Chapter 1Pretending Foolery in Wealth

When my billionaire father died suddenly, my stepmother and stepsister moved into the master suite and treated me like excess baggage.

At sixteen, terrified they’d steal my inheritance, I played the brainless, spoiled princess who couldn’t tell a contract’s front from its back.

Rose tossed legal documents at me. I flipped two pages, tears streaming. “These words might know me, but I don’t know them.”

When she urged me to sign away my rights, I clung to her neck. “You’re the best sister ever. You’d never lie to me, right?”

Stepmother watched for six months, convinced I was a gullible idiot. She doubled my allowance, telling everyone I was simple and easy to please.

I embraced the life of a useless trust fund baby—lounging, manicures, reality TV, lavish teas.

Last month, Rose brought home her best friend, a “top-tier financial elite” from London. Stepmother handed me a thick ledger. “She’ll manage your finances. Have a look.”

Fresh ink reeked from the pages. Two flips revealed white-out and altered numbers. Signing would make me guilty of embezzlement.

I closed the ledger, smiling sweetly. “Thank you, Evelyn. I promise I’ll study it very hard.”

* * *

At my father's funeral reception, Evelyn stood in the center of our grand living room, pressing a silk handkerchief to her eyes. She looked directly at a group of distant relatives and delivered a flawless performance.

"Sandy is my own daughter now. I promise you all, I will take the absolute best care of her."

Her voice was choked with sobs but perfectly audible.

The household staff stood around with their eyes downcast. I heard one of the maids whisper about how incredibly kind the madam was for taking in such useless baggage.

I stood silently at the top of the grand staircase, gripping a framed photograph of my father, completely mute.

That very same night, the head maid, Martha, marched up the stairs to my bedroom. "Miss Sandy, the madam said you need to pack your things and move up to the attic. She is going to completely remodel this room."

I looked up at her, my voice trembling. "But this is the room Dad decorated for me."

"The madam makes the rules now," Martha snapped, already shoving my expensive dresses into a suitcase.

I did not argue.

The attic was tucked away at the very end of the third floor. When I pushed the heavy door open, a wave of damp, rotting wood and stale dust hit my face. The window frame leaked freezing air, the mattress sheets were a dingy yellow, and the single pillow bore a dark, suspicious water stain.

I sat on the edge of that disgusting bed, hugging the stuffed bear my father had given me, and finally let the tears fall.

I wiped my face fiercely, making a silent vow to myself. Nobody was going to protect me anymore. From this moment on, if I was going to cry, those tears needed to buy me something valuable.

The door creaked open. Rose walked in carrying a bowl of plain rice and vegetables, completely failing to hide the nasty smirk on her face.

She was the daughter Evelyn brought into the family from a previous marriage. We shared zero blood, but I was forced to call her my older sister.

Rose slammed the bowl onto the dusty wooden desk. The ceramic clattered loudly against the wood. "Eat up, princess. Mom says this is your new kingdom."

She turned on her heel to leave.

I called out to her, my voice shrinking into a pathetic squeak as I squeezed my stuffed bear tighter. "Rose... can I please go look at Dad's room sometimes? Just to remember him?"

Rose glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "What is there to look at? He is dead, get over it."

She marched down the hall, her heels clicking aggressively on the hardwood.

But three days later, she came right back.

This time, she wore a bright, artificial smile. She was holding a stack of legal documents, and her voice was sickeningly sweet.

She spread the papers out on the desk, calling me by the pet name my father used. "Sweetie, the company needs you to sign off on some routine paperwork. It is just a formality. Just put your name right here."

I took the documents and let my eyes trail over the dense legal jargon. It was a complete transfer of shares and a formal declaration waiving my inheritance rights. Evelyn and Rose had spent three days cooking up this brilliant scheme.

I found it absolutely hilarious, but when I looked up, my face was a mask of pure confusion. "Rose, these words might know me, but I definitely do not know them."

Rose forced a patient smile. "You just need to sign your name. I will take care of all the complicated stuff for you."

I shook my head violently and pushed the papers back toward her, forcing a dramatic sob. "Dad always told me never to sign things I cannot read. He said signing your name means you are making a promise, and you can never take a promise back."

Rose's face immediately darkened. "Are you saying you do not trust your own sister?"

She was always like this. Every single emotion she felt was plastered right on her face. She was almost too easy to read.

I suddenly lunged forward, throwing my arms around her neck and rubbing my face against her expensive cashmere sweater. "Rose loves me the most! You would never lie to me, right? So please, sit down and read every single word to me so I can understand."

I felt Rose's entire body go rigid. She was completely caught off guard by my clinginess. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a maid walking past the open doorway.

She ripped the documents out of my hands, her face flushed with frustration. "Forget it. We will talk about this when you are older."

She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I sat on the bed, hugging my bear, watching the closed door as the innocent smile on my face slowly vanished into a cold, flat line.

Late one night about a week later, a horrifying, screeching sound pierced the silence of the attic.

It was clearly a human attempting to mimic the wail of a dying cat. The sound was shrill, deliberate, and coming from just outside my door.

Next came the rhythmic, eerie tapping against my drafty windowpane.

A moment later, a distorted, creepy music box melody started echoing through the hallway. It sounded exactly like the background track of a cheap horror movie, bouncing off the walls in the dead of night.

I curled into a ball under my thin blankets, my heart hammering against my ribs, my palms slick with cold sweat.

But my panic only lasted a few seconds. I realized exactly what this was. Evelyn was trying to terrorize me. She wanted to drive me clinically insane or scare me into running away from home.

Like mother, like daughter. If Evelyn wanted to get rid of me, she was reduced to using these cheap, pathetic parlor tricks.

I took a deep breath, kicked off the blankets, and ran barefoot out of the room. I let out a bloodcurdling scream, crying hysterically as I sprinted down the dark staircase.

"Evelyn! Evelyn, help me! There are ghosts! I am so scared!"