Zea's POV
Not only did Sheila lie, but she also doubled down, claiming the money I showed was actually scraped together from her living expenses. She even said I didn’t know how to be grateful.
And everyone believed her.
The moment those words left her mouth, I was branded a gold-digger, a social climber, a heartless freeloader.
I was shunned and gossiped about constantly.
Even worse, people started whispering that my dad and brother weren’t actually my family, but my sugar daddies.
After that, misfortune came crashing down on my entire family.
One by one, our companies went bankrupt. Then came the car accidents, one after another, until none of them were left.
Thinking back now, I remembered that strange “system” Sheila had. And just remembering it, a chill ran down my spine.
This time, I wouldn't make any rash moves. Not until I fully understand what that system was and how it worked. I have to be smart and cautious.
I thought that by staying quiet and not standing up to challenge her, Sheila would be pleased.
But instead, her expression turned sour. She stared at me with a strange intensity, like she was waiting for me to speak up and expose her.
But why? Why would she want me to call her out?
The teacher and students had been clapping politely for a while, clearly getting tired of her little performance. Soon, the teacher gestured for her to step down.
But Sheila just stared into space, like she was talking to someone only she could see.
Just when the whole room was getting restless, she suddenly spoke up again.
“Miss, why don’t we have Zea come up to introduce herself?”
Hearing my name come out of her mouth made everyone sit up straighter. Since she had just claimed to be the daughter of the city’s richest man, people assumed I must come from some elite background, too.
“I’ve seen Zea’s skincare. It’s La Mer. Her bag looks like a luxury brand, too. I bet she’s some wealthy heiress.”
“Yeah, someone told me she even had a private maid help her make her bed on the first day of school. I knew she wasn’t just some regular student!”
But the mood instantly shifted as Sheila added, “She’s a student I’m sponsoring. I wanted her to go next.”
The room went dead silent. Then came the whispers.
“Wait, what? She’s on financial aid? Then how is she affording all that stuff?”
“Maybe all of that belongs to Sheila, and she just borrowed it? That’s so shameless if it’s true.”
“Ugh, that’s disgusting. Acting rich when you’re not? What a fake.”
And just like that, Sheila’s trap was clear.
If I didn’t defend myself, I’d be stuck with the label of a fraud pretending to be poor.
But if I did speak up, she’d just humiliate me again with “evidence” like last time.
But that was the part I couldn’t figure out.
Why was she so desperate for me to slap her with the truth? Why did she want to be exposed just so she could expose me back?
Then it hit me.
Back then, the downfall of my entire family started right after I tried to reveal her lies and got publicly humiliated in return.
Could the two events be connected?
Instead of playing into her hands again, I made a choice.
I stood up calmly and walked to the front of the class.
“My clothes and bags are knockoffs, and it was my mom who helped me settle in on day one, not a maid. I'm a financial aid student, sure, but having a bit of vanity isn’t a crime, is it?”
Most of my classmates weren’t exactly rich themselves. As such, they just nodded with a neutral expression. Seeing me admit it so openly, they only thought I was proud and maybe a little image-conscious, but nothing worth judging harshly.
But Sheila, on the other hand, looked stunned.
She clearly didn’t expect me to accept the label so easily, and her expression slowly turned from confusion to frustration.
It was like I had just messed up her entire plan.
And at that moment, I knew I’d guessed right.
If I were going to play the part of a financial aid student, I might as well go all in.
As soon as I stepped off stage, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the family group chat.
[Starting today, no one is allowed to send me a single cent. Not even a buck. If anyone sends me money, I’ll hold a grudge toward them and never talk to them again.]
Of course, my family objected. They were totally against it.
But I kept pushing, nagging, pleading, guilt-tripping, until they finally gave in.
Just to make sure no one caved later on, I even made them all sign a written agreement about it.
