Chapter 2 · Fake Heiress Triumphs

Ruby's health was their universal excuse, letting them brush off all their favoritism and ignore every bit of my pain.

Before, I'd just stay silent, endure it, and say, "Fine, I understand."

But today, I was done with that.

I cut her off mid-sob, my voice soft but cold and clear as ice.

"Ms. Cameron," I said.

The crying on the other end suddenly froze.

I paused, letting her sit with that title for a second, then, in the calmest voice I've ever used, asked the question I should've asked ages ago.

"Do I need to remind you that you and she aren't even family?" I said.

There was a dead silence on the other end.

I hung up, and peace settled over everything.

I put my phone on silent, tossed it back on the bed, and finished packing my little canvas bag before heading back to my dorm.

The next day, I showed up right on time for my core class and grabbed a seat right up front.

Professor Kayden Armstrong, famous for being strict, announced that our department had scored a spot in an exchange program with a world-class landscape design studio.

Whoever got chosen would head to their headquarters and work on a real project for three months.

That single announcement was like dropping a bomb in the classroom. Everyone started whispering, their eyes practically glowing with excitement.

I felt the same rush.

This wasn't just a chance; it was a lifeboat, my ticket out of these suffocating waters.

But Kayden's next words were like a bucket of cold water poured over me.

He said that to make sure we could complete the project, we had to put down a 15 thousand dollars deposit first.

15 thousand dollars.

All the money I had didn't even add up to 300 dollars.

I needed money, a ton of it.

Ask the Robinson family for cash? Not a chance.

I basically lived in the library, sketching until my fingers went numb.

At the same time, I picked up three part-time jobs.

In the mornings, I was grinding coffee beans at a café. In the afternoons, I tutored a high school kid in math. And at night, I was out riding a beat-up electric bike, dropping off food deliveries.

My days were crammed full, no room to breathe.

I was exhausted. Sometimes, after finishing my last delivery, I'd just sit on the curb, too tired to even lift my arm.

But when I stuffed those bills, still warm from the printer and damp with my sweat, into my pocket, it felt like something inside me that had been empty for so long was finally starting to fill up.

This money was clean.

It was more satisfying than anything I'd ever tasted at the Robinson family's dinner table.

I thought my life and the Robinson family's had split into two parallel lines, never to meet again. But someone just had to force our paths to cross.

That night, after finishing my last delivery, I was sitting in a convenience store, munching on a discounted rice ball when my phone lit up.

It was a message from a classmate I was on decent terms with.

She sent me a screenshot from Ruby's Instagram. In the photo, Brogan was gently fastening a pricey necklace around her neck.

The screenshot zoomed in on Ruby and Brogan's exchange in the comments.

Ruby said: [Brogan, some classmates told me Alannah's been juggling a bunch of jobs lately.]

Brogan just sent a question mark.

Ruby said: [Is she trying to scrape together money for that exchange program? Honestly, it's all our fault. If it weren't for that day, she wouldn't be out there working herself to the bone.

[Should we help her? She's a girl out there on her own. What if she gets scammed by someone just because she needs money?]

Below her comment, a row of likes from our mutual friends felt like a slap in the face, so glaring that it hurt.

I stared at that text, so fake-sweet that it was practically oozing off the screen, and finished my rice ball with a blank face.

She always knew how to make herself look squeaky clean while pinning all the blame on me.

With just a few casual words, Ruby managed to turn all my hard work and determination into nothing more than a sympathy stunt.

Brogan, as always, believed her.

Sure enough, my phone buzzed with a transfer notification.

It was from Brogan.

The amount was 15 thousand dollars.

Right after that, a cold, snide message popped up. [Short on cash? Is this your little pity act? Just name your price.]

I shut off my phone, ignored the transfer, and kept on with my deliveries the next day.

On the day of the anonymous design showcase, my project, "Nestward," flashed onto the big screen.

Kayden's voice echoed through the lecture hall, sounding more excited than I'd ever heard him. "This piece has real spirit and warmth. It's not about flashy techniques, but every line tells a complete story."

