From that moment on, I knew I was never welcome in this family.
So I walked on eggshells, shrinking myself in every way just to please them.
But love that never existed would never grow. In their eyes, my obedience was nothing but weakness. My efforts were worthless.
In this life, I would never make the same mistake again.
When we arrived at the villa, the driver gently woke me from sleep, and a servant stepped forward to carry my luggage.
At the sight of my worn-out suitcase, someone snickered and muttered under their breath, “Country bumpkin.”
It had been the same in my past life. Back then, I pretended not to hear, choosing instead to bury myself in etiquette books, working tirelessly to prove I belonged.
But this time, I didn’t look away. I called for the housekeeper and calmly pointed to the ones who had laughed.
“Fire all of them.”
The housekeeper froze for a moment, then his expression shifted into quiet disapproval. “Miss Jeanne, they’ve all been with the family for years…”
I met his gaze with a faint smile. “Aren’t I one of the masters of this house?”
The housekeeper said nothing.
Without another word, I turned and walked straight toward the door. “Since the Gomez family doesn’t welcome me, there’s no reason for me to stay.”
His expression didn’t flicker. He was convinced I wouldn’t have the courage to leave.
But when I picked up my suitcase and stepped right through the gates without hesitation, heading toward the neighborhood exit, his composure began to crack.
All the residents in this villa district were of equal social standing; they all knew about the real and fake daughter incident.
If word got out that the Gomez family had driven their real daughter away, they’d lose all their dignity.
The housekeeper hurried after me, but I didn’t spare him a glance. I quickened my pace.
Who would’ve thought that after only a few steps, I would walk straight into someone’s arms?
A familiar, incredible scent wrapped around me, and I instinctively looked up.
It was Lysander.
Eighteen-year-old Lysander still carried the softness of youth, and baby fat lingered on his face, giving him a hint of innocence.
There was no shadow in his gaze yet; his eyes were bright, clear, untouched by time.
When he saw me, he stopped in his tracks, startled, and blurted out, “Jeanne?”
My heart jolted.
Why would Lysander know me at this point in time? For a brief moment, I wondered if he, too, had been reborn.
But the look in his eyes said otherwise, so unguarded, so pure.
The Lysander I had known at twenty-five would never look at me like that.
So then, how did he know who I was?
I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind without hesitation.
Lysander turned his head slightly, his thumb and index finger rubbing together in that subtle, familiar motion. “The Crawford and Gomez families are close. It’s not strange that I know you.”
He was lying.
Whenever Lysander lied, he would rub his fingers together, like snapping an invisible thread.
But what puzzled me more was what he said next.
He shot the housekeeper a cold glare and demanded, “You brought her back to the Gomez family. Why aren’t you treating her properly?”
It was strange.
In my last life, Lysander had never treated me poorly, but he had never defended me either.
As if realizing my confusion, Lysander awkwardly stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body. His ears flushed red.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing all my questions. After all, this version of Lysander was clearly to my advantage.
Lysander personally escorted me back to the Gomez family villa and gave the housekeeper a firm order to dismiss the maids who had mocked me.
Then he turned to me and said with certainty, “Jeanne, if there’s anything else you want, just say the word. I’ve got your back.”
I paused, letting the silence hang for a moment, then pointed directly at Belle’s room.
“Clear it out. I want to live there.”
