Chapter 2 · I Sold My Childhood Wisely

The night I signed, it was dark outside, but the living room lights blazed on.

As I headed upstairs, I glanced back from the stairwell. Mom was still sitting there.

Her eyes were swollen and red from crying for hours. She clutched my old pencil case from elementary school—the one with my name in stickers: Vivian Linwood.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closed it and stared down, maybe trying to convince herself everything would turn out fine.

I said nothing and went straight to my room.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence crashed over me.

But my heart was pounding.

I lay in bed, eyes closed, counting to 500. The moon hung still outside. Mom was still awake, too.

I heard faint sounds from her room—the soft clink of a pill bottle, the thud of a glass hitting the floor, then a whisper so quiet I almost missed it.

"She's changed..."

Of course, she had no idea what really changed me—all those years of regret and tears.

At two in the morning, I crept downstairs.

She was still on the couch, clutching a pillow, eyes wide and vacant—like a broken doll.

I walked over and draped a thin blanket over her.

She startled, lifting her head.

"You're still up?" Her voice was rough.

I paused, then lied, "Just working on my application."

She nodded.

We stared at each other. Her eyes searched my face, looking for any sign I might change my mind, that I might soften.

I didn't.

The hope in her eyes drained away like the season's final rainfall.

"Do you blame me?" she asked hoarsely.

"No."

She gave a bitter smile. "Your dad didn't just hand you 70 million for nothing. He's not sending you abroad—he's getting rid of you."

"I know."

She looked up at me, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Then why did you sign it?"

I didn't answer.

How could I explain? I'd already watched her lose everything once. If I didn't leave now, it'd be too late to save either of us.

She clutched the contract, tears staining the paper—rooting me to the spot.

"I wasn't just sitting around doing nothing," she whispered. "I fought with everything I had. But he never meant for me to win."

Right then, I wanted to hug her, to promise I'd protect her this time—no matter what.

But I didn't move.

I just watched her shrink into the couch, wiping tears and biting her lip like a kid left out in the cold.

My chest tightened.

But I couldn't go soft.

In my past life, that hug pulled me right back into the emotional mire.

I got swept up in her pain, and she ended up jumping off a building while I scraped together money for a plane ticket home.

This time, I couldn't afford weakness.

I turned and went back to my room.

At 4:30 a.m., she finally fell asleep.

But I was wide awake.

I opened my email and started prepping for the move—school applications, visa paperwork, fund transfers before any account freeze, and my secret Plan B that Mom didn't know about.

Executive contacts at Linwood Corporation's subsidiaries.

Property transfers under Dad's name.

Contract loopholes.

Offshore trust channels.

Top of the heir training list: Ethan Linwood, age three, already enrolled in some elite prep school in Newhaven.

Lightly biting my pen, I circled Ethan's name three times.

What a joke. Just imagine, years from now, all the PR spin—Linwood Corporation, the big shot in the industry, supposedly had only one beloved child. Made me sick just thinking about it.

In my past life, I watched Ethan waltz into Linwood Corporation, signing deals, running projects, getting praised as some rising star—while everyone failed to notice he was the illegitimate son.

This time, he'd have to go through me first.

At seven in the morning, Mom woke up, eyes puffy, face pallid.

After washing up, I was ready to leave, but she stood in the doorway, blocking me.

"Vivian," she said, voice shaking. "It's not too late to change your mind."

I paused and looked back.

"Not this time. I'm going out there to win—and when I do, I'll bring you home myself."

She stared at me for a long moment, silent.

Finally, she nodded, eyes dry. "Then don't lose."

I smiled.

"Trust me, I won't."

I shut the door and walked out of the Linwood Estate. The sun was out, the sky was blue, but the wind cut right through me.

Chapter 2

The night I signed, it was dark outside, but the living room lights blazed on.

As I headed upstairs, I glanced back from the stairwell. Mom was still sitting there.

Her eyes were swollen and red from crying for hours. She clutched my old pencil case from elementary school—the one with my name in stickers: Vivian Linwood.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closed it and stared down, maybe trying to convince herself everything would turn out fine.

I said nothing and went straight to my room.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence crashed over me.

But my heart was pounding.

I lay in bed, eyes closed, counting to 500. The moon hung still outside. Mom was still awake, too.

I heard faint sounds from her room—the soft clink of a pill bottle, the thud of a glass hitting the floor, then a whisper so quiet I almost missed it.

"She's changed..."

Of course, she had no idea what really changed me—all those years of regret and tears.

At two in the morning, I crept downstairs.

She was still on the couch, clutching a pillow, eyes wide and vacant—like a broken doll.

I walked over and draped a thin blanket over her.

She startled, lifting her head.

"You're still up?" Her voice was rough.

I paused, then lied, "Just working on my application."

She nodded.

We stared at each other. Her eyes searched my face, looking for any sign I might change my mind, that I might soften.

I didn't.

The hope in her eyes drained away like the season's final rainfall.

"Do you blame me?" she asked hoarsely.

"No."

She gave a bitter smile. "Your dad didn't just hand you 70 million for nothing. He's not sending you abroad—he's getting rid of you."

"I know."

She looked up at me, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Then why did you sign it?"

I didn't answer.

How could I explain? I'd already watched her lose everything once. If I didn't leave now, it'd be too late to save either of us.

She clutched the contract, tears staining the paper—rooting me to the spot.

"I wasn't just sitting around doing nothing," she whispered. "I fought with everything I had. But he never meant for me to win."

Right then, I wanted to hug her, to promise I'd protect her this time—no matter what.

But I didn't move.

I just watched her shrink into the couch, wiping tears and biting her lip like a kid left out in the cold.

My chest tightened.

But I couldn't go soft.

In my past life, that hug pulled me right back into the emotional mire.

I got swept up in her pain, and she ended up jumping off a building while I scraped together money for a plane ticket home.

This time, I couldn't afford weakness.

I turned and went back to my room.

At 4:30 a.m., she finally fell asleep.

But I was wide awake.

I opened my email and started prepping for the move—school applications, visa paperwork, fund transfers before any account freeze, and my secret Plan B that Mom didn't know about.

Executive contacts at Linwood Corporation's subsidiaries.

Property transfers under Dad's name.

Contract loopholes.

Offshore trust channels.

Top of the heir training list: Ethan Linwood, age three, already enrolled in some elite prep school in Newhaven.

Lightly biting my pen, I circled Ethan's name three times.

What a joke. Just imagine, years from now, all the PR spin—Linwood Corporation, the big shot in the industry, supposedly had only one beloved child. Made me sick just thinking about it.

In my past life, I watched Ethan waltz into Linwood Corporation, signing deals, running projects, getting praised as some rising star—while everyone failed to notice he was the illegitimate son.

This time, he'd have to go through me first.

At seven in the morning, Mom woke up, eyes puffy, face pallid.

After washing up, I was ready to leave, but she stood in the doorway, blocking me.

"Vivian," she said, voice shaking. "It's not too late to change your mind."

I paused and looked back.

"Not this time. I'm going out there to win—and when I do, I'll bring you home myself."

She stared at me for a long moment, silent.

Finally, she nodded, eyes dry. "Then don't lose."

I smiled.

"Trust me, I won't."

I shut the door and walked out of the Linwood Estate. The sun was out, the sky was blue, but the wind cut right through me.