Chapter 1
I was the real heir who got switched at birth.
In my previous life, I died in a carefully orchestrated car crash.
As consciousness faded, in those final fleeting seconds, I glimpsed through the shattered windshield—Oliver Lane, the fake heir who’d stolen my life for eighteen years—standing not far away.
That’s when it all clicked.
I’d endured everything and stayed quiet, just to finally taste the family love I’d missed for so long.
I’d brushed off how my parents and sister doted on Oliver, convinced his frame-ups were just innocent misunderstandings.
I thought if I kept compromising and acted mature, they’d one day accept me as their own.
Turns out, it was all a one-sided joke I’d been telling myself.
Now, having traveled back, I watched my biological parents show up at my door.
Guilt etched on their faces, they repeated the exact same words as in my past life.
“James, we’re your parents. We’re here to take you home,” they said.
I smiled and slid an account book across the table.
“You want to claim me as your son? Fine—but settle the bill first,” I said.
I added, “Eighteen years of food, school fees covered by my adoptive parents, plus emotional damages. Total: $711,000. Cash or transfer?”
They froze, speechless.
The air turned stiff in an instant.
Neighbors and diners nearby gasped in disbelief.
My adoptive parents paled, panic flashing in their eyes. My adoptive mom snatched the account book, waving her hands frantically.
“No, Mr. and Mrs. Lane, he’s just a kid talking nonsense! We never wanted any money—nothing at all,” she rushed to say.
My adoptive dad forced a smile. “Yeah, James is just messing around.”
Behind my back, he nudged my side, trying to get me to drop it.
I ignored him, fixing my gaze calmly on these so-called biological parents.
Richard Lane’s face darkened—he hadn’t seen this coming.
The guilt in Emily Lane’s eyes vanished, replaced by pure disappointment and disdain.
“James, we know life’s been hard for you these years, and you must have resentment,” Emily said.
She pulled a bank card from her Hermès bag, slamming it on the table with a haughty air.
“There’s $150,000 here—compensation. PIN’s your birthday,” she announced.
“Quit these childish games. Come home with us—don’t embarrass your adoptive parents,” she added impatiently.
Her tone reeked of charity, like she was doing me a favor.
As if my demands were just a desperate stunt by a poor kid craving money and attention.
In my previous life, she’d used this same card to “settle” the eighteen years my adoptive parents raised me—treating their love like something she could buy off.
And I? I’d been stupid enough to accept it, nearly moved to tears by her “generosity.”
I stared at the card and let out a dry chuckle.
Without hesitation, I pushed it back to her.
“Mrs. Lane, you’re mistaken,” I said.
“First, my life was never miserable. My parents love me, and while we don’t have much money, we’re truly happy,” I stated.
“Second, this isn’t a handout—it’s a transaction. If you want to claim me as your son, there’s a price. No one gets something for nothing,” I continued.
“Third, if $711,000 seems too much, that’s fine,” I said.
Every word clear, I added, “You don’t have to take me back. No one’s forcing you.”
“I made it through eighteen years without you. I certainly don’t need parents like you now,” I finished, voice steady and cold.
My words hit Richard and Emily like a slap—sharp, humiliating, unignorable.
They’d never imagined the wealth and status they flaunted meant nothing to me.
Richard’s lips trembled with anger as he pointed at me, barely able to speak. “You… You’re being utterly unreasonable!”
Just as tension peaked, a boy in a white shirt stepped out of the Bentley.
It was Oliver.
His face was ashen, eyes red from crying. He stumbled toward Emily, clinging to her side for comfort.
“Dad, Mom, don’t make things hard for James,” Oliver said.
His tone was sickly sweet, oozing fake innocence and wounded kindness.
“It’s all my fault. If not for me, James would never have gone through this,” he whispered.
“It’s only natural for James to be upset. We should try to understand,” he added softly.
As he spoke, Oliver inched toward our small food stall, watching me with a nervous, overly cautious gaze—like he was afraid to breathe wrong.
“James, I’m Oliver. I get if you can’t stand me right now, but… honestly, I’m glad you’re back,” Oliver said.
“From now on, Mom and Dad’s love—I’ll split it with you, no, I’ll give it all to you! I’ll be the best brother ever, and we’ll be a real family, okay?” he continued.
His act was so convincing the neighbors ate it up—their eyes filled with sympathy and admiration for him.
They probably thought this was what a wealthy family’s son should be: kind, graceful, the epitome of sweetness.
And then there was me—petty, cold, seeming to only care about chasing money.
In my previous life, I’d fallen for his helpless act, truly believing he was an innocent, kind brother.
Now? The sight of him made me sick.
I grabbed the spatula and slammed it down on the griddle.
Hot oil splattered everywhere.
Oliver flinched, stepping back instinctively.
I gave him a cold, deadpan smile.
“You’re worried I’ll come back and take everything that was mine—your fiancée, your inheritance, all you have now. So you put on this ‘sweet brother’ act to test how much I’ll let you get away with, right?”
Oliver’s face turned deathly pale in an instant.
I snatched the menu and slapped it in front of him.
“Drop the act—watching you fake it is tiring,” I said.
“Want something to eat? Order. If not, get out,” I added, no patience left.
“Don’t mess with my work,” I finished.