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Raised for Scraps, Reborn as a Legend

NovelMaster · English · Theater: NovelMaster, Lang: English, Genre: Werewolf, Genre: Realistic, Genre: Romance, Genre: Male Fiction, Genre: Reborn ·

Raised for Scraps, Reborn as a Legend

Theater: NovelMaster  |  Language: English  |  NEW

Synopsis

My parents claimed we were drowning in massive debt.
To pay it off, they allegedly worked three back-breaking shifts a day, coming home exhausted and trembling.
Desperate to lift the burden off their shoulders, I spent every single hour outside of class working odd jobs.
Until this Christmas break.
I took a temporary gig as a server at an ultra-luxurious Michelin-starred restaurant.
That was when I saw my "dirt-poor" parents stepping out of a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.
They had their arms wrapped around a young guy around my age, casually ordering a ten-course tasting menu worth thousands of dollars.
"Mom, Dad... is it really okay to leave Nora all alone in that freezing apartment?" the boy asked casually.
My mother dismissed it with a wave of her diamond-ringed hand. "Don't worry about her. She's used to it."
My father chuckled warmly, patting the boy's shoulder. "How could she ever compare to you, Lucas? You're our golden boy, our true pride and joy!"
I stood frozen just outside the glass doors, my chest throbbing with excruciating pain.
My shift manager caught me staring instead of serving and hissed under his breath.
"What are you standing around like an idiot for? Move it!"
"If you dare offend George Miller, the wealthiest tycoon in the state, you won't see a single dime of your paycheck!"
I apologized in a hoarse, shaking voice and left the floor.
When I finally got back to our rundown rental, I dumped all the cheap instant noodles from the table straight into the trash.
In the past, I would have cried over wasting a single scrap.
For as long as I could remember, I grew up believing we were living in squalor.
Every bite of food, every thread on my body was supposed to have come from my parents' painful sacrifices. I almost never owned new clothes.
Every season, my mother would bring home a trash bag filled with oversized, worn-out hand-me-downs.
She would stroke my hair and say, "These are from my coworker's older daughter, sweetie. They're washed clean. We can't afford to waste money on new clothes."
I never knew where she actually collected those rags from. My entire childhood was spent wearing baggy, stained cast-offs. My classmates ruthlessly mocked me, calling me a homeless stray.
All I could do was bury my head in my books, swearing that one day, through my own grit, I would buy myself brand-new clothes.
Every spare second I had, I worked side gigs just to relieve their imaginary stress.
Yet, as it turned out, they carried no burden at all.
I looked up that Rolls-Royce later that night. It belonged to the ultra-wealthy Miller dynasty. The young heir of the Miller family had recently made tabloid headlines after driving that exact car around town with a famous pop star.
I had seen those gossip blogs before. The face of the spoiled billionaire heir on screen was undeniably the boy from tonight—Lucas.
So... I was actually the daughter of a billionaire?
I laughed bitterly, wiping away a stray tear, before turning toward my parents' bedroom to look around.
Maybe they had grown too careless to hide it, or maybe they never thought I was smart enough to notice.
When I found an eight-figure commercial real estate contract signed in my father's name, complete with a diamond-encrusted Montblanc pen tucked inside the folder, the last shred of my denial shattered into dust.
I put everything back in place, retreated to my tiny room, and pulled the scratchy blanket over my head.
I desperately wished that when morning came, it would all just be a nightmare.
The next morning, my parents were already bustling in the cramped kitchen.
I glanced at the breakfast table and froze. Who on earth served rich, creamy lobster bisque for breakfast in a supposed ghetto?
The aroma was unmistakably identical to the high-end seafood dinner our professor had treated our team to months ago.
I glanced toward the trash can by the front door. Sure enough, an upscale restaurant takeout bag was peeking out.
"Did we suddenly hit the lottery, Mom and Dad?"
I sat down at the chipped wooden table, watching their reactions.
My mother gasped in surprise. "Nora, sweetie, what are you talking about?"
"How else could we afford gourmet lobster bisque?"
I pointed casually at the trash bag. My mother's face instantly paled.
My father quickly stepped in with a smooth chuckle. "Oh, that! My boss had me stay late for overtime last night and gave me the leftovers. I couldn't bear to eat it alone, so I brought it home for us."
"You know our pitiful wages. How could your mother and I ever buy lobster bisque?"
Leftovers. Right.
