Chapter 4I Only Talk To Dead Billionaires

The cold familiarity of her words sent a violent shiver down my spine.

A lump formed in my throat, and I had to fight back the urge to cry.

The gala was going to be a massive, high-pressure event, and my father’s pride was entirely on the line. If I remained mute, his embarrassment would turn to resentment.

But if I spoke and called out to a stranger or a nanny to avoid choosing between them, Grandmother Emily would label me "unattached" and exile me anyway.

I was cornered.

Seeing my tiny face crumple with distress, my parents exchanged a softened look. Even in their shallow vanity, they still cared for me in their own way. They tried to throw me a lifeline.

"Maybe the excitement of the gala will spark something," my mother murmured, pulling me into her arms. "With everyone there, if we coax her gently, she might just open up."

"Yes, exactly," my father agreed quickly, looking at Emily. "Mother, let’s not rush to conclusions. Let’s see how she handles the crowd at the gala."

Seeing them defend me, a tiny warmth bloomed in my chest.

At least this time, they were standing by me. Their vanity and competitive natures were frustrating, but I could work with that. It was a language I understood.

Once we were back in the nursery, I listened to the muffled sound of their worried voices through the heavy mahogany door, and I began to plan.

If I absolutely couldn't say "Mama" or "Dada"...

But I could perform some other, mind-blowing cognitive feat... would that satisfy them?

If I could do something so extraordinary that it made them swell with pride, proving beyond a doubt that I was a genius, they wouldn't dare discard me.

A high-risk, high-reward idea slowly took shape in my toddler brain.

Starting that very night, the moment the house grew quiet and the nanny drifted off to sleep, I slipped out of my crib.

I crawled over to my interactive learning tablet, tapping away at the early-literacy programs.

My parents saw the activity on the baby monitor, but they assumed I was just a restless toddler playing with a screen, thinking nothing of it.

After a grueling week of midnight training, the day of the first-birthday gala arrived.

The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was packed with the city’s elite, all carrying boxes wrapped in silk and velvet.

I was dressed from head to toe in custom Chanel, cradled in my parents' arms as we made the rounds, collecting trust-fund checks and diamond rattles.

Naturally, the only question on anyone's lips was:

"Has she spoken yet? Is she a daddy’s girl or a mommy’s girl?"

Every time, my parents laughed nervously, brushing the questions off with vague excuses.

Finally, before the main course was served, my parents carried me up to the stage microphone. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

"Alright, everyone," my father said into the mic, trying to sound jovial despite his stiff posture. "We know there’s been a lot of speculation about our little Charlotte's first word."

One of my father’s business rivals yelled from the front table, "She looks just like you, Thomas! Ten grand says she says 'Dada'!"

My mother’s high-society friends chimed in instantly. "Double that! She’s a mommy’s girl through and through. It’s going to be 'Mama'!"

"I'll bet my new Porsche it's 'Dada'! The girl knows who signs the checks!"

The room erupted into laughter and playful bidding.

Sensing the rising stakes, my father leaned down, his whisper desperate in my ear. "Charlotte, please. Just say 'Dada.' Don't let me down in front of these people."

My mother squeezed my hand, her eyes pleading. "Charlotte, I carried you for nine months. Don't be ungrateful. Say 'Mama' first..."

Their suffocating expectations pressed in on me from both sides.

And at the VIP table, Grandmother Emily sat like an ice queen, her sharp eyes dissecting my every micro-expression.

The memories of my three past lives flashed before my eyes in vivid, terrifying detail.

I had fought so hard to secure this life of luxury. I refused to let it end in a cold, sterile institution or a forgotten boarding school.

I didn't know if my gamble would pay off.

But as the silence stretched and a thousand eyes locked onto me, I had no choice but to leap.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, I opened my mouth...