Chapter 1
The day my brother Charles Stone came to the orphanage to get me, my boyfriend Ryan Quinn said coldly, "If you leave with him, we're through."
He was too proud to handle the gap between our worlds.
For him, I turned my back on the family waiting for me.
For decades after, I worked myself to the bone, saving every cent so he could succeed.
Before I even turned 50, the grueling work made me sick—I was dying in a hospital bed.
On TV, Ryan, who had just won the top science award, stood there with tears in his eyes, thanking someone else.
He said, "For years, I never felt good enough for Ms. Isabelle Stone. Now I can finally use this award to confess the love I've held back for decades."
The Isabelle he meant was the girl the Stone family had swapped with me all those years ago—the fake heiress.
The camera panned out to show Isabelle, radiant and glowing, shyly accepting the tribute.
She said, "Even though I've waited for you all these years, I still need my brother's blessing to marry."
Charles, who had long since taken over the Stone family empire, looked at her with pure adoration.
He said, "I was sent to live with my uncle's family back then, all to protect Isabelle.
"Making sure the Stone family's only princess is happy—that's my life's purpose."
Every choice I thought I'd made freely?
It was all a scheme by two men to protect Isabelle.
I died with my fists clenched, swallowed by rage.
When I came to, I was back on the day Charles came to take me home.
I walked past both men glaring at me and got straight into the car.
"I'm going home," I said.
This time, I'd make sure everyone who stole what was mine ended up back in the dirt where they belonged.
*****
"Emily, listen! If you're going back just to play some princess, we're done!
"I don't need people thinking I'm after your trust fund!
"I may be poor, but I have my pride!"
Just like in my past life, when I grabbed Ryan's arm for an opinion, he jerked away and shoved me aside.
The dull pain from hitting the wall confirmed it—I'd really been reborn.
Back to the day Charles showed up to take me home.
Charles, the picture of wealthy privilege, stood there frowning, checking his watch with obvious impatience.
"Look, if you're not interested, don't waste my time. My parents barely remember you exist anyway."
After all, he was just going through the motions, eager to get back to Isabelle.
In my past life, Charles' cold, dismissive attitude made me—an orphan for 22 years—feel unwanted.
Combined with Ryan threatening to leave me, I never even met my birth parents. I refused to go and walked away.
Now, Ryan's impatient voice rang out.
"Emily, can't you think for yourself? Stop asking me about every little thing!"
This time, I didn't hesitate. "I'll go home."
My direct answer froze them both.
Charles frowned, clearly shocked.
"What did you just say?"
I was no longer that timid orphan. Inside this 22-year-old body was someone who'd lived 50 brutal years.
They were amateurs compared to me.
I stared right back at Charles.
"Didn't my parents send you to get me?
"Let's go. Don't keep them waiting."
It wasn't until I was dying in my past life that I learned Charles wasn't even my real brother.
He was just a kid my parents adopted from a distant relative to protect their precious "only daughter," Isabelle.
He was the adopted son, yet he always acted like dealing with me—the real daughter—was beneath him.
As I moved toward the car, Charles—not yet the master manipulator he'd become—reflexively glanced at Ryan.
His look said it all. "This is your fault."
Of course, they'd been working together from the start.
Two strangers who teamed up for that fake heiress and destroyed my life.
The next second, Ryan grabbed my arm and yanked me back.
"Emily, have you lost your mind?
"You think you can climb into a luxury car with dirty shoes? If you damage it, can you afford to pay?
"Don't do something stupid just because you're upset. If you get in trouble, I'm not helping!"
My grandma found me by the river and named me Emily Rivers.
We were both dirt poor, but Ryan always acted superior to me.
The reason was simple—my feelings for him put him on a pedestal.
I was crazy about Ryan, following him around like a shadow.
He was the top student, proud despite his poverty, and he never called me names.
After my grandma died, Ryan was all I had.
We both got into high school, while I dropped out to work so I could pay his tuition.
When he said, "City kids get private tutors," I hiked nine miles through the mountains, risking my life on cliffs to pick valuable herbs—all to afford his tutoring.
But in my past life, as I lay dying in that hospital bed watching TV, I saw Ryan, nearly 60, his face flushed as he fondly recalled meeting Isabelle for the first time at that expensive tutoring center.
Ryan said, "Back then, I was just a poor kid with an inferiority complex. But Isabelle never looked down on me.
"She was the most incredible girl I'd ever met. From that moment, I knew I'd spend my life trying to be worthy of her."
I became the bridge for their love story while I clung to the edge.
He could reject my love, but using it to destroy my life? That crossed the line.
Seeing Ryan's young face again, I just felt disgusted.
I said, "That car came for me.
"What, you want me to let someone else take my place?"