I nodded, taking a spoonful. Inside, I sneered. That bisque cost $680 a bowl at that restaurant. Their decadent feast last night must have easily topped thirty grand.
If we were genuinely poor, I would have tasted deep maternal love in this bowl.
Now, it tasted like bitter sawdust.
I took two small bites, set my spoon down, and stood up.
"I'm full."
"Nora, why did you barely eat? Are you feeling sick?"
My mother looked anxious, her eyes filled with what seemed like genuine concern.
I forced a small, obedient smile. "Not at all. Aren't we going over to Grandpa's house today? I'm just saving room for lunch!"
At that, my mother visibly relaxed. My father was about to say something with a guilty look when his phone started buzzing.
I caught a quick glimpse of the caller ID: My Precious Son, Lucas.
Lucas was his precious son. What was I, then?
My father hurried to the balcony to take the call, and my mother followed him in a rush.
I could faintly hear snippets of his hushed voice: "...Stay quiet... don't let her find out..."
A deep, icy numbness settled over my heart. They had known all along. They were deliberately playing me for a fool.
I felt like I was living inside The Truman Show.
Except their cruelty was entirely real.After hanging up, my dad walked back inside and handed me an envelope with some holiday cash. "Nora, an emergency came up at work. I have to head out right away!"
My mom comforted me, "It's okay, sweetie. I'll take you to Grandpa's."
I nodded quietly, slipped the envelope into my jacket pocket, and got ready to head over to my grandparents' place with my mom.
When we arrived, Grandpa opened the door and pulled me inside. "Nora's here! Come in, come in, it's freezing out there!"
His hands were soft and smooth, completely devoid of calluses—nothing like the retired factory machinist he claimed to be.
Grandma hurried over and handed me a small envelope of holiday money.
"Thank you, Grandma," I said quietly, sliding it straight into my pocket.
My mother blinked, clearly startled. Usually, the moment I received any gift money, I would hand it right over to her to "help pay off the family debt."
Back then, she would always beam and say, "Nora is such a good, selfless girl."
Today, my behavior broke the script. Even Grandma paused for a second before letting out a nervous laugh. "Look at that, our little Nora is finally learning to keep her own pocket money!"
I raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. "Well, Mom always says the new year brings new beginnings. I figured I should save a little personal cash."
"Of course," my mom quickly chimed in. "Nora is remarkably mature. She earns all her own tuition and living expenses!"
Without even opening the envelope, I already knew Grandma hadn't given me more than a measly fifty bucks. Compared to my crippling college tuition, it was practically an insult.
They were drowning in unimaginable wealth, yet they nickel-and-dimed me at every turn.
Why was this twisted "poverty trial" designed exclusively for me? What had I done to deserve it?
Grandma didn't say much more and disappeared into the kitchen. When the food was served, I took two bites and lost my appetite completely.
Every single dish was identical to the secret banquet menu from the Michelin-starred restaurant last night.
Now, there was zero doubt left in my mind.
My entire family was dripping with wealth, yet they dressed down to cosplay as broke paupers just to fool me.
Even my grandparents were in on the act.
After the meal, my mom took a phone call, fabricated an urgent work emergency, and rushed out the door.
Grandpa and Grandma began yawning theatrically, dropping heavy hints that they were exhausted. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I said my goodbyes and left.
Instead of walking away, I hid behind a corner down the street and watched the house.
Sure enough, barely twenty minutes later, a stretched Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb.
Surrounded by an entourage of handlers and assistants, Grandpa and Grandma stepped outside, dressed in lavish coats, and slid into the luxury car without looking back.
I took a shaky breath, pulled up my face mask, and walked back up to the house.
A crew of professional cleaners in uniforms was already vacuuming and wiping down the place.
One cleaner remarked with a sigh, "Seriously, what's wrong with this family? They rent or keep this dusty old place just to stay for one afternoon a year, eat a single lunch, and leave!"
"Hey, at least the cleaning tip is crazy generous!" another replied.
"You don't know the half of it. They've been pulling this stunt for over twenty years. They own that massive private estate in the exclusive hills. Rich folks just love playing pretend to experience the struggle!"
Hearing those words, every warmth in my chest died completely.
The Miller estate was located in the prestigious Hillside gated community. I rode my beat-up bicycle all the way up the winding roads.
