Part 1The Reality Show Trap

In our last life, my sister was adopted by a billionaire dynasty. I was taken in by a school janitor.

She thought she’d won the lottery. Instead, she stepped into a shark tank of corporate infighting, cold parents, and a brother who made it his mission to break her. She ended up with nothing.

Meanwhile, I grew up in a house full of warmth. My life played out like a teen drama—the brooding, wealthy heir fell for the "poor but brilliant" girl. Me.

Consumed by jealousy and rage, my sister killed me.

Now, we’re back. Back to the day of the adoption.

This time, she didn't hesitate. She threw herself into the arms of the woman in the faded jumpsuit.

"Mom! Take me home! I want to be your daughter!" she cried.

She looked at me with a triumphant smirk. “Sis, this time, I’m the leading lady.”

What she doesn’t realize is that being the "heroine" was never about where I started. It was about how I played the game.

* * *

We were back in the Director’s office at the orphanage.

Two couples stood before us: The Westons and the Millers.

The Westons looked like they stepped off the cover of Forbes. The husband was in a bespoke suit; the wife was draped in Chanel and diamonds. Their only son, Becket Weston, stood there in his private school blazer, rocking a pair of limited-edition sneakers that cost more than a mid-sized sedan.

They were the most powerful family in the city. Real estate, tech, philanthropy—they owned it all. Becket was the "Prince of the City."

Then there were the Millers.

They looked exhausted. Their hands were calloused from manual labor. They’d clearly put on their "Sunday best," but you could still see the faint stains of hard work on their collars.

The Director introduced them: Mr. Miller was a high school custodian; Mrs. Miller was a cleaning lady at the same school.

In our first life, my sister, Macy, had fought tooth and nail to be picked by the Westons.

But now? She lunged for Mrs. Miller as if she were afraid I’d beat her to it.

"Take me! I want to be a Miller!"

The Director whispered to himself, confused. "Strange. Macy usually only looks at people wearing Rolexes. Why the change of heart?"

The Director didn't know. But I did.