The day the real heiress came back, I got the boot. My foster parents insisted I needed to taste the bitterness their biological daughter had suffered for twenty years. Ha, you call this bitterness? For a corporate drone like me, this isn’t a tragedy; it’s just a lifestyle recession. Turning a losing hand into a winning one? That’s my specialty. 1. Midnight. New York City. Pouring rain. I stood outside the Sterling family villa. Aside from the designer clothes on my back, the only thing I had left was my phone, which was practically glued to my hand anyway. The real heiress had been home for less than two hours, and I was already on the pavement. Lydia Sterling said she’d eaten dirt for twenty-two years, so I should taste what it’s like to be destitute. The heavy iron gates slammed shut. The cold rain slapped my face indiscriminately. 2. As a blue-collar soul who transmigrated into the body of a "cannon fodder" fake heiress, I enjoyed the rich girl life for less than twenty-four hours before returning to poverty. I walked around the perimeter of the villa and found a dry spot under the first-floor terrace. Directly above was my "brother," Lucas’s room. "Don't worry. She’s broke. Once she tastes a little hardship, she’ll realize the benefits of wealth and come crawling back to climb into your bed." Lydia’s voice echoed down the drainpipe. Tsk. For a multi-million dollar mansion, the soundproofing was garbage. I knew it. Lucas had been handsy with me all afternoon—giving off major Flowers in the Attic vibes—but tonight he was silent. So he was planning to keep me as a sugar baby. He calculated wrong. To Lucas, having only one penthouse condo to his name is "poverty." But for a grinder like me? A digital wallet with two hundred bucks is enough to survive for two weeks. Besides, my balance still held the remaining $12,000 from this month’s allowance. To the Sterlings, that’s popsicle money. To normal people? If you pinch pennies, that’s a few years of living expenses. They thought they were crushing me into the dust. To me? This was just consumption downgrading. 3. Twenty minutes later, my Uber arrived. The driver got out, opened the umbrella, and opened the door for me. I felt like a princess again—totally worth the 20% surge pricing. I don’t know what’s wrong with heroines in TV dramas. They get kicked out and insist on walking in the rain until they get pneumonia, just to max out the angst. I don’t have money for American healthcare. Life is hard enough; I’m not going to suffer for the aesthetic. 4. The driver dropped me at a Motel 6. Sixty bucks a night. I took a hot shower and sent my couture clothes to the front desk for dry cleaning. Before bed, I downed two packets of Emergen-C I ordered via DoorDash. When you’re out on the streets, you have to take care of yourself. For us poor folks, health is our only asset. If no one loves you, you love yourself. 5. I woke up feeling refreshed. Wearing my freshly dry-cleaned clothes, I headed to a wholesale market in Queens. I squeezed into a crowded stall, haggled like a demon, and spent twenty bucks on four t-shirts, three pairs of shorts, and a pair of canvas sneakers. As I left, the stall owner packed my bag while complaining. "Lady, you’re dressed so fancy, but you bargain like a shark. I’m giving you cost price, plus this nice bag." Absolutely. Without a nice shopping bag, how was I going to sell my Louis Vuitton outfit for a good price? It’s a pity about the lambskin heels; they’re ruined. Rich people burn money—you wear those shoes once, the soles get scuffed, and the resale value tanks. However, my phone case, encrusted with Swarovski crystals, was worth something. An $800 phone with a $4,000 case. If I hadn’t checked the purchase history, I wouldn’t have dared to dream that people spent money like this. The original owner of this body was so distraught she went to work at a dive bar? That’s pure brain rot. 6. I spun around the city like a top all morning and finally liquidated every luxury item on my body. Now, nothing I wore cost more than $5.99. A full Temu aesthetic. Comfortable. This was a wardrobe that matched my spending habits. I walked with the wind at my back, carrying a balance of $9,500. I’m rich! I needed to treat myself. I found a hole-in-the-wall diner and ordered a greasy burger. The patty was thin, the cheese was processed, the pickles were crisp, and it smelled like heaven. Best of all, it was cheap. I hadn’t eaten a real meal since last night. I inhaled it. I picked the last crispy fry from the basket and let out a loud burp. Before I sold the clothes, I didn’t dare eat—couldn’t risk a stain dropping the resale value. Wearing gold and silver made me nervous. Living on a budget made me free. "You can’t feed fine grain to a wild hog," as the saying goes. That’s me. 7. That afternoon, I used my ID to get a new SIM card and swapped the $800 phone for a $200 Motorola. Familiar operating system. Ah, the smell of value. I could drop it on the floor and not even flinch! I scrolled through my old chat history. Aside from cold ridicule and hot sarcasm, there were "sugar baby" offers from Lucas’s rich frat boy friends. Screw them. Money rotted their brains. The original girl had terrible social skills; she didn’t have a single ride-or-die friend to borrow money from. The most annoying text was a "Lord of the Manor" speech from Lucas asking if I "knew my place" yet. What? It’s a society of laws. Did he want to hang me from the city walls? I replied "F*** off" and blocked him. Know my place? Kiss my ass. 8. After liquidating everything, I carried a large black trash bag and checked out of the motel. It contained my entire net worth: my cheap clothes, plus the disposable toothbrush and slippers from the motel. Hotels in the city were too expensive. I planned to move to the outskirts. I hadn’t left the city yet because, as a college senior, I still needed to pick up my diploma. Before I transmigrated, my parents pulled me out of school after 8th grade to work in a factory. I was a fugitive from the compulsory education system. The thought of becoming a certified, college-educated corporate slave was actually kind of thrilling. Novels these days have no logic. Why would a girl with working limbs and a bachelor’s degree go work at the specific bar where the male lead hangs out? Just waiting for someone to throw a drink in her face? 9. I went back to school the day after graduation. I avoided the ceremony on purpose. I didn’t need to see Lydia leading a pack of mean girls to humiliate me. I wasn’t going to let that plot point happen. Graduation photos are just a ritual. The Principal moving the tassel on my cap won't help me earn an extra dime. Why humiliate myself for classmates I’ll never see again? My academic advisor looked at me with concern. "Lexi, if you need anything, let me know." "Nothing, I’m good. Thanks," I said. Aside from the lunatic Sterling family, the rest of the world was pretty normal. I was fine. Compared to the heiress meant to inherit an empire, sure, I fell from heaven to earth. But compared to 90% of fresh grads with no allowance and no job, I had cash in my pocket. "Save the help for someone who needs it more. I got this!"
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