Standing before that palatial, golden-lit mansion guarded by private security gates, I felt sick. This was a world I had never dared to dream of.
The moment I approached the gate, a burly security guard snapped coldly, "Who are you? Back off, vagrant!"
I took a ragged breath and turned to leave when the roar of an engine ripped through the air.
A custom Italian motorcycle screeched to a halt right in front of me.
I had seen that specific bike online—it was a limited-edition model worth over two hundred thousand dollars.
Sitting on it was Lucas Miller.He noticed me and looked visibly surprised.
After looking me up and down, a mocking smirk spread across his face. "Well, look at you. Not as dumb as I thought. You actually tracked us down!"
I froze. So, he knew about my existence all along.
"Why?" my voice cracked. "Why are you all doing this to me?"
"Lucas... am I adopted? Or is this some twisted psychological experiment, and I'm just your lab rat?"
Lucas tilted his head back and wagged a finger playfully. "Nope. You're 100% biological Miller blood. A legitimate daughter."
"As for why you were raised in the dirt? Simple. Because I am the sole heir of the Miller dynasty."
"Nora, you were born just one minute ahead of me. What made you think you were entitled to compete with me?"
"This place isn't for you. Pack your sad little pride and get lost."
"Poor thing... don't look at me like that. Mom and Dad put a lot of effort into keeping you fed, you know!"
"Oh, and by the way, don't bother visiting Grandpa and Grandma during the holidays anymore. They're getting old. They don't have the energy to play dress-up and act poor just for you."
Lucas revved the engine and zoomed through the iron gates.
I stood outside in the bitter wind for what felt like an eternity, finally putting the pieces together.
Our birth had supposedly threatened the inheritance line.
What had I done wrong? All I ever wanted was my parents' genuine, honest love.
They had deceived me for twenty-two years, yet the moments of warmth they showed me had felt so real.
Looking up at that golden mansion and that luxury bike, I couldn't help but wonder: how much of their affection was ever real?
I turned and walked away.
Before boarding the bus back, I dialed my father's number. "Dad, are you and Mom coming home for dinner tonight?"
"No, sweetie," he replied softly. "Your mom and I found an extra night shift. We want to make some extra cash while we're still young enough to pay down the debt."
Through the phone receiver, I distinctly heard the distant roar of a custom motorcycle engine.
"Okay," I whispered.
Deep inside, my mind was already made up.
Back at the apartment, I packed my few belongings and submitted an emergency application for a high-security research project posted by my university department.
The project was stationed at a remote government laboratory deep in the western desert. It would last three full years—completely isolated from the outside world, zero cellular service, and zero interruptions.
Once my bags were packed, I printed out a photo I had snapped of Lucas's motorcycle outside the mansion and set it plainly on the nightstand.
That night, neither of them came home. I was all alone in the dark apartment.
I tried calling my father one last time, but nobody picked up.
Meanwhile, Miller Global Holdings was handing out massive holiday bonuses. A junior employee boasted on Twitter about receiving a three-thousand-dollar cash envelope from the CEO.
Dozens of employees posted pictures of their lavish corporate gala on Instagram.
Right on the stage were my parents. My father looked sharp in a tailored tuxedo, a glass of champagne in his hand; my mother wore designer couture and flawless makeup, radiating high-society elegance.
Lucas stood front and center, surrounded by admirers, proudly posing for a family portrait with them.
My parents seemed convinced that I was too busy breaking my back for pocket change to ever glance at social media gossip.
They forgot that I was just an ordinary young woman. How could a girl raised in forced deprivation never browse the internet?
During a live interview, a reporter asked my father about their holiday plans.
He smiled warmly into the camera. "My son Lucas turned twenty-two this year. Every year, we take him on a luxury vacation abroad. We take off tonight!"
My heart sank into a dark, bottomless abyss.
I turned twenty-two this year, too.
Ever since high school, my parents had told me I was an adult who needed to help pay off the family debts.
The farthest trip I had ever taken was a walk to the local neighborhood park.
I let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.
Whatever. Since they weren't home, this was the cleanest break I could ask for.
Grabbing my single suitcase, I stepped out the door without looking back.
Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad.
May we never meet again.

