The wind screamed past my ears, tearing the breath from my lungs.

A split second before the fall, a billionaire had claimed I was his long-lost granddaughter, whisking me away into a life of unimaginable wealth. He had casually tossed my mother a check with enough zeroes to buy a small island. Without a flicker of hesitation, she signed her name, shoving me out the door without once asking if I wanted to go.

Later, my twin sister saw me on television, living in a sprawling mansion, flanked by a security detail. Jealousy is a venom that rots the brain. She used a tearful reunion as an excuse to visit, and the moment my back was turned, she shoved me off the sixteenth-floor balcony.

Her face, contorted into a monstrous sneer, was the last thing I saw.

"We have the exact same face! Why do you get to be the billionaire’s miracle? Once you’re dead, that empire is mine!"

When I hit the pavement, the pain wasn't just immense; it was an apocalyptic shattering of every nerve in my body. Blood pooled in my mouth, hot and thick. The heavy, metallic stench of iron filled my nostrils as my vision dimmed, my dying eyes locked on the tiny, frantic silhouette of my sister looking down from the penthouse.

In those final, agonizing seconds, the truth of my "fairytale" reunion flashed before my eyes. The sterile rooms. The needles. The cage.

If I ever get a second chance, I thought, the darkness swallowing me whole, I would rather die than let him take me again.

1

"Are you deaf? I told you to get your sister for dinner!"

The shrill, grating voice of my mother, Brenda, shattered the silence. I stood frozen, my mind violently spinning.

It wasn't until a sharp kick landed on my shin that the sensory details of the room snapped into focus—the smell of stale cooking grease, the peeling wallpaper, the faded linoleum.

I was back. I was standing in our cramped apartment, mere minutes before the billionaire and his lawyers knocked on our door.

A tidal wave of euphoria crashed over me. But the real shock came when my twin sister, Riley, walked out of my bedroom. She was wearing my clothes—a faded, oversized band tee I usually slept in.

The moment she met my eyes, a chilling smirk played on her lips. My gut instantly knew. She remembered, too. She had also been sent back.

"Sweetheart, why are you wearing her rags? Won't your skin break out?" Brenda asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Riley only ever wore the good clothes. If a fabric wasn't premium cotton or silk blends, she claimed it gave her a rash. So, for eighteen years, I wore the thrift store rejects and her cast-offs.

Riley ignored Brenda's concern, excitedly grabbing her arm. "Mom, that doesn't matter right now. Come here. I need to tell you something."

She dragged Brenda into the tiny kitchen, their heads bent together in hushed, urgent whispers. Through the narrow doorway, I watched the skepticism on Brenda’s face melt away, replaced by a greedy, ear-to-ear grin that deepened the harsh lines around her mouth.

Cold sweat prickled across my skin. Riley was going to steal my identity. She was going to volunteer to be the billionaire's long-lost granddaughter.

But would he buy it? Would he believe Riley was the one he was looking for? What if I was the one dragged away again?

Three sharp knocks on the front door made me flinch. My heart hammered against my ribs. I made a silent vow right then and there: if he saw through her lie and tried to take me, I would throw myself out the window before I ever let him put me in his car. Better to end it on my own terms than endure the slow, torturous hell of my past life.

Smack!

A stinging slap across my cheek snapped my head to the side. Brenda glared at me, her voice a venomous hiss. "From this second on, you are your sister. You keep your mouth shut, you hear me? You say one word, and I'll beat you half to death."

At the door, Riley pulled it open just a crack, peeking out with manufactured innocence. "Um, can I help you?"

She was perfectly mirroring my quiet, timid voice from our past life. She even nailed my wide-eyed, hesitant stare.

Mr. Hayes, the icy, suited secretary, stepped inside without asking, holding a thick leather portfolio. Behind him walked Arthur Kensington.

Arthur’s sharp, sunken eyes scanned our decaying living room with unconcealed disgust. He lowered himself onto our ratty sofa like a king claiming a dirty throne, immediately doubling over in a fit of violent, wet coughing.

Riley hurried over, playing her part. "Who are you? Why are you in our house? Get out before I call the cops!"

Mr. Hayes adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, looking Riley up and down before turning his attention to Brenda. "Ms. Miller. Please review these documents. Your daughter, Wren, is Mr. Kensington's biological granddaughter. She was switched at birth in the hospital. Mr. Kensington’s health is failing, and he wishes to bring his sole heir home."

