Chapter 1My Janitor Mother Is Secretly Wealthy

The day my parents’ marriage finally dissolved, my brother—born with a hair-trigger temper and a soul made of spite—already knew the score. He knew our father had clawed his way into the inner circle of a Chicago real estate heiress. Bennett didn't want a family; he wanted a dynasty. He wanted to be a blue-blood.

He shoved me aside, practically stepping over our mother to grab my father’s hand.

“I’m going with Dad,” he declared, his voice high and sharp.

I didn't say a word. I simply reached down, took my mother’s trembling hand, and helped her up. I stood by her side, a quiet shadow in the wreckage of our living room.

In my first life, Bennett had been the one to stay. He’d snuck into Mom’s private journals and discovered that Grandma wasn't just some estranged relative—she was the matriarch of one of the most powerful old-money families in Manhattan. He stayed because he thought he could use her to rule New York.

He hadn't expected the reality: Mom never went back to the manor. She worked as a janitor by day and sold hot dogs from a cart by night just to keep him fed. She’d spent every cent of her meager savings to rent a cramped, one-bedroom apartment near a decent school, leaving them with barely enough for groceries.

He grew to hate her for it.

Meanwhile, I was the one who went with Dad. As the son of the most notorious social climber in the Midwest, I lived a life of obscene luxury. I had every resource at my fingertips. I wasn't just a straight-A student; I was a world-ranked chess prodigy and a semi-pro racer.

Bennett’s jealousy turned into a sickness. When I returned home for a tournament, exhausted and vulnerable, he met me in the parking lot. He stabbed me seven times in front of a cheering crowd.

When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the divorce.

Looking at the feral, triumphant glint in my six-year-old brother’s eyes, I knew he had come back, too. He thought he’d made the winning move this time. He thought he’d traded a life of poverty for a throne.

He had no idea he’d just signed up for a nightmare.

* * *

I kept my head down, masking the cold fire of my hatred.

“Matt,” my father, Adam, said, his voice hesitant. “Are you sure about this? You don't want to come with me?”

Adam actually preferred me. Just like with my brother, Adam had only pursued my mother because he’d smelled the "Manhattan Elite" on her. He wanted to be the trophy husband of a billionaire heiress.

But my grandmother had seen right through his cheap suit and cheaper soul. She’d forbidden the marriage. When Mom was torn between her family and the man she thought she loved, Adam made sure she got pregnant. He spirited her away, thinking the old woman would eventually cave and write a check.

He was wrong. Once it was clear Grandma had cut Mom off for good, Adam started looking for a new mark.

He played the part of the tortured, bohemian artist, using his charms to infiltrate the circles of powerful women. He was leaving now because he’d finally landed May Stanford.

May was Chicago royalty—stunning, ruthless, and trapped by the one thing money couldn't fix: a biological inability to have an heir. After her family marginalized her for it, she’d spent her twenties systematically dismantling and then rebuilding their corporate empire from the inside. Now, in her thirties, her kingdom was secure, but she needed a successor. A son she could mold.

Adam had offered us up like prize cattle.

May’s "vetting team" had already decided I was the better candidate. In my last life, I’d gone willingly, unaware of the trap.

The moment we arrived at the Stanford estate, May had me thrown into a decorative pond stocked with alligators.

"Matt," she’d said, her voice like silk over gravel, "if you want to be my son, you have to learn how to survive. The gates will open in three hours. Get ready."

"No!" I’d screamed, thrashing in the water. "Dad! Help me! Please!"

But the elegant woman only smiled. "Matt, you have to save yourself."