The whole room went silent for three seconds, then erupted.

I sat in the corner, clutching my pen, my palm damp with sweat.

Chapter 2

Ruby's health was their universal excuse, letting them brush off all their favoritism and ignore every bit of my pain.

Before, I'd just stay silent, endure it, and say, "Fine, I understand."

But today, I was done with that.

I cut her off mid-sob, my voice soft but cold and clear as ice.

"Ms. Cameron," I said.

The crying on the other end suddenly froze.

I paused, letting her sit with that title for a second, then, in the calmest voice I've ever used, asked the question I should've asked ages ago.

"Do I need to remind you that you and she aren't even family?" I said.

There was a dead silence on the other end.

I hung up, and peace settled over everything.

I put my phone on silent, tossed it back on the bed, and finished packing my little canvas bag before heading back to my dorm.

The next day, I showed up right on time for my core class and grabbed a seat right up front.

Professor Kayden Armstrong, famous for being strict, announced that our department had scored a spot in an exchange program with a world-class landscape design studio.

Whoever got chosen would head to their headquarters and work on a real project for three months.

That single announcement was like dropping a bomb in the classroom. Everyone started whispering, their eyes practically glowing with excitement.

I felt the same rush.

This wasn't just a chance; it was a lifeboat, my ticket out of these suffocating waters.

But Kayden's next words were like a bucket of cold water poured over me.

He said that to make sure we could complete the project, we had to put down a 15 thousand dollars deposit first.

15 thousand dollars.

All the money I had didn't even add up to 300 dollars.

I needed money, a ton of it.

Ask the Robinson family for cash? Not a chance.

I basically lived in the library, sketching until my fingers went numb.

At the same time, I picked up three part-time jobs.

In the mornings, I was grinding coffee beans at a café. In the afternoons, I tutored a high school kid in math. And at night, I was out riding a beat-up electric bike, dropping off food deliveries.

My days were crammed full, no room to breathe.

I was exhausted. Sometimes, after finishing my last delivery, I'd just sit on the curb, too tired to even lift my arm.

But when I stuffed those bills, still warm from the printer and damp with my sweat, into my pocket, it felt like something inside me that had been empty for so long was finally starting to fill up.

This money was clean.

It was more satisfying than anything I'd ever tasted at the Robinson family's dinner table.

I thought my life and the Robinson family's had split into two parallel lines, never to meet again. But someone just had to force our paths to cross.

That night, after finishing my last delivery, I was sitting in a convenience store, munching on a discounted rice ball when my phone lit up.

It was a message from a classmate I was on decent terms with.

She sent me a screenshot from Ruby's Instagram. In the photo, Brogan was gently fastening a pricey necklace around her neck.

The screenshot zoomed in on Ruby and Brogan's exchange in the comments.

Ruby said: [Brogan, some classmates told me Alannah's been juggling a bunch of jobs lately.]

Brogan just sent a question mark.

Ruby said: [Is she trying to scrape together money for that exchange program? Honestly, it's all our fault. If it weren't for that day, she wouldn't be out there working herself to the bone.

[Should we help her? She's a girl out there on her own. What if she gets scammed by someone just because she needs money?]

Below her comment, a row of likes from our mutual friends felt like a slap in the face, so glaring that it hurt.

I stared at that text, so fake-sweet that it was practically oozing off the screen, and finished my rice ball with a blank face.

She always knew how to make herself look squeaky clean while pinning all the blame on me.

With just a few casual words, Ruby managed to turn all my hard work and determination into nothing more than a sympathy stunt.

Brogan, as always, believed her.

Sure enough, my phone buzzed with a transfer notification.

It was from Brogan.

The amount was 15 thousand dollars.

Right after that, a cold, snide message popped up. [Short on cash? Is this your little pity act? Just name your price.]

I shut off my phone, ignored the transfer, and kept on with my deliveries the next day.

On the day of the anonymous design showcase, my project, "Nestward," flashed onto the big screen.

The whole room went silent for three seconds, then erupted.

I sat in the corner, clutching my pen, my palm damp with sweat.