" The line went dead silent. I could practically picture the scowl on his handsome face, the familiar look of "what kind of tantrum is she throwing now?" taking over his features. "Natalie, what is that supposed to mean?" "Exactly what it sounds like. By what right do you expect me to hand over my belongings to your little darling?" "Isla isn't—" he started, a knee-jerk defense, before cutting himself off. When he spoke again, his voice was like ice. "We grew up together. Since when did you become so incredibly petty?" "We grew up together, and yet you watched me give up my toys to her, my clothes to her, my parents' affection to her. And now, you want me to give her the only thing my grandmother left me." I walked over to the window, looking down at the sleek black car parked by the curb. Chase was sitting inside, holding the phone to his ear. "Chase, do you honestly believe I was born just to be sacrificed for her?" "I never said that!" he snapped, raising his voice. "Isla's health is delicate, and her background is so tragic. Can't you just show some compassion and do this for her?" There it was. That exact phrase. It was identical to the dialogue in the novel's original timeline. In that past life, the original Natalie had been utterly crushed by those words. She had wept, handed over the pendant, and returned home to fall so sick she nearly died. I smiled. "If you hate seeing her deprived so much, why don't you buy it for her yourself?" "Are you broke? The great heir to the luxury empire doesn't have the cash to buy a piece of jewelry? You have to resort to mugging an orphan of her inheritance?" "Natalie!" he roared. "You are being completely unreasonable!" "Oh, you think this is unreasonable?" I pushed open my door and began to descend the stairs, my steps light and deliberate. "Just watch me." I walked out to his car and tapped on the tinted window. Chase rolled it down, his face dark as a thundercloud. In the passenger seat sat Isla. She was dressed in a delicate white silk dress, her eyes rimmed with red, looking precisely like a startled, fragile fawn. A picture of pure innocence. "Natalie..." Isla spoke, her voice trembling softly. "Please don't blame Chase. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have said I liked your pendant. I had no idea it belonged to your grandmother..." As she spoke, a single, perfect tear slipped down her cheek. What a brilliant performance. If I didn't already know the plot, I might have actually believed her. "Right," I murmured, staring at her. "And?" Isla blinked, momentarily thrown off. Chase was equally stunned. In their usual script, I was supposed to soften, apologize, and hand over the pendant in shame. "So, are you planning to give it back to me?" I asked, looking directly at Isla. Oh, wait. The pendant was still in my hand. I turned my gaze back to Chase. "So, are you going to buy it from me for her?" "You—" Chase choked, his face turning an angry shade of red. "I'll name a price," I said, holding up three fingers. "Thirty million. And since we grew up together, I'll even throw in a discount." "You've lost your mind!" Chase hissed. "The only ones who've lost their minds are the two of you," I replied, dropping my hand into my pockets. "One of you is addicted to stealing, and the other is addicted to giving things away. Now that the charity show is over, you don't know how to act, do you?" Isla's tears fell faster now. She clutched Chase's arm, sobbing softly. "Chase, let's just go. I don't want it anymore. I don't want anything... Natalie hates me so much..." "I don't hate you," I corrected her, keeping my voice mild and precise. "I'm just incredibly, deeply disgusted by you." Isla's face went completely white. Chase slammed the car door open, stepping out to tower over me, his tall frame radiating pure, intimidating anger. "Natalie, apologize to Isla right now!" I looked up at him, finding the entire display suddenly hilarious. "Chase, you're missing the point here." "This pendant belongs to the family. I am a blood relative. But Isla? What exactly is her connection to this bloodline?" "Would you let a complete stranger walk into your family estate and start taking whatever they fancied?" Chase's expression shifted through a rapid succession of colors. Without another glance, I turned on my heel. After a couple of steps, I paused, looking back at the weeping girl in the passenger seat. "Oh, and a quick word of advice, Isla." "Next time you play the destitute orphan, make sure to clear your shopping history for that limited-edition designer bag you bought yesterday." "A starving, pitiful girl carrying a forty-thousand-dollar bag... don't you think the aesthetic is a bit inconsistent?" Isla's crying came to an abrupt, screeching halt. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my mother. I smiled. The real show was finally beginning. 02 "Natalie! Get back to this house this instant!" The moment I answered, Victoria's shrill voice pierced through the speaker. "Is there a problem?" I asked, my tone flat. "Is there a problem? What did you do to Isla? She called me crying, saying you bullied her! That you tried to steal from her!" Listening to her distorted version of reality, I wasn't even mildly surprised. "First, the pendant is mine. You can't steal what you already own." "Second, I only stated facts. If the truth feels like bullying to her, then yes, I suppose she was bullied." "You..." Victoria choked on her own rage, taking a sharp breath. "Natalie, Isla has looked up to you since she was a little girl. If she likes your things, it's only because she loves you like a sister. What is so wrong with letting her have it?" "I'm not letting her have anything anymore." "And why on earth not?" "Because starting today, I don't want to." With that, I hung up. When the phone immediately began to ring again, I powered it off entirely. Silence. It was beautiful. I went up to my room, pulled out