01
My eyes flickered open, and there I was, back at the lavish spread of my birthday gala.
I was meant to be the belle of the ball, but instead, my father, Jack Johnson, dropped a bombshell, declaring his intent to adopt Tiffany Johnson. “From this moment forward, Tiffany will be my daughter!”
His voice served as a relentless echo from a nightmare I couldn’t shake.
In my previous life, I pitied Tiffany, believing her to be an orphan. My heart had swelled with joy at the news of her adoption.
Fueled by the depth of her pain, I resolved to envelop her in an unending cascade of kindness.
Later, I learned how naive I was. The true victim was me.
My fiancé, Stephan Smith, was entangled in a secret affair with Tiffany.
They worked together to undermine the project I poured my heart into, ultimately convincing the board to strip me of my rightful inheritance, the legacy left by my mother.
The revelation of Tiffany as my father’s illegitimate child was a twist I hadn’t seen coming. She played the damsel in distress to perfection, painting me as the villain in her tale of woe, while her own scandalous origins were swept under the rug.
The digital world erupted in a firestorm of condemnation, with me at the center of its wrath.
To silence me forever, she coaxed me to the rooftop’s edge and, with her own hands, sent me plummeting to my death.
The sound of my bones breaking was a symphony of agony. That excruciating pain was seared into my soul.
As I stared into the void, my best friend, Jessica Colbert, nudged my shoulder with a gentle bump, which brought me back from the brink of those dark thoughts.
“What’s your dad playing at? That foster girl seems to be his flesh and blood,” she murmured.
I watched with an icy gaze as Jack showcased a girl who looked eerily similar to me, presenting her to the sea of guests.
Yes, Tiffany was his flesh and blood.
In my last life, she wielded the might of internet gossip against me; now, it was her turn to feel its sting.
Ignoring Jessica’s question, I whipped out my phone, captured the moment, and posted with a provocative caption.
[It’s my birthday gala, but my dad just introduced his “foster” daughter in public. What should I do?]
If Tiffany aimed to ride on my coattails to stardom, she’d better be ready for the ride.
I shelled out a small fortune to rocket the post to the top of the trending charts.
The internet was ablaze with reactions.
[No way, she’s actually your dad’s secret kid, right?]
[Dig into this! There’s a huge chance she’s your sister!]
[Hey, I’ve binged on novels about true and false heiresses. Give me the green light, and I’m your tactician.]
[Watch out! Next, your childhood sweetheart or fiancé will fall for her.]
I must tip my hat to the formidable might of today’s netizens; their collective insight rarely strays from the truth.
Some had even donned their detective hats, examining my photograph with meticulous care to unearth my identity. [Birthday gala? Given the venue, you wouldn’t happen to be Zooey Spencer, the Spencer family’s esteemed daughter, would you?] (Oh, I got it! Today’s the birthday of Zooey Spencer. All the top dogs in Auroraville were all up in there.]
