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.