Natalie's old diary, and began flipping through the pages. The neat, delicate handwriting was a testament to years of quiet agony and suppression. Every single page revolved around the word "yielding". Yielding the beautiful bedroom with the bay window because Isla said she loved the morning light. Yielding her spot in the competitive academic track because Isla wanted to prove herself to the family. Giving up the cashmere sweater Victoria had hand-knitted because Isla complained of the chill. Giving up the birthday gift from Charles because Isla cried that she had never received a father’s gift before. Even giving up Chase... "Chase is the brightest star in the sky," Natalie had written in one of the entries. "But he told me that Isla's world is too dark, and she needs his light more than I do." How incredibly noble of him. I closed the diary and threw it directly into the paper shredder beside my desk. These memories were too heavy, too suffocating to keep. I was not the old Natalie. I would not let anyone define my worth, and I certainly wouldn't burn myself to keep someone else warm—least of all a calculated fraud. Isla had been brought into our home when she was eight. Charles had sponsored a small elementary school in a rural, impoverished county, and she was presented to him as their most brilliant, tragic student. Orphaned, living with an ailing grandmother. When Charles and Victoria visited the school, they were deeply moved. They claimed they saw a rare, pure resilience in her. They told me, "Natalie, you are so incredibly privileged. You need to learn from Isla's humility and gratitude." And so, Isla became a permanent fixture in our lives. At first, she played her part perfectly. She helped the housekeeper, told me stories about her old life, and called me "sister" with sweet, timid eyes. Everyone adored her. Including the old Natalie. Until the day she broke my favorite porcelain doll. She had wept, begging for forgiveness, insisting it was an accident. Victoria had gathered her into her arms, looking at me with disapproval. "Natalie, you're the older sister. We can buy another doll. But Isla is traumatized. You can't be so heartless." From that moment on, Isla discovered her master key. Tears. All she had to do was cry, and she got whatever she wanted. And I was expected to step back. I watched the shredder turn those years of meek surrender into meaningless confetti. Then, the doorbell rang. I glanced through the security camera. It was Chase and Isla. Isla had changed her clothes and touched up her makeup, though her eyes remained artfully swollen. I didn't open the door. Chase began to knock loudly, then pound on the wood. "Natalie! Open the door!" "Natalie! I know you're in there! Stop hiding!" I put on my noise-canceling headphones, cranked up my music, and ignored them. About thirty minutes later, the pounding finally stopped. I pulled off my headphones. Isla's soft, pathetic voice floated through the crack under the door. "Natalie, please... I know I made a mistake. Can you please open the door? It's so cold out here, and my head is spinning..." I walked over and unlocked the door. Isla clearly hadn't expected me to actually open it. She was leaning heavily against Chase's chest, looking pale and ready to swoon. Seeing me, she immediately straightened up, a flicker of panic darting through her eyes before she masked it. "Natalie..." "Done acting?" I leaned against the doorframe, looking at them both. Chase held her protectively, glaring at me. "Natalie, do you have to be this cruel? Isla is fragile. You kept her standing out here in the cold. What is wrong with you?" "Oh, so her health is my responsibility now?" I retorted. "Who told her to stand here? Did I invite her?" "You—" "Chase, let's just go..." Isla whimpered, clutching his coat. "Natalie... she doesn't want to see me." "You see that?" I pointed to the security camera mounted at the end of the hallway. "It's been recording the entire time. If she decides to faint or have a medical emergency, it's all on tape. Is this a new scam to frame me?" Isla's face turned completely white. Chase looked up at the camera, his jaw tightening as his expression curdled. "Natalie, I don't even recognize you anymore," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment. "And you probably didn't realize your little angel was such a terrible actress, did you?" I looked at Isla, offering her a cold smile. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something." "When my parents brought you home at eight years old, did you really come from that school in the mountains?" Isla's pupils dilated instantly. "What... what are you talking about?" "Nothing special," I said, shrugging. "Just curious. You don't look like someone who grew up in poverty. Your skin is flawless, your manners are perfectly calculated, and you carry yourself like someone who's had voice training. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were the real heiress here." Chase frowned. "Natalie, what are you implying?" "Nothing at all," I said, stepping back and gripping the handle. "Just reminding certain people that a counterfeit is still a counterfeit. No matter how good the imitation is, it'll never be the real thing." I shut the door in their faces. Outside, there was a dead, heavy silence. A long while later, my father's number flashed on my screen. This time, his voice carried a strange, exhausted hesitation I had never heard before. "Natalie, come home." "Isla... she's in the hospital." 