Reborn to Ruin the Perfect Fake Heiress

I was dying. I was going to starve to death in the sweltering heat under a concrete interstate overpass, my phone battery clinging to its last breath, when I scrolled past a viral Reddit thread. What’s the most devastating scam you’ve ever pulled on someone who trusted you? The top comment made my blood run cold. My wealthy parents found their missing biological daughter last year, but they couldn’t bear to let me go—the daughter they’d raised for twenty years. So, they let me stay. When she first got here, she didn’t know how our world worked. I played the sweet sister and offered to manage her monthly allowance for her. My mom wired me $8,000 a month for her. I gave her $80. The rest, I spent on myself. In the replies, someone asked what happened to the real daughter. The original poster replied, completely devoid of remorse: My parents just assumed she was white trash who got a taste of money and blew it all. They thought she was inherently bad and couldn't be fixed. So, one day, I just slipped one of my vintage brooches into her suitcase and accused her of stealing. She got kicked out of the house. Honestly, she’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere by now. Reading those words, the truth finally clicked into place. My parents hadn’t neglected me. They had been deliberately kept in the dark by the sister who was suffocating me. As the dark edges of starvation closed in on my vision, my mind raced. What if I had the chance to expose the truth? What would my life have been? When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting on a plush mattress. I had really gone back. Back to the exact day before she framed me. 1 Tomorrow night, the Harrison family would host a formal dinner party. Stella would cry, claiming her grandmother’s antique emerald brooch was missing. The housekeeper would find it zipped into the lining of my suitcase. My father, Arthur Harrison, would publicly scream that trash never changes its stripes, and he would throw me out of the house. My phone buzzed against my palm. A Zelle notification. From Stella Harrison. $80.00. Memo: Monthly allowance! I stared at the three words, a cold laugh catching in my throat. In my past life, I had to survive on this $80 a month. I had to deduct subway fares for my commute to campus, buy toothpaste and shampoo, and ration my tampons. The money left over was only enough for bruised fruit from the discount bins and stale bagels right before the bakeries closed. Eighty dollars. It sounds like something, but stretched over thirty days, it was less than three dollars a day. The Harrisons had also packed my schedule with etiquette coaches and finishing classes, insisting they needed to "polish me into a proper Harrison." Those studios were miles away. I had to take a bus, transfer to a subway, and then catch another bus. I was often so hungry my vision would white out, yet I had to stand in front of floor-to-length mirrors and practice my smile. Because Stella had told me, "Don't look so miserable, Nora. Mom and Dad will think you're ungrateful." A soft knock came at my bedroom door. "Nora? Are you awake?" She was here. I got off the bed and pulled the door open. Stella stood in the hallway, wearing a flawless silk slip dress, a brand-new Cartier Love bracelet gleaming on her wrist. I recognized that bracelet. I had seen it in her anonymous post right before I died. She had attached a photo to her comment: The jewelry I buy with the real heiress’s money is just so gorgeous. She held up her phone screen with a condescending little smile. "I just Zelle'd your allowance. Make sure you accept it." I didn’t tap the screen. Instead, I asked, "Is the allowance Mom and Dad give me really just eighty dollars?" Stella’s smile faltered. It was a microscopic shift. Very light, very brief. But I caught it. She glanced down both ends of the hallway. Once she was sure the corridor was empty, she lowered her voice. "Nora, you just got back. I’m just worried you’ll blow through it all at once, so I’m holding the rest for you. For safekeeping." I kept my voice just as quiet. "So how much do they actually give you for me?" "Why are you asking?" "I just want to know." She stared at me for a few long seconds, and then she smiled. It wasn't the sweet, perfect-daughter smile she reserved for our mother, Eleanor. It was laced with disgust and a heavy dose of aristocratic pity. "What are you going to do even if you knew? Let's get one thing straight. Mom and Dad raised me for twenty years. Who do you think they’ll believe?" She took a step closer, her eyes turning glacial. "If you dare make a scene, they’ll just think you’re greedy. After all, it’s only natural that a girl dragged in from the streets would get a little dollar-struck when she finally sees real wealth, right?" Inside the pocket of my pajama pants, my thumb lightly pressed the button on my phone screen. The voice memo app was recording. I looked at her. "But eighty dollars isn't enough for me to eat." She actually laughed out loud. "Then eat less. Isn't that how you survived before?" That single sentence violently yanked me back to that suffocatingly hot night under the concrete overpass. I was burning with a fever, my lips cracked and bleeding, unable to afford a single bottle of water. The neon lights of a 7-Eleven were shining just across the street, but I only had three quarters in my pocket. Looking at Stella’s face now, I felt a strange sense of dissonance. It was strange because she had never dropped the act for this long around me before. But it was intimately familiar because, from the very beginning, she never wanted me to live like a human being. I nodded slowly. "I understand." Assuming I had backed down, Stella patted my shoulder, thoroughly satisfied. "We have the dinner party tomorrow. The extended family will be here. You’d