Chapter 1
Everyone knew that Spark and Tasha had a daughter who was the apple of their eye, but no one ever imagined she was actually switched at birth, a fake heiress all along.
When I, their true daughter, was finally brought back home, what greeted me wasn't the family love I'd always hoped for.
Instead, I got a bank card with a $30,000 monthly allowance and a one-way ticket across the ocean.
My birth parents, trying to be as dignified as possible, made sure nothing would stand in the way of the daughter they'd spoiled all these years.
They thought throwing money at me could make up for all those lost years and could buy them a clear conscience.
I accepted everything they gave me.
Every holiday, every special occasion, whenever they sent their guilt money, I stashed it away, never touching a dime.
For seven years overseas, I buried myself in my studies, living off nothing but bread and library books.
I spent countless nights in the library, and when I dipped my toes into the finance world, I started making waves.
It wasn't until Joyce had her third baby that Tasha called me, saying, "Can't you at least come home once?"
I just chuckled and told her I was swamped.
Her silence on the other end let me know that the time had finally come.
They never imagined that the quiet, withdrawn girl they so easily sent away all those years ago had already sharpened her claws.
The guilt they tried to bury under piles of cash would soon become the very steps I'd use to reclaim everything that was rightfully mine.
The Grant family owed me, and it was time for them to pay up with interest.
*****
The plane touched down smoothly in the city I hadn't seen in seven years.
Seven years ago, I was brought home to this bustling city, to the Grant family's mansion—grand, but cold as ever.
Back then, I was all skin and bones, my skin rough and dull, looking awkward and out of place.
The first time my birth parents saw me, their faces said it all. They sized me up in shock, and there was a disappointment they couldn't even bother to hide in their eyes.
They probably wished I were more like Joyce.
Even in the plainest school uniform, she radiated a fresh vitality and an air of pride that only came from being pampered and cherished.
Her every move was graceful, and she spoke with elegance. She was like a rare orchid, carefully nurtured in a greenhouse, untouched by the world's harshness.
Meanwhile, I was just a stubborn little weed by the roadside. I was tough enough to survive, but overlooked by everyone.
"Joliet, this is your home now," my mom, Tasha, said, her voice gentle, but with a hint of distance.
She went on, "Joyce has been with us for so many years, and we have a deep bond. Try to go easy on her, okay? Whatever she gets, you'll get, too. We won't shortchange you."
But that was all about the money.
My room was tucked away on the third floor, spacious and fancy, but nowhere near as nice as Joyce's suite on the second floor, with its private balcony and walk-in closet.
Every month, $30,000 would land in my account. I even got $6,000 more than Joyce got.
At first, I thought it was some kind of compensation, but later I realized it was just hush money, a price for me to stay out of their little family's happiness.
Joyce, the fake heiress, was just as spoiled and fake as she looked. She was all sweetness on the surface, but totally pretentious underneath.
She was always glued to Tasha's side, chirping "Mom, Dad" in that sugary voice of hers.
And whenever she thought no one was watching, she'd flash me a look that screamed challenge and pure disdain.
She'd "accidentally" ruin the new book I'd scrimped and saved for, or "offhandedly" tell our parents how I just couldn't fit in at my new school and how my lousy grades were holding everyone back.
She'd even "helpfully" point out designer brands I'd never even heard of, explaining their sky-high prices with wide-eyed innocence that was anything but genuine.
Every time I tried to tell Spark and Tasha how Joyce was treating me, all I got were the same old lines meant to keep the peace.
Tasha would say, "Joliet, Joyce is just acting like a kid. You're her big sister, so just let it slide.
"She's having a rough time, so cut her some slack."
"It's no big deal. Forget it. I'll just buy you another one." Spark would shrug, like it was nothing.
No big deal?
To me, every so-called little slight, every mocking word, and every bit of favoritism were like a thousand tiny needles stabbing at my heart, one after another.
But the moment that really froze my heart was when I got into the city's top high school through sheer hard work, while Joyce barely squeezed in on an arts quota.
At the parent-teacher conference, Spark and Tasha spent the whole time hovering around Joyce's head teacher, showering Joyce with praise for her dancing and bragging about how she was making the school proud.
My own head teacher, a strict math teacher, came over, hoping to talk to them about me, her student who'd made it into the top ten in the grade.
But they just gave her a perfunctory smile and said, "Joliet's from a small village, so it's already good enough that she's keeping up. Please keep an eye on her."
Then they turned right back to Joyce, like I was invisible.
In that moment, watching the three of them so happy together, I felt like a total stranger in my own home.
Any hope I had was snuffed out, leaving nothing but cold ashes behind.
I knew I could never win against Joyce in this family. She was the master of tears, and the queen of playing innocent, always knowing how to pull the strings with Spark and Tasha.
Blood? In this family, feelings always won.
So when Tasha brought up sending me abroad, dressing it up as "getting a better education and broadening my horizons", honestly, I barely even thought about it before agreeing.
I saw it clear as day that Joyce's eyes lit up with smug satisfaction and relief.
She figured that with me gone, her throne in the family would be untouchable.
Whatever. Who needed this family, anyway?