After graduating from a socialite training course, my sister swears to marry into a wealthy family. To create encounters with Pierce Holden, the prince of the upper crust, she drives my car, wanting to tailgate him and run into his car.

I slam the brakes and tell her the Holdens aren't fools. We can't afford to pay for Pierce's car, even if we were to give up everything we have.

Later, Pierce throws a lavish wedding that stuns the country. My sister goes crazy with jealousy, saying that she would've been the bride if not for me stopping her back then. Out of resentment, she rams her car into me and kills me.

When I open my eyes again, I find myself in the front passenger seat. My sister smirks confidently, her gaze fixed on the expensive car ahead of us. "I'm sure Pierce will be enchanted by me once he sees me. I won't need to drive a dump like this once I get together with him."

This time, I don't stop her. She puts the pedal to the metal, making the car crash against the sports car worth a fortune.

With a violent crash, the sports car skidded forward for a moment before coming to a halt. The loud noise caught the attention of several passersby, who stopped to watch.

The car was severely damaged. The rear wing fell off with a loud clang, and the body was deeply dented.

But my sister, Quincey Scott, didn't seem to care.

She quickly recovered from the shock and touched up her makeup as she gazed into the rearview mirror. She intentionally messed up her bangs, rubbed her eyes to bring up tears, and touched up her lipstick just enough to make it look natural.

If I hadn't seen everything firsthand, I would've thought she was just a frightened little bunny.

After pulling her gaze away from the mirror, Quincey glanced at me. When she saw me sitting still, unfazed, she seemed surprised.

Just a moment ago, she had placed two thick cushions in front of herself as a buffer and then deliberately sped up when I wasn't paying attention.

If I hadn't been prepared and gripped the armrest tightly, I'd probably be slamming into the dashboard by now with a bruised face.

She had been like this since childhood, always scheming to make me look awkward and foolish, just to highlight her own graceful beauty.

"Pierce rarely shows up. Just follow my lead and don't ruin things for me." Quincey dipped her fingers in some powder and smeared it across my lips.

"When I become Pierce's wife, I'll have you work as a maid in the Holden residence. The pay will be better than what you're getting now."

With that, Quincey tugged down the collar of her tight knit shirt, opened the door, and stepped out of the car.

In my previous life, Quincey blamed me for ruining her chance of marrying into a wealthy family. She blamed me for everything that went wrong after that.

This time around, I was curious to see if she could truly change her fate with all her tricks.

Quincey's arrival caused quite a stir. A few guys by the roadside were already snapping pictures with their phones.

She was always proud of her figure. With that body-hugging skirt, she was naturally the center of attention.

Pierce Holden didn't get out of the car. A sharply dressed driver walked around the sports car, inspecting it. Then, he approached the window, bent down, and exchanged a few words with Pierce.

Quincey sidestepped the driver, who wanted to talk to her, and knocked on the car window. As she spoke, she wiped away fake tears with her fingers. Her hair fluttered in the wind, giving her an air of fragility.

A moment later, Pierce pushed open the car door and glanced in my direction. Then, his gaze shifted to Quincey.

The so-called prince of the upper crust was known for being mysterious and low-key. Countless actresses had tried to get close to him, but they never had the chance.

Quincey lowered her head and intertwined her well-maintained hands. Then, as if making some major decision, she pulled out her phone to dial the traffic police.

I saw Pierce wave his hand. He was signaling her to put the phone down. He stepped out of the car and headed toward mine.

Quincey had smeared a pale, chalky powder on my lips, and after a week of overtime and late nights, my lips probably looked ghostly pale. My face, too, was completely drained of color.

Through the window, I got my first up-close look at Pierce.

It was August, yet he still wore a scarf around his neck. A scar slithered up from beneath the scarf, wrapping over his left cheekbone.

Though it had been carefully treated, the scar was still uneven and pitted. It was a clear sign of just how deep the wound must have been.

Quincey also rushed over. Her tone was filled with concern as she said, "My sister suddenly got a stomachache, and I was rushing her to the hospital. I must've mixed up the accelerator and the brakes, so...

"No matter what, it's my fault. I'll compensate for the damage."