Chapters (3)

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3

Chapter 1

My parents claimed we were drowning in massive debt. To pay it off, they allegedly worked three back-breaking shifts a day, coming home exhausted and trembling. Desperate to lift the burden off their shoulders, I spent every single hour outside of class working odd jobs. Until this Christmas break. I took a temporary gig as a server at an ultra-luxurious Michelin-starred restaurant. That was when I saw my "dirt-poor" parents stepping out of a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce. They had their arms wrapped around a young guy around my age, casually ordering a ten-course tasting menu worth thousands of dollars. "Mom, Dad... is it really okay to leave Nora all alone in that freezing apartment?" the boy asked casually. My mother dismissed it with a wave of her diamond-ringed hand. "Don't worry about her. She's used to it." My father chuckled warmly, patting the boy's shoulder. "How could she ever compare to you, Lucas? You're our golden boy, our true pride and joy!" I stood frozen just outside the glass doors, my chest throbbing with excruciating pain. My shift manager caught me staring instead of serving and hissed under his breath. "What are you standing around like an idiot for? Move it!" "If you dare offend George Miller, the wealthiest tycoon in the state, you won't see a single dime of your paycheck!" I apologized in a hoarse, shaking voice and left the floor. When I finally got back to our rundown rental, I dumped all the cheap instant noodles from the table straight into the trash. In the past, I would have cried over wasting a single scrap. For as long as I could remember, I grew up believing we were living in squalor. Every bite of food, every thread on my body was supposed to have come from my parents' painful sacrifices. I almost never owned new clothes. Every season, my mother would bring home a trash bag filled with oversized, worn-out hand-me-downs. She would stroke my hair and say, "These are from my coworker's older daughter, sweetie. They're washed clean. We can't afford to waste money on new clothes." I never knew where she actually collected those rags from. My entire childhood was spent wearing baggy, stained cast-offs. My classmates ruthlessly mocked me, calling me a homeless stray. All I could do was bury my head in my books, swearing that one day, through my own grit, I would buy myself brand-new clothes. Every spare second I had, I worked side gigs just to relieve their imaginary stress. Yet, as it turned out, they carried no burden at all. I looked up that Rolls-Royce later that night. It belonged to the ultra-wealthy Miller dynasty. The young heir of the Miller family had recently made tabloid headlines after driving that exact car around town with a famous pop star. I had seen those gossip blogs before. The face of the spoiled billionaire heir on screen was undeniably the boy from tonight—Lucas. So... I was actually the daughter of a billionaire? I laughed bitterly, wiping away a stray tear, before turning toward my parents' bedroom to look around. Maybe they had grown too careless to hide it, or maybe they never thought I was smart enough to notice. When I found an eight-figure commercial real estate contract signed in my father's name, complete with a diamond-encrusted Montblanc pen tucked inside the folder, the last shred of my denial shattered into dust. I put everything back in place, retreated to my tiny room, and pulled the scratchy blanket over my head. I desperately wished that when morning came, it would all just be a nightmare. The next morning, my parents were already bustling in the cramped kitchen. I glanced at the breakfast table and froze. Who on earth served rich, creamy lobster bisque for breakfast in a supposed ghetto? The aroma was unmistakably identical to the high-end seafood dinner our professor had treated our team to months ago. I glanced toward the trash can by the front door. Sure enough, an upscale restaurant takeout bag was peeking out. "Did we suddenly hit the lottery, Mom and Dad?" I sat down at the chipped wooden table, watching their reactions. My mother gasped in surprise. "Nora, sweetie, what are you talking about?" "How else could we afford gourmet lobster bisque?" I pointed casually at the trash bag. My mother's face instantly paled. My father quickly stepped in with a smooth chuckle. "Oh, that! My boss had me stay late for overtime last night and gave me the leftovers. I couldn't bear to eat it alone, so I brought it home for us." "You know our pitiful wages. How could your mother and I ever buy lobster bisque?" Leftovers. Right. I nodded, taking a spoonful. Inside, I sneered. That bisque cost $680 a bowl at that restaurant. Their decadent feast last night must have easily topped thirty grand. If we were genuinely poor, I would have tasted deep maternal love in this bowl. Now, it tasted like bitter sawdust. I took two small bites, set my spoon down, and stood up. "I'm full." "Nora, why did you barely eat? Are you feeling sick?" My mother looked anxious, her eyes filled with what seemed like genuine concern. I forced a small, obedient smile. "Not at all. Aren't we going over to Grandpa's house today? I'm just saving room for lunch!" At that, my mother visibly relaxed. My father was about to say something with a guilty look when his phone started buzzing. I caught a quick glimpse of the caller ID: My Precious Son, Lucas. Lucas was his precious son. What was I, then? My father hurried to the balcony to take the call, and my mother followed him in a rush. I could faintly hear snippets of his hushed voice: "...Stay quiet... don't let her find out..." A deep, icy numbness settled over my heart. They had known all along. They were deliberately playing me for a fool. I felt like I was living inside The Truman Show. Except their cruelty was entirely real.

