Realism

After I reunited with my real family, I somehow became a copycat who got on my father's nerves. The fake heir, Duncan Weaver, studied abroad at a top university. So I got into grad school after studying for just three months. When Duncan came back to start a business, I built a leading men's clothing brand in the industry within a year. When Duncan made the news for volunteering in rural schools, I donated millions of dollars and ended up making bigger headlines. They couldn't stand it. But they couldn't beat me either. Then one day, right after Duncan publicly announced his engagement, I posted my own wedding announcement the very next day. My biological father, who hadn't contacted me in three years, immediately called. He ordered me to take down my wedding photos. "You copying Duncan in everything was already bad enough," he snapped. "Now you're even trying to steal his fiancée? What the hell are you thinking?" On the other end of the call, I could hear Duncan crying. "Dad, don't say that," he said between sobs. "I asked Chelsea. She doesn't even know Leo. "That wedding photo he posted is fake. He edited it just to piss me off." Who was Chelsea? Since when did the woman I had grown up with for 18 years at the orphanage become someone else's fiancée? Then Duncan sent over his own wedding photo. What a funny coincidence. The woman in the photo looked exactly like my fiancée.

When my sister, Cindy Saddler, and I perform our gymnastics routine, we both slip up. My spine snaps as I hit the ground. The pain makes my face go completely pale, and my life is hanging by a thread. But my mother and spotter, Cordelia Saddler, pushes me away in annoyance. "This isn't the time for you to fight with your sister for my attention. She's twisted her ankle! Go die if you want to die. Don't bother me!" Later, I die due to complications in the hospital, as she wishes. But after she finds out I'm dead, she goes crazy.

I am the long-lost true heir of the Kensington family. In just the second month after reconciling with the Kensington family, I solved a technical problem that the Kensington Corp's Military Research Institute had failed to crack for five whole years. Yet, my adoptive brother, Sean Kensington, the fake heir, exchanged my patent bonus worth millions for a 20-percent-off coupon for a cup of latte. I went to my older sister, Sonya, the CEO, but she simply waved her hand dismissively, completely unconcerned. "Enough, Wesley. Sean just did it for your own good. If you're holding onto that much money, what if some organization set their eyes on you? This way, your safety is protected. "Besides, you've only come to the city not long ago. I doubt you've ever had something like a latte before. Take it as a chance to experience it. I'll even give you another ten dollars. You can buy yourself another cup." I looked at the condescension in her eyes, planning to send the recording to our parents. Yet, I saw on their social media that they had just bought a seaside mansion and a luxury car as a celebration gift for Sean's achievements. Then, I glanced at the coupon they had just sent me. [You did help Sean after all. Your father and I bought you a cake as a reward. Go pick it up yourself.] I checked the price. After discount, it was a mere 13 bucks. They had to be kidding me. I directly dialed the number of Kensington Corp's rival company, Jet Group. "I think the exclusive patent for this new missile should be yours. From now on, all my research results will only be shared with Jet Group."

The newly-appointed leader, Eileen Shaffer, fantasizes herself as a queen. Because of that, she treats me like her personal maid. On her first day at work, Eileen sends me a list consisting of 16 workplace rules. Not only does she request that I prepare warm water that must be proven to be 113 degrees Fahrenheit by a thermometer every day, but she also wants me to prepare three meals per day for her. I'm not allowed to order takeout. Those meals must be cooked and prepared by me so that the food is safe and clean to eat. Finally, shit hits the fan at the Thanksgiving holidays. Eileen has the nerve to call me 18 times at 2:00 am just so I can leave a like on her son's video. Unable to tolerate her antics anymore, I slap her on the spot. "I'm the daughter of this company's CEO, and yet I have to slave away at work every day! Do you seriously think you're an actual queen now?"

The day before I am supposed to move into a nursing home, my daughter-in-law, Emily Freeman, cancels the deposit I have already paid without my permission. "It's not easy for Ryan to earn money. Instead of helping us save money, you want to stay somewhere so expensive," Emily complains. I frown and explain that I paid with my own money. Her expression darkens as she rants, "Isn't your money our money? Besides, how much money can you possibly have? Didn't you get all of it from Ryan anyway? "You don't help take care of the kids or do any housework. Now, you're just bleeding us dry so that you can enjoy yourself!" My son, Ryan Pratt, sides with her and criticizes me as well. "Mom, this is such a waste of money. If you ask me, you might as well go to a senior community and get a bed there for ten dollars. Someone will still take care of you." I am so furious that I faint on the spot and am rushed to the hospital. With the refunded money, Ryan takes Emily and goes on vacation abroad with his in-laws. After being discharged, the first thing I do is put the apartment I once gave my son as a wedding gift up for sale with a real estate agent.

