Fake Slackers

The daughter of our housekeeper was pretending to be a rich girl at college, handing out my designer stuff just to keep up the act. When I called her out, she actually had the nerve to say she was "redistributing wealth to help the less fortunate." I called the cops, but then she spread this wild rumor that I made her sleep with me for three years, and that she was using my luxury items to help me "atone for my sin." Then she and her boyfriend teamed up to try and have me killed. Next thing I know, I woke up and it was the exact same day she started her whole rich-girl act.

On our third anniversary, I brought a gift and went to Jaxon's studio, ready to surprise him with a confession—I was actually the daughter of the richest man in town. However, when the door opened, what greeted me was a shocking sight: Jaxon, completely undressed, posing as a model for another woman. When I confronted him, he defended himself with righteous indignation. "I'm only doing this to save money for our wedding!" Sensing the tension, the woman chimed in coyly. "Jaxon is sacrificing for the sake of art. There's really nothing improper between us." I stared at the two of them, perched on their moral high ground, and quietly turned away to cancel the extravagant dowry I had prepared.

Hanging in the living room is a drawing of Julia Graham's husband, son, and younger sister, Juliette Graham. Julia's son tells her, "If I add a fourth person to the drawing, it'll be the younger sister that Aunt Juliette gives me." Without hesitation or lingering emotions, Julia applies to become an undercover operative in the most dangerous mission to date. From this point onward, she severs all ties with them!

After the plane crash, I rejected the captain—my brother-in-law’s—final life jacket that he had as he handed it to me. Instead, I allowed myself to plunge a hundred meters from the sky. In my previous life, I had survived after accepting his life jacket. But he died a tragic death in the crash. After his death, I was consumed with guilt. My husband proposed to take care of two households at the same time so that he could look after his sister-in-law. Out of guilt, I reluctantly agreed to his proposal. I even had to give up my only chance of getting promoted to department head of the hospital to my sister-in-law, upon my husband’s insistence. When I was seventy years old, I suddenly saw my brother-in-law, who was supposed to be dead, show up in front of me. He said to my husband, “Bro, thank goodness you came up with that fake-death plan back then. I was drunk and caused the deaths of all the passengers after the plane crash. If not for that plan of yours, as the captain, I certainly could not have escaped scot-free and would have been sentenced to prison for life! “It was too bad we had to keep her in the dark for her entire life.” After a lifetime of sacrifices, I was so furious that I nearly passed out upon hearing my brother-in-law’s words. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the plane crash.

The day my brother, Chester Rodney, came to the orphanage to take me home, my boyfriend Dominic Huxley looked at me coldly and said, "If you choose to acknowledge your birth family, we're over." I knew he had his pride—he could never accept the difference in our social standing. So, for him, I turned my back on the family I had yearned for my whole life. In the decades that followed, I toiled without complaint, saving every cent to help him rise to success. By the time I was not yet fifty, overwork had worn me down. Lying on my deathbed, my breathing shallow and weak, I watched Dominic on television. He was now an acclaimed scientist, just awarded the nation's highest research honor. Tears welled in his eyes as he thanked another woman. "All these years," he said, "I never felt worthy of Alicia. But now, maybe I can use this award as the prologue to a love I've owed her for decades." The "Alicia" he spoke of was the woman mistakenly switched with me at birth—the false heiress the Rodney family raised as their own. The camera zoomed out. Alicia Rodney stood radiant, graceful, and perfectly preserved by years of luxury, blushing as she accepted the trophy. "I waited for you for decades," she said sweetly, "but marriage is still something I'll need to ask my brother about." Chester, who had long taken over the family, looked at her with an indulgent tenderness tinged with something unspoken. "I was adopted by our uncle back then for one reason—to protect Alicia. Making the only princess of the Rodney family happy has always been my life's mission." Only then did I realize—everything I thought I had chosen freely, every sacrifice I made without regret, was nothing but a trap, carefully woven by two men, all for Alicia. The betrayal pierced my heart. I died without peace. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day Chester came to take me home from the orphanage. I glanced past the two men eyeing me with subtle disdain. Without hesitation, I stepped into the car. "Take me home," I said. This time, I'd send whoever stole my life back to the gutter they slithered from.

After the most wanted bachelor in Renowoods, Marvin Chambers, lost his memory, he began to pursue me relentlessly. I dated Marvin for three years and fell hopelessly in love with him. Just when I was about to tell him I was pregnant, I overheard a girl who used to bully me say to him, "Thanks for pretending to lose your memory and pulling 99 pranks on Serena just to avenge me. "Once you hit 100, I'll be your girlfriend." That was when I finally understood—Shirley Hunt was the one Marvin had always loved. And I was just the fool he used to make her laugh. Later, I died in a plane crash. Marvin lost his mind searching through the wreckage, only to find a single ring. Inside, it was engraved: [Hope You'll Love Me After 100 Pranks]. They say he collapsed crying in the debris and had to be rushed to the hospital after passing out. When he woke up, he turned against everyone who had helped him prank me. Meanwhile, I stood smiling in the snowstorm of Frontania, watching as my medical records went up in flames. He had faked amnesia to win my heart, so I faked my death to teach him a lesson.