better watch your mouth." "Don't embarrass Mom and Dad." The moment the door clicked shut, I uploaded the audio file directly to my cloud drive. Then, I opened my laptop and drafted an email to Thomas Caldwell. Mr. Caldwell was the family’s wealth manager; he had handled the Harrisons' accounts for over a decade. In my past life, he hadn't stepped up to help me, but he wasn't exactly in Stella’s pocket, either. I kept my tone perfectly polite and professional. Dear Mr. Caldwell, my university’s financial aid office is requesting proof of my living expenses and income sources. Could you kindly pull the disbursement records for my monthly allowance since I moved back home? Half an hour later, I had a reply. Attached were three months of authorization forms. Authorized by: Eleanor Harrison. Payee: Stella Harrison. Amount: $8,000.00. Memo: Nora’s monthly living expenses, to be managed and disbursed by Stella. I stared at the string of zeros for a very long time. It wasn't that the Harrison family refused to give me money. It was that they had handed my literal survival over to the one person who was terrified of seeing me thrive. I didn't storm downstairs to scream and demand answers. The Nora of the past loved to explain herself. Even as I was being dragged out the front doors, I was sobbing, begging, "I swear I didn't steal it!" But in the Harrison house, the truth without evidence was worthless. I downloaded the PDFs, backed them up to my drive, and forwarded them to someone else. Sloane Mercer. Sloane was a 3L law student I had met at a campus legal aid clinic, already interning at a top-tier corporate firm downtown. In my past life, right after I was kicked out, she had texted me asking if I was in trouble. But by then, my phone was shut off for unpaid bills, the screen was shattered, and I was delirious with fever. I missed her lifeline. I wasn't going to miss it this time. After I explained everything on the phone, the line went dead silent for a few seconds. Then Sloane asked, her voice razor-sharp, "Are you absolutely certain she’s going to plant the brooch tomorrow?" "I'm certain." "Where is she going to hide it?" I glanced at the corner of my bedroom. "My suitcase." Sloane’s tone was steady and entirely pragmatic. "Then you have two jobs tonight. Number one: do not touch a single piece of her jewelry. Number two: set up a camera in your bedroom. Frame it so it only captures the door, your suitcase, and the general walking area. Do not film the bathroom or where you change clothes. You are doing this to protect your personal property and safety. It’s entirely legal." Listening to her crisp instructions, my racing heart finally settled back into my chest. "What if my parents still try to sweep it under the rug?" Sloane let out a dark little laugh. "Then we don't just show it to your parents. Lies aren't afraid of tears, Nora. They’re afraid of a closed-loop chain of evidence." After hanging up, I slipped out to Best Buy and bought two discreet Wyze cameras. When I returned to the estate, my mother, Eleanor, was in the sunroom arranging white hydrangeas. Seeing the plastic bag in my hand, her brow furrowed. "Spending money on unnecessary things again?" I stopped in my tracks. "It was forty dollars." She sighed, a sound heavy with aristocratic exhaustion. "Nora, it’s not that I mind giving you money. But you just got back. You have to learn how to manage yourself. Stella told me you’ve been complaining about being broke lately." I looked at her. This was my biological mother. The day the DNA results came back, she had held me against her chest and wept, crying about how much I had suffered all these years. But shortly after, she handed my finances over to Stella, and along with it, the authority to dictate my narrative. I asked, "Mom, do you know how much I actually receive every month?" Eleanor blinked, taken aback. Then, a flash of annoyance crossed her features. "Didn't Stella arrange your allowance? She understands the rules of this house better than you do." "And if she hasn't been giving it to me?" The gentle, maternal softness drained from Eleanor’s face. "How could you even say that? Why is your mind always so twisted? She is already feeling incredibly insecure because you’re back. Just because we let her stay doesn't mean we don't love you. You are sisters. You need to show some grace." Sisters. What a sick joke. I lowered my eyes and gave a soft, noncommittal hum. Thinking she had gotten through to me, her tone softened again. "We have the dinner tomorrow. Dress appropriately. The Kensingtons will be there." The Kensingtons. Hayes Kensington. Technically, he was the fiancé my grandfather had promised to the biological Harrison daughter years ago. But the day I was brought home, my father, Arthur, had simply waved a hand and said, "It’s a different era. We aren't going to bind the children with archaic promises." And so, Hayes continued to parade around town with Stella on his arm. Everyone in our social circle silently agreed that the engagement had never belonged to me. In my past life, they even got married. They used my grocery money to book the Plaza, shoot their engagement photos, and buy their Cartier bands. Looking back on it now, it was enough to make me sick. At ten o'clock that night, Stella pushed my door open. She was holding an iced matcha latte, playing the part of the doting sister. "Mom said you were asking about your allowance again?" I was kneeling on the rug, organizing my suitcase. The camera was tucked perfectly behind a stack of books on my shelf, its lens trained directly on the doorway and the luggage. I didn’t turn around. "Eighty dollars isn't enough." She set her glass down on my desk and walked up behind me. "Nora, you need to learn to be grateful." "How much of it are you skimming?" I asked. The air went dead. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. A few seconds later, she chuckled. "Skimming is an ugly word." "The Harrisons raised me for twenty years, and you expect to just waltz in and take everything? What does it matter if I spend a little of it for you?" I turned around to face her. "Does that include spending it on Hayes?" Stella’s face twitched. But she quickly smoothed her features back into that sickeningly gentle mask. "Hayes loves me. An engagement is about feelings, not archaic contracts." She leaned down, her lips brushing close to my ear. "Besides... after tomorrow, who knows if you’ll even be allowed to stay in this house." I played dumb. "What does that mean?" She smiled. "Nothing. Get some sleep." At 1:47 AM, a motion alert pinged on my phone. In the black-and-white night vision on my screen, Stella, wearing her silk nightgown, pushed my door open with practiced silence. I kept my eyes shut, my breathing slow and even. She glanced at my bed first. Then, she moved to the suitcase on the floor, unzipped the interior lining, and slipped an antique emerald brooch inside. The next evening, the Harrison family dinner was in full swing. The dining room was packed with extended relatives. Hayes Kensington was there, too. He sat next to Stella, leaning in close to peel the shell off a shrimp for her. One of my aunts laughed softly. "Hayes spoils our Stella just as much as ever." Stella lowered her head, the picture of blushing modesty. Eleanor watched them with a look of profound, maternal contentment. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, looking like a last-minute addition to the guest list. In my past life, I was so paralyzed by the extravagance of this room that I used the wrong fork for my salad, earning a chorus of muffled giggles from my aunts. Tonight, I just quietly ate my food. Halfway through the main course, Stella suddenly touched her collarbone. All the color drained from her face. "Where’s my brooch?" Eleanor was on high alert instantly. "Which one, sweetheart?" "The emerald one Grandma gave me." Stella’s voice began to tremble. "I know I put it on my vanity this afternoon." A heavy silence fell over the table. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and yet, she didn't look at anyone else. She looked straight at me. Hayes put down his silver cutlery. "Don't panic. We’ll find it. Things don’t just vanish into thin air." When he said it, his gaze also landed heavily on me. I looked up from my plate. "Why are you looking at me?" Hayes frowned. "I didn't say it was you." I let out a cold scoff. Arthur tapped the table sharply, his face stern. "Nora. Mind your manners." Stella immediately grabbed Hayes’s sleeve. "It’s fine, let's just drop it. Maybe I remembered wrong." That only made Eleanor panic more. "Drop it? It’s a family heirloom. We absolutely cannot just drop it." A tear finally slipped down Stella’s cheek. "Mom, I’m really not suspecting Nora. It’s just... yesterday she kept complaining that her allowance wasn't enough, and I’m just terrified she might have had a moment of weakness..." She left the sentence hanging. She didn't need to finish it. Everyone at the table understood exactly what she meant. The relatives' expressions soured instantly. "Not enough allowance?" "Doesn't she get eight thousand a month?" "Eight thousand isn't enough? Good lord." "Well, she grew up on the streets. You really have to teach her boundaries." Eleanor looked humiliated. She turned to me, her voice trembling but sharp. "Nora, just bring it out right now. I won't be angry with you, but we end this right here, right now." I looked at her. "You’re already angry." She froze. Arthur’s face turned thunderous. "Search the house." The housekeeper was sent upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, she walked back into the dining room carrying my suitcase. She unzipped the inner lining, and there it was. Under the crystal chandelier, the emerald was blindingly green. Stella covered her mouth, a sob tearing from her throat. "Nora... how could you?" Hayes stood up abruptly, his chair scraping violently against the hardwood. "Nora, this is completely out of line." Arthur slammed his fist on the table. "We brought you back into this family, not so you could steal from us like a common thief!" This was the exact moment from my past life. The moment I had cried and begged. The moment I said someone had been in my room. The moment I swore I didn't even know what the brooch looked like. Nobody believed me. Because I had no proof, and Stella was crying. Because, deep down, they all already believed that a girl raised in the gutter would naturally have sticky fingers. This time, I didn't shed a single tear. I wiped my mouth with my linen napkin and stood up. "Call the police." The entire room went dead silent. Stella’s face twitched. I looked dead at Arthur. "Since you’re all so convinced I’m a thief, call the police. Let them dust for prints. Pull the security footage. Let them investigate exactly who touched my suitcase." Arthur suppressed his rage, his voice a low hiss. "This is a family matter. Are you really going to drag the police into this?" I shot back, "Weren't you just accusing me of grand larceny? A missing heirloom isn't a small family matter, is it?" Stella frantically intervened. "Nora, I really don't want to press charges! If you just admit you made a mistake, I can forgive you." I stared her down. "Forgive me for what?" She cried harder, her shoulders shaking. "I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. You blew through your eight thousand dollars, and when you asked me for more, I didn't give it to you right away. But if you needed money, you could have just talked to me! Why did you have to take the brooch?" Perfect. She finally brought up the money. I pulled out my phone and connected it to the massive smart TV mounted in the adjoining living room.