Chapter 2

After hanging up, my dad walked back inside and handed me an envelope with some holiday cash. "Nora, an emergency came up at work. I have to head out right away!" My mom comforted me, "It's okay, sweetie. I'll take you to Grandpa's." I nodded quietly, slipped the envelope into my jacket pocket, and got ready to head over to my grandparents' place with my mom. When we arrived, Grandpa opened the door and pulled me inside. "Nora's here! Come in, come in, it's freezing out there!" His hands were soft and smooth, completely devoid of calluses—nothing like the retired factory machinist he claimed to be. Grandma hurried over and handed me a small envelope of holiday money. "Thank you, Grandma," I said quietly, sliding it straight into my pocket. My mother blinked, clearly startled. Usually, the moment I received any gift money, I would hand it right over to her to "help pay off the family debt." Back then, she would always beam and say, "Nora is such a good, selfless girl." Today, my behavior broke the script. Even Grandma paused for a second before letting out a nervous laugh. "Look at that, our little Nora is finally learning to keep her own pocket money!" I raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. "Well, Mom always says the new year brings new beginnings. I figured I should save a little personal cash." "Of course," my mom quickly chimed in. "Nora is remarkably mature. She earns all her own tuition and living expenses!" Without even opening the envelope, I already knew Grandma hadn't given me more than a measly fifty bucks. Compared to my crippling college tuition, it was practically an insult. They were drowning in unimaginable wealth, yet they nickel-and-dimed me at every turn. Why was this twisted "poverty trial" designed exclusively for me? What had I done to deserve it? Grandma didn't say much more and disappeared into the kitchen. When the food was served, I took two bites and lost my appetite completely. Every single dish was identical to the secret banquet menu from the Michelin-starred restaurant last night. Now, there was zero doubt left in my mind. My entire family was dripping with wealth, yet they dressed down to cosplay as broke paupers just to fool me. Even my grandparents were in on the act. After the meal, my mom took a phone call, fabricated an urgent work emergency, and rushed out the door. Grandpa and Grandma began yawning theatrically, dropping heavy hints that they were exhausted. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I said my goodbyes and left. Instead of walking away, I hid behind a corner down the street and watched the house. Sure enough, barely twenty minutes later, a stretched Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb. Surrounded by an entourage of handlers and assistants, Grandpa and Grandma stepped outside, dressed in lavish coats, and slid into the luxury car without looking back. I took a shaky breath, pulled up my face mask, and walked back up to the house. A crew of professional cleaners in uniforms was already vacuuming and wiping down the place. One cleaner remarked with a sigh, "Seriously, what's wrong with this family? They rent or keep this dusty old place just to stay for one afternoon a year, eat a single lunch, and leave!" "Hey, at least the cleaning tip is crazy generous!" another replied. "You don't know the half of it. They've been pulling this stunt for over twenty years. They own that massive private estate in the exclusive hills. Rich folks just love playing pretend to experience the struggle!" Hearing those words, every warmth in my chest died completely. The Miller estate was located in the prestigious Hillside gated community. I rode my beat-up bicycle all the way up the winding roads. Standing before that palatial, golden-lit mansion guarded by private security gates, I felt sick. This was a world I had never dared to dream of. The moment I approached the gate, a burly security guard snapped coldly, "Who are you? Back off, vagrant!" I took a ragged breath and turned to leave when the roar of an engine ripped through the air. A custom Italian motorcycle screeched to a halt right in front of me. I had seen that specific bike online—it was a limited-edition model worth over two hundred thousand dollars. Sitting on it was Lucas Miller.