The situation seemed to stir something in Pierce. His cold expression softened just a little as he calmly said, "No need to rush. Get your sister to the hospital first. My driver, Wilson Powell, will handle the rest."

As Pierce turned to leave, Quincey quickly stepped in front of him and handed him a business card. "This is my number. I won't run away from my responsibilities."

Pierce looked at the white card in Quincey's hand. It said that Quincey was a partner at a vet and a visiting professor at Wingston Tourism College.

He scanned her from head to toe, then took out his phone. "No need to complicate things. Let's follow each other on Instagram."

Pierce left in the Maybach that had come to pick him up, while the tow truck took away the damaged sports car.

The hood of my car was bent, and one of the headlights was shattered.

"I just got this car yesterday, and you've pretty much ruined it. What are you going to do about that?" I asked.

Quincey didn't even acknowledge me. The moment we arrived home, she immediately latched onto Joshua's arm, claiming I was making things hard for her.

Joshua Scott was my father. He patted Quincey affectionately and asked me to handle it myself. "You're really arguing with Quincey over something this trivial? You're her sister."

Quincey insisted on driving that morning, even though she didn't have a license. She had failed the driving test five times.

Joshua, worried about her safety, insisted I go with her.

At this moment, my stepmother, Selene Westbrook, came out of the kitchen holding a fruit platter, but there were only three forks on it.

They all happily ate the fruits, acting like I wasn't even there.

"Pierce looked at me without even blinking. I thought the so-called prince of the upper crust would be tough to seduce, but he's just like the rest of those guys," Quincey said smugly and pulled out her phone to show off Pierce's Instagram account.

"Once Quincey marries Pierce, we'll be in-laws with the Holden family." Selene clapped her hands, and Joshua joined in, dreaming of a bright future.

Then, Quincey suddenly changed the subject while offering a piece of peach to Joshua. "Dad, I still owe 300 thousand dollars for the training program."

Joshua frowned and didn't respond immediately.

Our family relied on the old street stores to make a living, but with the new city planning bypassing the area, business had been bad.

That so-called socialite training program charged 500 thousand dollars per person, promising to help its students cross class lines and marry into wealth.

Quincey graduated from college three years ago. Instead of working, she had been busy with cosmetic procedures and photo shoots to build her socialite image.

The previous 200 thousand dollars fee had already drained Joshua's savings.

"Joshua, Quincey went to that training program so you could live a better life." Selene pushed her large gold bangle and said bluntly, "If you can't even spare this little amount of money, don't expect to benefit from Quincey's success later.

"Besides, someone in this family is still working. A family should help each other out." She was hinting that I should cover the cost.

In my previous life, my family went into deep debt for Quincey's dream of marrying into a wealthy family. Debt collectors caused trouble at my company, leading me to lose my job.

Besides, it seemed they had no idea about Pierce's sports car, but they were sure he wouldn't make Quincey pay for the damages.

I wasn't like them—depending on an empty dream of wealth and status.

So, before they could say anything, I brought up the idea of moving out. "I've already found a place. I'll officially sever ties with all of you."

Selene clicked her tongue, claiming I was jealous and that I couldn't stand the thought of Quincey becoming a wealthy wife.

"A woman's most important asset is a pretty face and marrying a rich man. Yasmine, no matter how jealous you get, it won't change anything. Do you think you can afford to move out with your salary? You're ridiculous."

Just then, my phone vibrated with a message from a colleague about a sudden meeting.

I went to my room to gather my documents, ready to head back to the office.

Quincey commented that I was working for nothing. "You earn only three thousand dollars a month. No matter how hard you work, you'll never be able to match what I make with a single finger."

With an air of superiority, Joshua added, "Yasmine, you'd better start kissing up to Quincey. If she's happy, she might just buy you a house. You wouldn't have to rent anymore then."

Quincey grinned, clearly waiting for me to submit.

I gripped the papers in my hand as I looked at all three of them.

"The Holden family's money isn't Quincey's, but whatever I earn will always be mine. Beauty does have its advantages, but if that's all you've got, it's a disaster waiting to happen.

"You should check what kind of car Pierce drove before jumping to conclusions."

