Chapter 2The Heiress's Game: Reborn to Rewrite My Fate

Chloe became my desk mate.

She studied diligently, treated everyone kindly, and acted so sweet and innocent that no one had their guard up around her.

During recess, she would vividly recount to me how she took care of her paralyzed mother in bed, how she endured her chronically alcoholic, gambling father, and how she worked grueling shifts at a diner under the scorching summer sun just to save up for her own tuition.

When she reached the emotional climax of her story, she would bury her face in her arms on the desk and sob, her shoulders shaking violently.

Then, with tear-blurred eyes, she would ask me, "Sarah, I read your interview in the paper. All these years, things must have been incredibly hard for you too, right?"

I watched her put on her little show with icy detachment.

In my past life, I fell for this hook, line, and sinker.

I bared my soul to her, treated her with absolute sincerity, and never doubted her for a second.

I even took the fall for her crimes, leaving a permanent criminal stain on my permanent record.

Thinking back on it, I was remarkably stupid.

Right now, she was biting her lip. "Where a person is born dictates everything. Does all our hard work even mean anything...?"

"Yeah, you're right," I interrupted her, stealing her lines.

"For ordinary people like us, no matter how hard we try, we can never cross the class divide."

A look of genuine shock flickered across Chloe’s tear-stained face.

She probably didn't expect my mindset to crumble this easily.

In my past life, whenever she asked me this, I would always answer with fierce conviction:

"It's hard, and life is tough, but I still have hope.

"I believe I can change my destiny through hard work.

"Hope and effort are the best things in this world.

"Chloe, you have to hold onto hope and keep working hard. That’s the only way to keep moving forward."

It took her a long time and a lot of meticulous plotting to gradually break down my psychological defenses.

Like the time she used the excuse of "handing out flyers" to drag me—while I was stressing over where my next month's $150 of grocery money would come from—to the gates of an elite private school. She made me watch the trust-fund kids who were born with silver spoons in their mouths, living in luxury, entirely ignorant of the world's suffering.

Like the time when I was studying day and night for the State Math Olympiad, and she "accidentally" let it slip that even though my grades were the best, the spot for the competition had already been rigged and given to the principal's niece.

Like when I slowly started to break down and doubt if I could really change my fate, she shared stories with me of straight-A kids from small towns who got into Ivy League schools, only to graduate and end up working dead-end, soul-crushing corporate jobs, exhausted and miserable.

Like when I was entirely disillusioned and felt my life was hopeless, she repeatedly egged me on to skip class, get blackout drunk at bars, and then...

In the trap she so carefully laid out, I slid into the abyss step by step.

She was a very patient predator.

But I decided to "help" her along this time.

"Since working hard is useless anyway," I said, closing my textbook. "We're done studying for the day.

"Come on, Chloe. I'm taking you somewhere fun."

"Huh?"