The housekeeper’s daughter, Selena Greene, deliberately chose to get married on the same day, at the same hotel as me. When our cars passed each other on the way to our weddings, she rolled down her window and asked to switch my bridal bouquet with hers. My bouquet, however, wasn’t just any bouquet. It was hand-carved from priceless jadeite by my grandfather himself—a one-of-a-kind heirloom and his blessing for my wedding day. “Trish,” she pleaded softly, “please. I’ve sacrificed so much for this wedding. I just want it to be perfect. I’ll give it back to you as soon as we get out of the cars.” My heart softened. Against my better judgment, I handed her my bouquet and took her cheap, plastic flowers instead. However, when we stepped out of our cars, she refused to return it. Worse still, during her ceremony, she tossed my jade bouquet onto the floor, shattering it into countless pieces. That bouquet had been my grandfather’s way of being present at my wedding. It was all I had left of him. Yet, in front of everyone, Selena put on an innocent act and accused me, “Who takes back a bouquet after a switch? A glass bouquet like this is all over online shopping platforms for ten bucks. I’ll just pay you back. Trish, you’ve made my life hard enough on normal days. Do you have to humiliate me on the most important day of my life, too?” Furious, I confronted her, but she ducked behind my fiancé and my brother, wiping at her eyes like the victim. My fiancé immediately went to comfort her, leaving me standing alone at the ceremony, humiliated and ridiculed by everyone. My brother, too, called me cruel and heartless. He cut me off financially and threw me out of the family home. Selena’s husband, having quickly risen to success with the help of powerful backers, unleashed his relentless revenge on the now penniless and alone me. In the dead of winter, hired thugs found me and brutalized me to death. And Selena? She became their princess, adored by all three of them. I sank into darkness, full of rage and regret. However, when I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day of the wedding.

I'm eight months pregnant, and I suddenly go into early labor. But my husband, Aldrich Lohan, locks me up in the basement and gives me a tocolytic injection to stop my labor instead. He does all these just to ensure that his sister-in-law's baby is born before mine, so that my child won't fight for the inheritance rights. "Anton saved my life," Aldrich says, referring to his elder brother. "But now, he's gone, succeeded only by the baby in Chrissy's womb. I must let her baby inherit all the rights. Chrissy lost everything, but you're still here, enjoying everything I'm giving you like you're entitled to them. So what if you compromise a little bit for her sake?" The contractions in my lower body are hurting more than I can bear. I'm on the verge of passing out as I grab on to the hem of his pants and beg, "I swear that I won't let my child claim his inheritance rights! Please, just send me to the hospital. My child will die otherwise!" However, Aldrich just kicks me aside. "Chrissy has been pregnant for nine months. How can you be giving birth in just eight months? How would I know whether or not you're just inducing birth on purpose? I don't care. I won't let anyone steal the inheritance rights from Chrissy's baby, even if there's just a minuscule percentage of it happening." In the end, Chrissy successfully gives birth to her child, and it's only after that that Aldrich finally remembers me in the basement. "Bring Kelsey to the hospital and make them bring out the best medical equipment to ensure the safe birth of my child." His personal assistant, Edgar Salome, shivers as he says, "But Mr. Lohan… Mrs. Lohan and her child have both died…"

My grandfather is a nationally renowned inheritor of an intangible cultural heritage. Today, I'm supposed to attend a grand ceremony as his rightful successor. However, when I arrive, I see my father's adoptive daughter already standing on the stage. She's dressed to the nines. She holds an award and is giving a thank-you speech, looking moved. In the past, I would've left without saying anything or speaking up for myself. Too bad for her that I'd been reborn. The discrepancy between our statuses is so large that we're basically from different worlds. Yet she has the nerve to claim to be my grandfather's successor and put on a show with what is supposed to be my family's.

I'm undressed and bound to a testing table when my family comes to pick me up. A thick, sharp needle pierces into my neck. A drug is administered into my blood, and the pain almost makes me lose consciousness. Behind me, I can feel a man's cold hands stroking my skin amorously. Before me, several people are staring at me. They point at me and treat me like an educational instrument. I tremble in fear and curl up on the testing table in pain. Three years ago, my brother sent me to Mykorra's war zone to stand up for Yvette Sanders. Those were the three most insulting and torturous years of my life. They burned away my hope for kinship but not my desire for survival. As the hands roam lower on my body, I bite my lip so hard that I almost draw blood. As the hands start to go overboard, someone knocks on the door. "Wendy Sanders, your brother is here for you."