The sudden company meeting was about the Porthcawl Town project in collaboration with Holden Group.

Holden Group was in charge of development, while Zenith Media would handle marketing and publicity.

I joined Zenith Media five years ago through a campus recruitment. As a top-tier media and advertising company, Zenith Media's work was demanding, but the pay was excellent.

However, I told the Scotts that I worked at Zenith Media in a low-level position, earning a mere three thousand dollars a month.

Since Selene and Quincey already looked down on me, they firmly believed my words.

After the director, Trevor Hancock, presented the progress, he added seriously, "Pierce will be the person in charge of this project now. This is the first project he's handling as the successor of Holden Group."

Trevor then mentioned that Pierce was dissatisfied with the current proposal, and we needed to come up with two backup proposals. In two weeks, we would meet with Pierce for a review.

"Pierce is very particular about details and has slashed the budget quite a bit. Everyone, get your act together."

After the meeting, my colleagues gathered in the pantry, gossiping about the Holden family.

"I heard Pierce was disfigured when he was a kid, which is why he rarely appears in public."

"Disfigured? Who would dare do that to him?" one of my colleagues asked.

"I don't know, but my mom used to be a reporter. She once caught a photo of him going to the hospital, but the editor told her to delete it."

Another person chimed in, "Family feuds can get ugly. Pierce's sister's death is also suspicious. Why would a little girl be out by the beach in the middle of the night?"

"Mr. Holden has had three wives and four sons. Pierce is the youngest, but he became the successor. He must be something else."

"We should just stick to our own business. Mr. Hancock mentioned that Pierce is very picky."

I remembered the face I'd seen through the car window. Despite the scar, he was undeniably attractive. There was an enigmatic quality about him that made him impossible to read.

He was definitely not the easy-to-seduce man Quincey described.

While sipping my coffee, I instinctively opened my Instagram and saw that Quincey had posted a new set of photos.

She was wearing a Chanel outfit, enjoying red wine on a hotel balcony surrounded by large bouquets of flowers. In the frame were two foreigners with aristocratic airs.

The caption read, "The Etalvian vineyard sent over a 1982 wine. The wine's aroma filled my palate and nose with a romantic fragrance. Girls should really stock up on some premium wine."

Outside the frame, there were probably another ten or so well-made-up ladies waiting around.

The socialite training program students used standard props for photos—luxury cars, designer goods, jewelry, ocean-view apartments, and such.

The goal was to create an image of a good family background and high taste.

Wealthy people who didn't know the truth would inevitably be drawn to the pictures.

Also, to avoid being underestimated, they pretended to have thriving careers. Quincey's supposed role as a partner and visiting professor was nothing more than a fabrication by the training institution.

The agent sent me two more apartment listings to choose from. My savings were enough for me to buy a two-bedroom apartment near the company.

I needed to cut ties with the Scott family quickly in order to avoid dragging myself into their mess.

…

Three days later, Quincey's car crash video had gone viral.

The comments called her a once-in-a-lifetime natural beauty. Some even compared her to popular celebrities, saying that if she joined the entertainment industry, half of the female celebrities would be out of a job.

Then, people began sharing Quincey's Instagram photos, hyping up her family background and taste.

This made it almost impossible for Pierce not to notice her. Her fame was the best stepping stone to enter the Holden family.

I had to admit that the training program was impressively efficient.

After signing the purchase contract for the apartment, I returned to the Scott residence to pack my things.

When Selene opened the door, she looked me up and down with disdain and asked which slum I'd found to rent a place in.

Joshua didn't even glance at me. He was buzzing with excitement as he hovered around Quincey, like he'd just won the lottery jackpot.

"It's Pierce! He messaged me!" Quincey exclaimed. "Ms. Madden said if I could get him to make the first move, I'd be one step closer to my goal." Closing her eyes, she pressed the phone to her heart. After a few seconds, she finally opened the message.

The three of them stared at the phone, silent for a long time.

I put my suitcase down and walked over to take a look.

The message from Pierce read, "My car was sent back to the Sweloria headquarters for repairs. The cost is 8.57 million dollars."

Attached was a repair report written in Swelorian.