Chapter 3

Early morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my new place as I woke up on a soft, king-sized bed. For a moment, I was dazed, not quite sure where I was.

I instinctively reached for my right leg. The wound had scabbed over, leaving behind just a faint scar.

I wasn't dreaming. My second chance at life was real, and I'd already made my first move for revenge.

My phone suddenly rang, and the name "Mom" flashed up on the screen.

I drew in a slow breath, letting the ringtone go on for seven or eight rings before I finally answered.

"You useless brat! You didn't come home all night. Where did you run off to?" My mother's voice was so sharp that it almost made my ears ring.

"I... I was staying at my friend's place," I replied, deliberately making myself sound meek. "It was pouring last night, so I just..."

"Get back here, now! The laundry's piling up, and no one's done it, and Felix's new school uniform needs to be washed by hand." She hung up the phone before I could say another word.

I scoffed at my phone, a cold smirk playing on my lips.

If this were my old life, I would've dashed home immediately, scared stiff I'd piss them off.

But today? I put myself first and took a little me-time before anything else.

In my new walk-in closet, a few outfits I'd bought just the day before were hanging up.

I picked a simple beige dress and paired it with a light brown, cropped jacket.

The girl in the mirror looked gentle and refined—nothing like the old Estrella, who used to wear that ratty school uniform.

At the café by the entrance to my new place, I ordered a latte and a croissant, taking my time with every bite and every sip.

The comforting aroma of coffee lingered between my lips and teeth. Enjoying something as simple as this was a luxury I never could've imagined before.

By the time I finally got back to that so-called "home," it was almost noon.

My mother was standing at the door, her face so dark that it looked like a thundercloud.

"So you think you're all that now, huh? Making us wait like this..." Her rant cut off mid-sentence, her eyes going wide as she stared at my outfit. "Where did you get this dress?"

"I... I borrowed it from a friend," I mumbled, lowering my head and nervously tugging at the hem of my dress.

"Borrowed?" My mother let out a cold snort, glaring at me. "Like you could ever pay if you messed it up. Take it off, right now! And make sure this place is spotless. Your dad is bringing important guests tonight."

I dipped my head, playing the obedient daughter, then quietly made my way to the bathroom to change back into my worn-out clothes.

As I walked past the living room, I saw Felix sprawled on the couch, eyes locked on the TV, with snacks and fruit piled all around him.

"Estrella, get me a Coke," he ordered without even glancing at me.

"Get it yourself," I said softly, not bothering to stop as I kept going.

"What did you just say?" Felix shot upright, clearly stunned, like he couldn't believe what he just heard.

I didn't even bother responding—just headed straight to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Felix's tantrum and my mother's loud cursing banged through the door. There was no way I was letting their noise get to me.

After changing back into my shabby old clothes, I carefully folded up the dress and tucked it into my backpack. I'm keeping this symbol of my new life safe, and no way I would let them get their hands on it.

For the next few hours, I worked like a servant around the house, scrubbing floors, doing endless laundry, and putting dinner together as if it were my only purpose.

But honestly, I barely paid attention to any of it. My mind was completely focused on how I'd pull off my next step.

Later that evening, my father came home with two men in sharp suits.

From their conversation, I gathered they were the principal and the admissions director of Felix's new school.

"We've heard Felix is quite an exceptional student, and we're truly honored he'll be joining us," the principal said, his face all smiles.

"Thanks. The school's educational philosophy impressed us," my father replied, grinning in a way I'd never seen before. "Anything for our child's education—no expense is ever too much."

My hand trembled slightly as I held the coffee pot.

Back in the old days, it was right after this dinner that they decided to fork over 25 thousand dollars for Felix's tuition, while my leg injury wasn't even worth a second glance.

"Oh, is she your daughter?" The admissions director glanced my way, giving me a polite nod.

"Yeah, she's just here to help out with things," my father replied offhandedly, barely sparing me a glance as if I were hired help.

I ducked into the kitchen, keeping my head down as I pulled out my phone and quietly hit the record button.

Making sure my limp was obvious, I carried the next dish out into the dining room.

"What happened to your leg?" the principal asked, his voice full of concern.

"N-nothing..." I mumbled, feeling a wave of anxiety as I stole a nervous glance at my father.

"She's just tripped and fallen," my father said, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't mind her. Let's get back to talking about the school's international exchange program."

I ducked back into the kitchen and checked the audio, which was flawless.

My father's blatant disregard for my injury was captured loud and clear. This was just the start, and I needed to collect even more proof.

After dinner, with everyone distracted seeing the guests out, I quietly snuck back to my tiny closet and dug out an old cookie tin hidden under my mattress.

Inside were all the evidence I'd managed to stash away over the years: photos of expired medicine, snapshots comparing Felix's birthday parties to my own sad affairs, and printed-out copies of security cam screenshots from the days they handed me two dollars to buy lottery tickets.

This time, I slipped in today's recording, too, feeling that rush of satisfaction—every piece mattered.

I packed everything, along with the photocopies of my hospital records, into a waterproof bag and buried it deep in the secret pocket of my backpack.

Early the next morning, I told my mother that I needed to get my leg checked out again at the hospital.

"Are you seriously asking for more money?" She frowned. "Didn't it already get better?"

"T-the doctor said I had to get my leg checked again, or it might get worse..." I put on my most scared face.

"Whatever, but don't even think about asking me for a single cent!" She waved me off with a look of pure disgust.

I slipped out of that house as if a weight had finally been lifted, heading straight for the law office without looking back.

The lawyer, Dorothy Finch, listened to everything I had to say, carefully checking through the evidence I'd collected over the years.

"This really does show their neglect and abuse," she said, pushing up her glasses.

"But if you want to cut ties with them for good and actually make them pay, you'll need even stronger proof—for example, a recording of them actually admitting they refused to get you medical treatment."

"I'll find a way," I said, voice steady and full of resolve.

After leaving the law office, I swung by the electronics store and picked up a recording device disguised as a regular USB flash drive.

Then I hit the bank, transferring the remaining 200 thousand dollars from my new place into a freshly opened private account—totally separate from the house-buying account, just to keep everything foolproof.

When I got back to that so-called "home" in the afternoon, the place was empty.

There was a note on the table. [Taking Felix to buy school supplies. Figure out dinner yourself.]

I smirked. This was exactly what I needed.

I slipped a few mini cameras into out-of-sight corners in the living room and dining area—just the kind I grabbed while I was at the electronics store earlier. Then I connected them to my newly purchased laptop and made sure the live feed was running smoothly.

Just as I finished setting everything up, my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

"Hello, is this Miss Estrella Goodwin?" a gentle male voice asked. "I'm Karson Miller, a doctor from St. Mary Hospital."

My heart started racing. "Dr. Miller? Is something wrong?"

Karson's deep voice came through. "There are a few concerns with your last check-up results. If you could drop by the hospital, I'd like to go over them with you."

I gripped my phone tightly.

Back then, I never even lived long enough to need a follow-up appointment—this was a brand new curveball that fate was throwing at me.

"Okay, I'll come by tomorrow morning," I replied.

Once I hung up, I found myself deep in thought.

Karson was an unpredictable factor, but maybe he could turn out to be an asset. After all, he was the only one who had ever shown even the slightest concern for my injury.