Chapter 1

My dad David Bennett was the top trophy husband in Upper East Side, and he brought me to live in that unfathomable estate.

In my last life, I listened to my aunt Margaret Bennett's malicious advice, thinking I could take my stepbrother's place and steal business secrets.

In the end, I got thrown in jail, and after I got out, I froze under a bridge, my body covered in sores, and died wretchedly.

After being reborn, I finally saw things clearly.

My stepmom Charlotte Sinclair was a total power broker, and my stepbrother Julian Sinclair was the kind of heir who had the world at his fingertips. With a winning hand like this right from the start, why would I even bother risking it all?

My aunt snarked, "The rich are a deep, dark ocean. Your stepmom's fattening you up like a pig. She's pampering you so she can watch you crash and burn!"

I fired back, "My card's got no limit, I can spend whatever I want. If this is your idea of ruining me, then bring it on. I could use more of this."

My aunt tried to push me into grabbing power. "Families like this, you can't sit on your hands. You need to make a move in the company!"

I shot back, dead serious, "If the company ended up with me, it'd be a mess; everyone would suffer. But with my brother running things, everyone's happy and the business thrives."

My stepmom and eldest brother smiled with satisfaction, and just like that, gifted me a luxury penthouse in downtown; talk about living the high life.

Ha!

Honestly, being a lazy bum who eats, sleeps, and chills is probably my biggest contribution to society this time around.

*****

"Olivia, you heartless girl, still sleeping? The sun's already up!" A shrill voice stabbed at my ears, like nails scraping down a chalkboard, sending shivers down my spine.

I snapped my eyes open. Above me was an ornate mahogany ceiling, and beneath me was a silk duvet soft as a cloud. The air was laced with a hint of sandalwood.

It wasn't that cold, damp space beneath a bridge, filled with the stench of urine.

Nor was it the rock-hard concrete floor that could break your bones.

I instinctively ran my hands over my arms and legs: no frostbite, no sores. My skin felt silky and delicate, and there was even a lingering scent, like I'd stepped out of a luxury spa.

"I'm talking to you! Your father's got no backbone, living off women his whole life. Are you planning to be like him?" she said.

A face slathered in cheap makeup, with sharp cheekbones, hovered right in front of me.

It was my aunt, Margaret Bennett.

In my last life, it was Margaret's mouth that never stopped.

Every single day, she'd go on about how dangerous the Sinclair family was, how my stepmother was out to ruin me, and how my stepbrother was nothing but trouble. She turned my not-so-bright brain into total mush.

I looked at her, and tears almost spilled out.

Not because I was touched, but because I was thrilled.

I'd been given a second chance.

Back before I messed everything up, before I stole my older brother's files, before I got kicked out of the Sinclair estate.

"What are you spacing out for?" Margaret jabbed my forehead, her words spraying spit everywhere. "I saw your stepmother, Charlotte, in the front yard. She bought Julian a limited-edition sports car; millions of dollars! And all you got was a bag? That's charity for a beggar!"

I took a deep breath, trying not to crack up.

A multi-million-dollar sports car?

Julian bought that car with his own money. He just registered it under the Sinclair family.

And as for that bag?

It was a Himalaya Birkin, the kind you have to spend enough to buy a BMW to even qualify for. That tasteless bumpkin Margaret only recognizes flashy designer brands, she doesn't know shit.

"Margaret," I said, sitting up and stretching with a lazy grin, "driving a multi-million-dollar sports car? Julian has to do all the work himself, pressing the gas and everything. Me? I hop in the back, let my driver handle it, and mess around on my phone. Now that's real comfort."

Margaret was left speechless, glaring at me in disappointment. "You don't understand a thing! That's wealth! That's influence! If you don't fight for it now, once Charlotte's gone, do you really think you and your dad will still have a spot in the Sinclair family?"

I rolled my eyes.

Charlotte was just over forty, but her skin was smoother than a college girl's. She swims and hits the gym every single day. Honestly, in this house, she's probably gonna outlast everyone; no way she's kicking the bucket anytime soon.

"Margaret," I said, tossing off the covers and stepping onto a handcrafted rug worth six figures, "my dad always said freeloading is an art. I'm not built for all that scheming and power struggles. I'm better off as a professional freeloader."

"You!" Margaret stomped her foot in frustration. "You're a lost cause! Aren't you worried Julian will throw you out?"

Afraid?

Last time, it was because I had the guts to provoke Julian that I met that miserable end.

Who exactly is Julian?

He's known as the Devil of the Upper East Side: cold-blooded and cunning. At just twenty, he took over Sinclair Holdings' main operations, and in a few years, he tripled its market value.

Go head-to-head with him?

Do I have a death wish?' I scoffed inwardly.

My game plan was simple: stick to my stepmother like glue, shamelessly flatter Julian, and live my best life as a carefree, totally harmless, freeloading rich kid.