It was a poorly constructed lie, riddled with plot holes. The first time I heard it, I thought they were running a scam. Riley and I were identical twins. How on earth could only one of us be switched at birth?

But before I could even process the absurdity, Brenda had snatched the supposed DNA test. She pretended to read the medical jargon, but her eyes were entirely locked on the document tucked behind it.

The settlement agreement.

If she let me go, Arthur was offering her a cool five million dollars as "compensation for her years of care."

Brenda didn't hesitate. She didn't ask for a pen; she grabbed the one from Hayes's breast pocket and scrawled her name with trembling, frantic hands. She was vibrating with the high of a sudden, unearned fortune.

"Mom?" I mumbled, playing my part perfectly, letting my voice crack with feigned confusion.

"Shut up," Brenda snapped, not even looking at me. "The DNA test is right here. You're his granddaughter. No wonder I never could stand you—you aren't even mine." She turned to Arthur, her smile practically unhinged. "Mr. Kensington, I only have one daughter now, and that's Riley. Please, take your girl home."

She couldn't get rid of me fast enough.

She didn't question the logic of twins. She didn't ask what I wanted, or if I was terrified to leave with strangers. She didn't even wonder where her other daughter would theoretically be. Her eyes were glued to the check, terrified that if she blinked, the paper would evaporate.

In my past life, I had clung to the doorframe, crying, begging her not to make me go. My fingernails had bled against the wood. She hadn't even looked back.

2

I stood by the peeling radiator, watching the scene unfold with the detached chill of a ghost.

Hayes scrutinized Riley, then let his gaze slide over to me. A shiver racked my spine. Mimicking Riley’s usual arrogant demeanor, I lifted my chin and glared right back at him, my expression radiating teenage hostility.

"Which one of you is Wren?" Hayes asked, his voice smooth and clipped.

His background check would have told him that Wren was the unloved one, the girl in the hand-me-downs. But because Riley had stolen my ratty t-shirt, he couldn't tell us apart by our clothes.

That was exactly why Arthur had chosen me in the first place. An unloved, neglected child is the easiest to sever from her roots. No one comes looking for the girl nobody wanted.

Seeing Hayes hesitate, Riley quickly stepped in front of me, shielding me from their view.

"I... I'm Wren," she stammered, shrinking into herself. "Is it true? Am I really not my mother's?"

She sounded heartbreakingly fragile, but I could see the manic, triumphant gleam dancing in her eyes.

After a tense beat, Hayes gave Arthur a subtle nod.

Arthur descended into another agonizing coughing fit, his face turning a dangerous shade of plum. For a second, I thought he might just drop dead right there on our cheap rug. My heart was in my throat, terrified he would see through Riley's act.

But he bought it. He slowly nodded. Hayes handed the final copy of the agreement to Brenda.

Arthur stood up, leaning heavily on his silver-tipped cane, and offered Riley a grandfatherly smile. "Wren, my dear. Come with your grandfather. Let me spend my final days making up for all the time we've lost."

Tears welled up in Riley's eyes—a masterclass in manipulation. "Grandpa! You finally found me."

She threw herself into Arthur's arms, but not before shooting me a vicious, gloating smirk over his shoulder.

"Sir, we need to leave," Hayes interrupted, checking his watch.

Riley pulled back, wiping her eyes. "Grandpa, could I come by later tonight? I need to say goodbye to my mom. Even if she didn't love me, she kept a roof over my head. I want to do this the right way."

Arthur frowned slightly, but the performance won him over. He patted her hand. "Very well. I will leave a driver for you. Don't be late."

Riley nodded furiously, walking them to the door like the perfect, obedient heiress.

3

"Oh my god, honey! It actually worked! They believed you!"

The door hadn't even clicked shut before Brenda started shrieking. Her hands shook so violently the five-million-dollar check made a frantic, fluttering sound in her grip. "Five million! Five million dollars for absolutely nothing!"

"Mom, listen to me," Riley said, dropping the timid-girl act immediately. Her voice was sharp, commanding. "He thinks I'm Wren. You need to get her out of here. Now. Give her some cash and her college acceptance letter. Tell her to leave town today."