03 When I arrived at the family estate, the atmosphere in the living room was suffocating. Victoria sat on the velvet sofa, her eyes swollen and red, clutching a tear-soaked tissue. My father, Charles, sat beside her, his face grim, silently drawing from a cigarette. The family doctor was just coming down the stairs. When he saw me, he paused, looking as though he wanted to say something, but ultimately just shook his head and left with a heavy sigh. Chase was leaning against the banister. He watched me approach, his gaze a complex mix of suspicion and wariness. "You finally decided to show up?" Victoria hissed the moment she saw me, springing to her feet and pointing a finger at me. "Look at what you've done! You threw her into such a panic that she had a heart attack! She's still unconscious up there! If anything happens to her, I swear I will never forgive you!" A heart attack? I had to actively restrain myself from laughing out loud. If Isla had a weak heart, it was a medical miracle. How could someone with a heart condition stay up all night clubbing, drink like a fish, and stand in line for five hours just to buy a limited-edition handbag? "What did the doctor actually say?" I asked, ignoring Victoria's theatrics as I looked at my father. Charles stubbed out his cigarette, his voice hoarse. "He said it was acute palpitations brought on by severe stress. She needs absolute rest." "Ah, palpitations," I nodded. "So she's not dying. Good to know." "Natalie!" Victoria shrieked, lunging toward me. Charles caught her arm, pulling her back. "Enough! Haven't we had enough drama for one day?" "It's her! She did this to Isla!" Victoria struggled against his grip, glaring at me with raw hatred. "She's a curse on this family! Ever since we brought her back, we haven't had a single moment of peace!" I looked at her, my expression perfectly cold. "Brought me back? Mom, you seem to have forgotten that this is "my" home. I am your biological daughter." Victoria trembled with fury. "Dad," I turned to Charles. "Did you call me back just to make me watch this ridiculous performance?" Charles's eyes flickered, avoiding my gaze. "Natalie, apologize to your sister. Let's just put this behind us." "Apologize?" I repeated, finding the request utterly absurd. "For what? What exactly did I say or do?" "You cornered her!" Chase stepped away from the stairs, marching over to stand right in front of me, trying to use his height to intimidate me. "I was there, Natalie. I heard what you said to her outside your apartment. You deliberately provoked her." "And what did I say that wasn't true?" I met his gaze directly, refusing to back down. "I said she didn't look like an orphan from the mountains. I said she was acting. Which part of that was a lie?" Chase hesitated, momentarily caught off guard. "Regardless of whether it's true, you don't say things like that! You know how sensitive she is about her past!" "So because she's sensitive, she gets to claim my inheritance? She gets to fake illnesses to turn everyone against me?" I took a step closer, forcing him to look down at me. "Chase, did you leave your brain at the door?" "Natalie!" Charles barked. "Watch your mouth when you're speaking to your fiancé!" "Dad, let's get one thing straight. I am your daughter," I said, my voice cutting through the room. "Isla is an outsider." The air in the room instantly turned to lead. Both Charles and Victoria looked incredibly uncomfortable. The word "outsider" was like a needle popping the bubble of artificial peace they had maintained for over a decade. "That's enough," Charles said, rising to his feet and walking over to me. "Hand over the jade pendant to Isla. Then go to your room. You are not to leave the house for the next few days." It was an ultimatum. "And if I refuse?" "You don't have a choice." Charles's patience had completely evaporated. He gave a subtle nod to the security detail standing near the foyer. Two burly guards immediately stepped forward, flanking me. So they were resorting to physical intimidation. "Dad, are you sure you want to do this?" I looked at him, my eyes devoid of any warmth. "You're going to use force on your own daughter for her?" Charles's jaw worked silently, but he hardened his expression and nodded. "Fine," I smiled. "Perfect." I reached behind my neck, unclasped the antique jade pendant, and lifted it over my head. The moment the smooth, cool stone left my skin, a chill washed over me. Victoria's eyes lit up with triumph, and Chase let out a quiet breath of relief. They thought I had broken. Holding the pendant, I walked over to the center of the living room, stopping right before the massive marble coffee table. Under everyone's bewildered gaze, I raised my hand high. Then, I slammed it down with all my strength. "Crack!" A sharp, deafening sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The exquisite, irreplaceable jade shattered into dozens of jagged pieces against the hard marble. Fragments flew in every direction. One tiny sliver grazed Victoria's cheek, leaving a thin, red line of blood. The entire house fell into a horrified, breathless silence. They stared at the shards, utterly paralyzed by the sheer violence of my action. "If I can't have it," I said, turning to look at their pale, stunned faces, "no one will." "Least of all her." I looked Charles dead in the eye, making sure my voice was steady and clear. "Now, you can lock me up." Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked up the stairs. As I passed Chase, I could feel the rigid tension in his body and his burning gaze on my back. He wanted to speak, but he couldn't find a single word. Once inside my bedroom, I locked the door from the inside. I knew this was only the beginning. Shattering the pendant was step one. I had to let them know that the quiet, yielding girl they used to manipulate was dead. Now, I was going to make them return everything they owed her—with interest. I opened my laptop and logged into an encrypted email account. There was a single unread message waiting for me. It was from the private investigator I had hired. The subject line read: "Preliminary Report on Isla's True Origins." I clicked it open. As I read through the contents, a slow, cold smile spread across my face. Isla. Your little fairy tale is about to end.
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