After I started working, I threw myself into making money even harder, not daring to rest for a single day.

Meanwhile, my sister dropped out of high school and lounged around the house doing nothing—either playing cards or shopping.

Mom always complained to me over the phone:

"Your sister has never been sensible. Mom can only rely on you."

"If one day my illness actually gets better, I'll make up for all the love I've missed giving you over the years."

I believed her.

I believed Mom loved me. She was just sick.

So when I found out the lottery ticket I'd bought had won fifty million, the first thing I did was request time off to come home and get Mom proper treatment.

I never expected to hear this cruel truth instead.

Face blindness.

Mixing up her daughters.

All of it—every single bit—was an act Mom had put on because she favored my sister.

For twenty-five years.

I was the only fool. Taking beatings, enduring scoldings, and stupidly feeling sorry for everyone else.

I stood outside the door. Suddenly, the lottery ticket in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

My legs went weak beneath me. I stumbled backward, unable to stop myself.

Hearing the noise, Mom turned toward the doorway.

The moment she saw me, her face—so warm and kind just seconds ago—twisted into something ugly:

"You little wretch, so you finally decided to come home? The neighbors told me you played cards all night yesterday and lost everything?"

"Do you have any idea how hard your sister works to earn money? Why can't you learn something from her?"

Mom's acting really was flawless.

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I still wouldn't believe it—this furious disappointment at "mixing up" her daughters was all fake.

She knew perfectly well I was the one working myself to the bone.

She knew my sister was the one gambling through the night and losing money.

Yet every time I came home after a full day of work, she'd point at my exhausted face and scream at me.

Calling me a gambling addict. Calling me unfilial. Saying that giving birth to a daughter like me was punishment for sins in a past life.

But when my sister came home after an all-night card game? Mom would fuss over her with such tenderness—washing fruit for her, massaging her shoulders and back:

"You must be exhausted after working all day."

"I'll make that useless waste of a sister take care of you!"

So after exhausting myself at the company all day, I'd come home only to be ordered around like a servant for my sister—doing laundry, cooking meals.

Because whenever Mom scolded me, she'd always slip in praise for "my sister."

So I always thought that even though she'd mixed us up, at least she recognized my worth.

I never imagined it was all just a way to manipulate me.

After her tirade, Mom reached out to grab my ear, just like she always did.

I shook off her hand. Stepped back. Looked at her with no expression.

Seeing me resist her for the first time in my life, Mom froze.

A second later, rage flooded her face:

"You ungrateful wretch! You lose all that money and you dare defy me?"

"Your sister worked herself to death at the company today! Get over here and massage her back!"

My sister watched me with a smug expression, waiting for me to obey Mom like I always did and serve her like a good little attendant.

But I didn't move.

I just looked at Mom calmly and said in a flat voice:

"Mom, drop the act."

"I heard everything."

A flicker of guilt passed through Mom's eyes. Then she decided to stop pretending altogether:

"So what if you heard?"

"Good. I'm tired of putting on a show for you anyway."

"I raised you this long—that's more than enough. I've already transferred this house to your sister. Even when it gets demolished, the compensation money won't have your name on it. So don't go getting any ideas."

I found it almost laughable. I couldn't help asking:

"Is that really what you think of me?"

Growing up, I'd pinched every penny until it screamed. Never bought so much as a piece of candy. After school, I'd rush home to help Mom with chores, trying to lighten her load.

After I started working, I scrimped even harder—never splurged on so much as a bubble tea. The moment my paycheck hit, I'd transfer every cent to her account.

I couldn't fathom why she'd think I'd scheme to get my hands on this demolition payout.

Mom let out a derisive laugh, arms crossed, looking at me sideways.

"Are you saying you're not?"

"All these years, you've been so meek and eager to please. You think I don't see it? You knew I was sick, thought I'd be easy to manipulate. Playing the perfect daughter to squeeze whatever you could out of me."

"You've been calculating since you were a child, always putting on that filial act. Not like your sister—she's simple, genuine, no hidden agenda. Her devotion is real."

Her words hit me like ice water straight to the chest.

So that's how she saw it. My devotion was performance. My sacrifices were manipulation.

While my sister's laziness and entitlement were just... innocence. And her half-hearted "how are you" texts whenever she needed money? Apparently that counted as heartfelt love.

Of course. To someone who doesn't love you, everything you do is wrong.

I didn't bother explaining anymore. Just took a deep breath and kept my voice flat.

"If that's how you feel, then there's nothing left to say."

"The house, the payout—divide it however you want. I don't want any of it. Never did."

My sister scoffed.

"See, Mom? You were right about her. Always putting on an act."

"Our house is worth five million in demolition money. If you weren't sniffing around for your cut, why else would you suddenly show up now?"

Mom looked me up and down with open contempt, nodding along.

"Exactly. Standing there playing the wounded martyr, pretending you don't care—you just want me to feel sorry for you and hand over some cash."

"Let me make this crystal clear: everything I have goes to your sister. Stop dreaming."

Watching the two of them united against a common enemy—me—I couldn't help but laugh.

"Since you're both so terrified I'll take a single cent, let's make it official. Starting today, we're done."

"From now on, I have nothing to do with either of you."

