After barely surviving eighteen years of beatings and neglect in the slums, even being brought back home didn’t change Tristan's fate. His biased family continued to ignore him, and even his fiancée looked down on him with utter contempt.
Everyone despised the rustic aura clinging to him from his rural upbringing—yet not a single one of them ever taught him how to become refined or noble.
Standing beside Ronan, who had received a top-tier education for eighteen years, Tristan—a grown man—had fallen into deep depression, stripped of the will to live.
He willingly gave up on life, begging me to take his place and help him seek revenge... to live the life he never could.
I’d originally planned to refuse.
But when I looked through the tragic trajectory of his life, I realized—shockingly—it mirrored mine almost exactly.
What a coincidence. I’ve never been one to bow to fate. If anything, I live to defy it.
Marissa finally stirred from her faint, and when her eyes fell on me, she recoiled in terror, shaking her head. “You’re not my son... You’re not!”
I shrugged helplessly. “If he had a choice, Tristan wouldn’t want to be your son either.”
Tristan—a name that literally means “melancholy,” or "storm." What kind of parent names their own child something so degrading?
Cassandra shielded a pale and trembling Ronan behind her, throwing me a look of pure disgust before walking over to stand beside Simon.
“Tristan grew up in the slums for eighteen years. Of course he’s picked up all kinds of filthy habits. If I don’t teach him a lesson, he’ll never learn!”
Ronan clutched his chest and put on another pained expression, resuming his act. “Brother, I know you hate me for stealing the good life that should have been yours, but I never thought you’d actually want me dead.”
Marissa began to sob. “All I ever wanted was for you two to get along I didn’t say anything when you bullied him before, but this time, you tried to kill him. I can’t cover for you anymore! You’d better reflect on what you’ve done!”
With that, she turned and left without looking back.
Simon and the others followed, leaving me alone in the vast, silent villa.
I dug into the original host’s memories, trying to find the incidents Marissa had accused him of.
But all I found... was injustice.
The original host once got a perfect score on an exam, proudly sharing it with his family—only to be scolded for being boastful.
All because Ronan barely passed, and to spare his feelings, Tristan never dared mention his own achievements again.
Tristan had a passion for research and was once invited to study abroad as an exchange student by a world-renowned scholar.
But when Ronan said he wanted to stay close to his brother, they rejected the invitation on his behalf without even telling him.
Every time the family went on vacation, Tristan was left behind.
Because Ronan claimed Tristan lacked etiquette and would embarrass the family, they arranged a so-called “etiquette coach” for him—someone completely unqualified, who only made him worse.
Still, Simon and Marissa blamed him for being stupid, as if they’d predicted it all along.
“We knew from the start you weren’t the type with natural talent. So what if you got first place through rote memorization? You still don’t have a shred of grace!”
The favoritism was endless. I honestly didn't understand how Marissa could speak of “covering for him” with a straight face.
Click. The grand hall, once brightly lit, was suddenly plunged into darkness.
The entire villa lost power.
A few messages popped up on the old, cracked flip phone that had belonged to the original host.
They were from Marissa.
[We’ve left. Reflect on your behavior while you’re home alone for a few days.]
[If we don’t starve you a bit, you’ll never learn your place. Don’t even think about leaving—the whole house is locked down with the power out.]
[I had the maid throw out everything in the fridge. If you know what’s good for you, apologize. When your brother forgives you, I’ll consider letting you out.]
