No More Good Girl, I Rose to the Top

I was the product of a one-night stand, carrying my mother’s dream of marrying into High Society.

When she first found out I was in her womb, she took the pregnancy test to Richard Coleman.

She didn’t get a title, but she got five million dollars as a “settlement fee.”

But my mother didn’t abort me. She secretly gave birth to me and took me again to Richard.

He didn’t even remember who she was.

Not long after, the media went wild covering Richard’s wedding.

Seeing the baby in the bride’s arms, my mother was consumed with bitterness.

“All your fault! If you were a boy, I would be Mrs. Coleman!”

To earn her love, I behaved perfectly.

I did everything she asked, cooperating with her to film all kinds of videos.

I became a popular influencer child star, making her a fortune.

But behind the camera, she shoved me into many men’s rooms.

At eighteen, I died of a body covered in festering sores.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at eight years old.

She was smiling at me, saying, “That face of yours looks so much like his. You’ll fetch a high price.”

…

The familiar stench hit me.

First, the burning bite of whiskey, then the perfume on my mother’s skin.

Next came the searing pain, spreading from my arm to my back.

“Useless brat! Cursed child! It’s all your fault!”

Her slurred curses fell with each blow on my body.

I snapped my eyes open. My vision took a moment to focus.

Her hair was messy, her makeup smeared, and she was digging her nails into the inside of my arm.

“Why the hell did I ever give birth to a worthless thing like you!”

She yanked my ear, her breath reeking of alcohol blowing across my face.

“If you were a boy, he’d have recognized you! All your fault, you worthless girl!”

Then she suddenly laughed hysterically.

“But this face of yours—it’s looking more and more like that bastard.”

“I hear there are plenty of men who like this type—young and fresh.”

“Looking so much like him, someone will definitely pay a high price.”

The alcohol made her words slur, her logic collapse, yet everything she said overlapped with countless nights from my past life.

The stench of decay before death seemed to envelope me.

Her vengeful laugh still echoed in my ears.

“Richard Coleman! You dare marry someone else? Then I’ll have your daughter slept with by thousands!”

“You have no idea how excited they get, knowing they’re sleeping with your flesh and blood!”

“So what if I can’t be Mrs. Coleman? As long as they pay high prices for this face, I’ll never lack money!”

“Useless brat! Blame your father! Other women can become rich by having a child—why not me?”

“I bore him a child too! Why wasn’t I the one who became Mrs. Coleman?”

My whole life was her bargaining chip for a dream of High Society.

Ridiculous, since Richard had countless lovers and too many children to even remember her.

She blamed me for not tying down my philandering father.

Blamed me for being the wrong gender, for having a cursed horoscope.

She tried every trick but never married into the elite, and I was unforgivable.

The loneliness and pain before death had filled me with boundless hatred, yet looking at my small body, I had to swallow it down.

Pretending to be the eight-year-old still desperate for her mother’s love, I cried, “Mom, it hurts. I’m sorry, I’ll be good. Please stop hitting me.”

Her snores soon filled the bedroom.

Only then did I lift my face, the fear already gone.

I picked up a knife and walked to her bed.

Just as the blade was about to touch her neck, her phone lit up.

A message flashed across the screen, mentioning a Private Club I remembered from my previous life.