Mom and my sister froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily.

But a heartbeat later—as if afraid I'd change my mind—they scrambled to draft a severance letter.

Mom signed her name with a flourish, then shoved the paper at me.

"This was your idea. From now on, you have no claim to anything in this family!"

I signed without hesitation.

"Of course. And from now on, you have no claim to anything of mine."

I'd actually been planning to split my fifty-million-dollar prize with them.

Now? No need.

The ink barely dry, I turned and walked out without looking back.

I hadn't made it far when I nearly collided with my uncle, aunt, and cousin—they lived nearby.

Philip James spotted me first. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Well, well. If it isn't my brilliant college-graduate cousin."

"Heard you landed yourself a decent job after graduation?" He let out a mocking laugh. "Too bad my family's about to cash in on demolition money. Five million! How many lifetimes would you have to work for that?"

Philip had been a dropout and a delinquent for as long as I could remember, always drifting from one scheme to another. He'd never hidden his disdain for anyone who actually studied.

When we were kids, I never understood why he'd team up with my sister to torment me every time he visited—tearing up my homework, hiding my pens.

Now, seeing that smug, untouchable arrogance, it finally clicked.

He'd always known Mom didn't love me. That's why he'd never bothered holding back.

I couldn't be bothered with him. I moved to leave, but Aunt Diane Hale grabbed my arm.

"Corinne. I heard your mother already transferred the house into your sister's name?"

"So it looks like you won't be getting a single penny from that demolition payout, will you?"

Aunt Diane's eyes swept over me with undisguised contempt. "You know, you're not getting any younger. Why not find someone to marry while you still can? My nephew is about your age—he sells pork at the town market. Makes a decent living, tens of thousands a year. What do you say?"

Her nephew. Five foot two, pushing two hundred fifty pounds, didn't even finish elementary school.

I shook off her grip, my voice flat. "Not interested."

Uncle Robert's brow furrowed instantly. "Corinne, what kind of attitude is that?"

"Your aunt is doing you a favor by offering her nephew. Show some gratitude!"

He stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward me. "Let's be honest—your father's dead, your mother can't stand you. Once they tear down that house, you won't even have a roof over your head. If you don't lock down a husband now, how exactly do you plan to survive?"

I let out a cold laugh. "That's my problem. Don't trouble yourselves."

I turned and walked away without looking back.

From there, I went straight to the State Lottery Office.

Verified my winnings. Paid the taxes. Signed the paperwork.

By the time I walked out with tens of millions of dollars deposited in my account, night had fallen. I booked a room at a five-star hotel.

That evening, I ate the kind of expensive French cuisine I'd never dared to order. I slept in the kind of luxury suite I'd never dared to imagine.

For the first time in my life, I understood what people meant when they said money changed everything.

It was incredible.

The next morning, I took a cab to Emerald Oasis.

The most exclusive development in the entire city.

The kind of place I used to feel guilty just glancing at when I walked past.

But today, I was here to buy a home of my own.

The moment I mentioned paying in full, the sales manager—a man named Jordan Dickerson—came out personally to greet me.

Manager Dickerson was professional and efficient. When I told him I wanted a move-in-ready villa, he showed me several options.

In the end, I chose the one with the best location, the best views, and the interior that suited my taste perfectly.

Total price: two and a half million dollars.

When I pulled out my card without hesitation, his composure cracked—just for a second. A young woman, paying cash for a property like this. I could see him recalculating everything he'd assumed about me.

While processing the paperwork, curiosity finally got the better of him. "Ms. Fox, if you don't mind my asking—someone with your resources, where were you living before?"

"Westside," I said evenly. "The old village district."

He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Then he recovered, nodding slowly.

"Ah, I know the area. Word was they were planning to demolish it—big redevelopment project." He paused, shuffling papers. "Though our company tends to hear things early. Apparently the plans got adjusted. That district isn't in the demolition zone anymore."

He shook his head with something like sympathy. "A lot of people who were counting on those payouts are going to be very disappointed."

The Westside demolition plan had been adjusted?

I almost laughed out loud.

So my mother and her precious relatives were about to watch their windfall vanish into thin air.

Perfect.

Jordan excused himself to print some documents, leaving me to wait in the reception hall.

With nothing better to do, I wandered through the showroom—and stopped dead.

Walking through the entrance were my mother, my sister, and my aunt and uncle's entire family.

They were dressed to impress. Designer clothes. Gold jewelry dripping from their wrists and necks. Clearly, the moment they'd heard about the demolition payout, they'd gone on a spending spree.

The second my mother spotted me, her expression soured. She marched over, heels clicking against the marble floor.

"Corinne. What are you doing here?"

"Buying a house," I said simply.

Her face twisted with disbelief. "You? Buy a house? The cheapest units here start at millions. Where would you get that kind of money?"

Before I could respond, Penelope sidled up beside her, smirking.

"Oh, I get it now." Her voice dripped with false sweetness. "You must have found out we're about to receive our five-million-dollar payout and came here to spy on us. Followed us to see what we'd buy, didn't you?"

She tossed her hair, gold bangles jangling. "Well, let me remind you, sister—we signed those papers cutting you off. Even if we buy a mansion, you won't see a single cent of it!"