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The day my brother, Charles Stone, came to the orphanage to take me home, my boyfriend, Eric Quinn, said coldly, "If you go back to your family, we're over." I knew his pride couldn't stomach the gap between our worlds. For him, I gave up the family that had been waiting for me all along. For decades after, I worked myself to the bone, pinching every penny so he could rise above the crowd. Before I even turned 50, that life of grinding had wrecked my health. I lay in a hospital bed, barely alive. On TV, Ryan—fresh off winning the top science award—stood there in tears, thanking someone else. He said, "For years, I've felt unworthy of Ms. Isabelle Stone. Now, I can finally use this award as the first confession of the love I've hidden for decades." Isabelle Stone—the girl the Stone family had swapped with me back then. The fake heiress. The camera pulled back. Isabelle looked radiant, pampered, flawless as she shyly accepted the honor. "I've waited for you for decades, but marriage is something I still need to discuss with my brother." Charles—now the head of the Stone family—watched her with open affection and something deeper, unspoken. "I was sent to live with my uncle back then," he said, "all to keep Isabelle safe. Making sure the Stone family's one and only princess is happy—that's my life's purpose." Only then did I understand. Every choice I thought I'd made—none of them were truly mine. It had all been a carefully laid scheme by two men, all for Isabelle's sake. Rage killed me, and I would never rest. When I woke up, I was back on that same day—when Charles came to take me home. This time, I walked past the two men glaring at me and got into the car without hesitation. "I'm going home," I said. And this time, everyone who stole what wasn't theirs would be dragged back to the abyss they belonged in.