At the company's annual meeting, my promotion opportunity goes to an intern instead. I confront Mitchell Wilson, a manager, only to be publicly humiliated. "The industry is in a slump, yet you have the best sales performance in the entire company. Who knows how you get your clients?" I drank until my stomach bled and ended up in the hospital in the middle of the night. I have forced a smile while serving arrogant, sleazy executives. Yet, none of that feels as humiliating as this moment. My ex-boyfriend looks at me gloatingly while holding the intern's hand as they plan a celebration party. Before leaving, he mocks me, "Yvette is the Saccone Group heiress. Once her evaluation period ends, she will go back to inherit the company. Who do you think you are?" I frown in confusion—I am the Saccone Group heiress.

When Neil Young brought up divorce again, I calmly signed the divorce agreement and began to cut off all contact between us. On the first day, I sold the unfinished marital house I had bought two years ago. On the second day, I stopped his grandma’s monthly $2,000 pension and cancelled his sister’s supplementary card. On the third day, I called my brother and returned to my real home. Once the plane touched down, I suddenly became curious. Without me, his ever-ready, self-sacrificing maid, how would Neil support his irritable grandmother, vain sister, and leeching junior?

My mother-in-law, Barbara Morris, insisted that a load-bearing wall was blocking our home's good energy. She even hired someone to tear it down for a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window. The contractor, Peter Stone, kept refusing. "Ma'am, we really can't do this. If we take this wall down, the whole building will collapse." In my past life, I fought desperately to stop them, even getting on my knees and begging them not to touch this wall that held the entire building together. My husband, Tom Williams, thought I was embarrassing him. He slapped me so hard that my left ear went deaf, and he forced them to demolish the wall anyway. That night, the entire building suffered a catastrophic structural failure. I was trapped under the rubble for seven days and nights with ruptured internal organs. Right before I died, I heard Tom shouting at the rescue team. "Save my mom first! That other woman has insurance. If she dies, we'll get the payout and buy a new place!" At that moment, the resentment inside me hardened. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when the construction crew had just arrived. Looking at that thick load-bearing wall and Tom's hand about to rise up and strike me, I smiled and handed him the eighty-pound sledgehammer nearby. I said, "Mom's absolutely right. Once we knock down this wall, our place will turn into a luxurious river-view apartment. Anyone who tries to stop us is a complete idiot."

My husband, Landon Hart, lost a truth-or-dare round, so he carries out the punishment by making out passionately with his secretary, Amelia Colton, in my car. They've gone so far as to leave stains of their coupling on my son's booster seat. After Amelia sends me the video clip of them making out, I forward it to Landon right away. "Are you about to file for bankruptcy, Mr. Hart? What, are you only capable of cheating on me in my car?" Landon sends me an audio message. His tone carries a hint of satisfaction—clearly, he's done having his fun. "This is just a business alliance between us. Do you seriously think I'm your actual husband? It's just a dare! What, are you too prim and proper for games now?" I just chortle coldly in return. Well then, I'll make Landon understand that he should pay the price for doing something he's not supposed to do.

While presiding over a transnational meeting, I received a distressing call from my daughter's kindergarten teacher. "Mrs. Payton, a kid drew a massive clown on Anna's face during nap time! No matter how much I try to wash it off, it won't come off!" I immediately rushed to the kindergarten. My daughter, Anna Payton, was sobbing at the door. Her usually fair and tender face was now red and swollen. The clown drawing on it was particularly eye-catching. The new teacher was so panicked that she was crying herself, her voice trembling. "The parent of the other child is in the office. They said they're willing to compensate any amount, but... But there's no way you can make their son apologize." My anger surged as I kicked open the office door. However, I instantly froze in place. In the office, my husband, Arlo Payton, who was supposed to be in Swizor for a year of intensive studies, was holding up the bully. The next second, the little boy in his arms pointed at Anna and laughed. "Look, Dad. Clownface is here!"