"Why?" Brenda asked, distracted by the zeroes.

"Because we can't have loose ends!" Riley hissed. "Once she's gone, you take this money and buy a luxury condo across the city. Cut your phone line. Even if she comes back, she won't be able to find you."

They were standing less than ten feet away from me, loudly conspiring how to erase my existence.

I couldn't help it; a dark, quiet joy bloomed in my chest. Walking away from this nightmare was going to be so much easier than I thought.

"But... she is your sister," Brenda murmured, the check lowering slightly. For a fraction of a second, I thought a dormant, maternal instinct had finally flickered to life.

Then she sighed. "If she leaves, who’s going to do all the chores around here?"

And there it was. The drop from heaven to hell. For half a breath, I thought I was a daughter. I was just losing an unpaid maid. It was liberating, honestly, to let the last shred of hope I had for her love finally die.

"Mom, you have five million dollars! You can hire a live-in housekeeper!" Riley argued, exasperated. "Don't forget, the billionaire wanted her!"

Seeing Brenda waver, I decided to give them the final push.

"Wait," I said, stepping forward, my voice trembling with fake indignation. "Were those men looking for me? I'm the real granddaughter? How could you lie to him, Riley? He's dying! He just wants to see his real family! I'm going to go find him!"

I bolted toward the front door. Riley lunged, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. I was chronically malnourished and built like a bird; she easily yanked me backward.

Her face darkened, a vicious sneer twisting her features. "You take one step out that door, and I'll break your legs. I am the heiress now. You are never, ever stealing my luxury life again."

Together, Brenda and Riley shoved me down the short hallway and threw me into my bedroom, locking the door from the outside.

To sell the performance, I pounded on the cheap wood. "Let me out! Please! You can't do this!"

"Give it up!" Riley yelled through the door. "Get out of this city and don't ever let me see your face again! If you try to ruin this for me, I'll make sure the Kensington family destroys you!"

Her footsteps retreated. Once I was sure they were gone, my hands dropped from the wood. I slid down the door until I hit the floor, my tense muscles finally going slack.

My shirt was plastered to my back with cold sweat.

Riley thought she had stolen a golden ticket. She had only seen the paparazzi photos from my past life—the designer clothes, the galas, the pristine smile. She had no idea what was happening behind the velvet ropes.

A dying billionaire searching for a lost granddaughter. It was the greatest lie ever told.

A dark, bitter smile stretched across my face. Fortunately, someone else was going to take the fall for me this time. I just hoped Riley enjoyed her "luxury life" when she finally realized what it actually cost.

4

After two hours of muffled scheming, Riley left to meet her driver. A few minutes later, the lock clicked, and Brenda opened my door.

On the kitchen table sat a neat stack of cash. Maybe twenty thousand dollars.

My mother, true to form, was cheap to her very core. She had just been handed five million dollars, and parting with twenty grand looked like it was physically causing her pain.

"Your sister is right," Brenda said, refusing to meet my eyes. "Take this money and get the hell out."

She scurried into her bedroom and came back out, tossing a few items onto the table next to the cash. My birth certificate, my social security card, and my crumpled acceptance letter to the Rhode Island School of Design.

Things I treated like sacred relics, she tossed like garbage.

The day that RISD letter arrived, she had snatched it from my hands, threatening to burn it. I had applied entirely to out-of-state schools, desperate for any excuse to put a thousand miles between us. I thought she had thrown it in the trash years ago.

My hands trembled violently as I picked up the thick envelope. I hadn't seen this letter in my past life. I never got the chance. And now, holding it, the reality of my freedom finally sank in.

"Stop looking so pathetic," Brenda sneered. "Take your crap and leave. As of today, I don't have a second daughter. And don't come crying to me when you fail. You're cut out of the will. You aren't getting a dime when I'm old."

As if I'd ever come back to wipe her drool, I thought.

"Mom," I said, my voice shockingly steady. "Are you saying twenty thousand dollars is the buyout price for our entire relationship?"

She stiffened.

"Because that old man gave you five million," I continued, leaning casually against the table. "And we both know his real granddaughter is standing right here."

Since Riley was already gone, Brenda was stripped of her strategist. She was on her own, and she wasn't smart.

"What are you implying?" Brenda hissed, her face flushing. "That money is mine! You little ungrateful bitch—"