Chapter 3

He noticed me and looked visibly surprised. After looking me up and down, a mocking smirk spread across his face. "Well, look at you. Not as dumb as I thought. You actually tracked us down!" I froze. So, he knew about my existence all along. "Why?" my voice cracked. "Why are you all doing this to me?" "Lucas... am I adopted? Or is this some twisted psychological experiment, and I'm just your lab rat?" Lucas tilted his head back and wagged a finger playfully. "Nope. You're 100% biological Miller blood. A legitimate daughter." "As for why you were raised in the dirt? Simple. Because I am the sole heir of the Miller dynasty." "Nora, you were born just one minute ahead of me. What made you think you were entitled to compete with me?" "This place isn't for you. Pack your sad little pride and get lost." "Poor thing... don't look at me like that. Mom and Dad put a lot of effort into keeping you fed, you know!" "Oh, and by the way, don't bother visiting Grandpa and Grandma during the holidays anymore. They're getting old. They don't have the energy to play dress-up and act poor just for you." Lucas revved the engine and zoomed through the iron gates. I stood outside in the bitter wind for what felt like an eternity, finally putting the pieces together. Our birth had supposedly threatened the inheritance line. What had I done wrong? All I ever wanted was my parents' genuine, honest love. They had deceived me for twenty-two years, yet the moments of warmth they showed me had felt so real. Looking up at that golden mansion and that luxury bike, I couldn't help but wonder: how much of their affection was ever real? I turned and walked away. Before boarding the bus back, I dialed my father's number. "Dad, are you and Mom coming home for dinner tonight?" "No, sweetie," he replied softly. "Your mom and I found an extra night shift. We want to make some extra cash while we're still young enough to pay down the debt." Through the phone receiver, I distinctly heard the distant roar of a custom motorcycle engine. "Okay," I whispered. Deep inside, my mind was already made up. Back at the apartment, I packed my few belongings and submitted an emergency application for a high-security research project posted by my university department. The project was stationed at a remote government laboratory deep in the western desert. It would last three full years—completely isolated from the outside world, zero cellular service, and zero interruptions. Once my bags were packed, I printed out a photo I had snapped of Lucas's motorcycle outside the mansion and set it plainly on the nightstand. That night, neither of them came home. I was all alone in the dark apartment. I tried calling my father one last time, but nobody picked up. Meanwhile, Miller Global Holdings was handing out massive holiday bonuses. A junior employee boasted on Twitter about receiving a three-thousand-dollar cash envelope from the CEO. Dozens of employees posted pictures of their lavish corporate gala on Instagram. Right on the stage were my parents. My father looked sharp in a tailored tuxedo, a glass of champagne in his hand; my mother wore designer couture and flawless makeup, radiating high-society elegance. Lucas stood front and center, surrounded by admirers, proudly posing for a family portrait with them. My parents seemed convinced that I was too busy breaking my back for pocket change to ever glance at social media gossip. They forgot that I was just an ordinary young woman. How could a girl raised in forced deprivation never browse the internet? During a live interview, a reporter asked my father about their holiday plans. He smiled warmly into the camera. "My son Lucas turned twenty-two this year. Every year, we take him on a luxury vacation abroad. We take off tonight!" My heart sank into a dark, bottomless abyss. I turned twenty-two this year, too. Ever since high school, my parents had told me I was an adult who needed to help pay off the family debts. The farthest trip I had ever taken was a walk to the local neighborhood park. I let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. Whatever. Since they weren't home, this was the cleanest break I could ask for. Grabbing my single suitcase, I stepped out the door without looking back. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. May we never meet again.

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