True Heiress’s Wish to Die

Seven years. That's how long I'd been back with the Moreaus, the family I was born into. And in all that time, they all still hated me.

My parents found the stench of poverty impossible to wash off me, a stark contrast to the effortless grace of the girl who had taken my place.

My biological brother, Marcus, blamed me for the year the false daughter had to move out and "suffer" after I first came home. When she moved back in, he guarded her like a junkyard dog, convinced I was a constant threat.

Even Rhys, the boy I practically raised from infancy, declared that the false daughter, Sophie, was the sister he'd always dreamed of.

Me? I was the wicked witch who wouldn't let him eat junk food or play video games all day.

He once told me, with all the certainty of a child, that no one in the world would ever love me.

I thought he was right.

It had to be something in the air of this world, something fundamentally toxic to my existence.

So when a System appeared out of nowhere and asked if I wanted to complete missions in other worlds, I didn't hesitate.

I agreed instantly.

The System came for me the day I got out of the detention center.

I'd been locked up for two weeks. Outside, winter had sunk its teeth into the air. I wrapped my thin windbreaker tighter around myself.

Hunching my shoulders against the biting wind, I mumbled to the System.

"Are you sure? As soon as this body dies, you can take me away?"

After receiving a firm confirmation, my eyes settled on the nearby lake.

I had just started walking toward it when a heavy coat was draped over my shoulders.

I turned my head and came face-to-face with a sight that made my stomach churn.

My dear brother, Marcus Moreau.

Two weeks ago, he was the one who had personally escorted me to the police station.

It was because Sophie's masterpiece for the art competition, which had mysteriously gone missing, was found in my room. In shreds.

At first, I had screamed myself hoarse, trying to defend myself.

But as I looked at their impassive faces, my explanations withered into despair.

I had forgotten. Sometimes, the truth doesn't matter.

Everyone has their own set of scales.

And a single one of Sophies tears could outweigh my entire existence.

Marcus had wiped away that tear and told me, his face a mask of cold disappointment, that I needed to learn a lesson.

Remembering that, I shrugged my shoulders.

The heavy mens coat slid off and landed in a heap on the dusty ground.

Marcuss face tightened, his expression growing colder still.

The old me would have been a mess of anxiety, forcing a placating smile. But now, I just gave him a sideways glance before looking away.

"Does Sophie know you're here?" I asked, my voice flat. "Because I'd hate for her to shed a tear and have you pin the blame on me again."

I offered a thin, humorless smile. "Two weeks ago, she cried, and you sent me to a detention center. You gave me a permanent record and made sure I wouldn't be able to graduate. If she cries again, what's next? Do you want me to bleed out to dry her tears for you?"

Marcus, who had bent down to pick up the coat, froze. He stayed like that for several long seconds.

After all, we both knew the truth. Sophie had destroyed her own painting. It was a pathetic, self-staged drama.

Over the years, her schemes had always been clumsy and obvious, but our parents, Marcus, and Rhys had all chosen to be blind.

Finally, he straightened up, brushing the dust from his coat. He didn't offer it to me again.

He kept his eyes on the ground.

"Come home. Mom and Dad are waiting."

He paused, then finally looked at me. "Mom bought you a strawberry cake."

He reached for my hand.

I flinched back, taking several steps away. "I don't eat strawberry cake. I ate Sophies once, and you locked me outside in the courtyard to stand all night. Remember? It was snowing, too."

The fingers of his outstretched hand curled into a fist. He looked away, his gaze darting around like a cornered animal.

A silent, bitter laugh formed on my lips.

I knew he remembered. That night, as I stood shivering in the snow-filled courtyard, I had looked up and seen him in his second-floor bedroom, warm in a thin sweater.

He gave me a single, indifferent glance before drawing the curtains shut.

Snowflakes landed on my eyelashes, melting into cold trickles that slid down my numb face. I couldn't tell if they were water or tears.

2

Marcuss face was a mess of shame and conflict. His lips moved as if to say something more, but I was already done listening.

The System had promised me a new world. A world where I would have loving parents and a brilliant older brother who adored me.

A world completely different from this one, where every meal I'd eaten for seven years had felt like choking down uncooked rice.

With that thought, I took a deep breath and broke into a run toward the man-made lake.

"Cora! Where are you going?"

As I sprinted, I could hear his frantic footsteps pounding on the pavement behind me.

"Cora! No one at home is blaming you! Sophie promised she'd try to get along with you! You need to stop this, right now"

His angry shouts died in his throat.

Because without a moment's hesitation, I launched myself toward the thin sheet of ice forming at the water's edge.

I ran, full of joy, toward my new world.

But in the next second, my vision flipped. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, tackling me to the frozen grass.

At the same time, I heard a loud splash.

I sat up, pushing myself from the ground, and saw Marcus flailing in the icy water.

He couldn't swim. I could hear his choked gasps for air, his face already turning a deathly shade of blue from the cold.

I just sat there on the lawn, watching him sink, my expression blank.

Chaos erupted on the shore. Someone jumped in and dragged him out.

Wrapped in a blanket, Marcus shivered violently, but his eyes, across the frantic crowd, found mine.

For the first time, those eyes, which always held such cold assessment and judgment when they looked at me, held something else. They held pain. Anguish.

But what did he have to be anguished about?

I shook my head, a scornful smile on my face.

When the Moreau family found me at fifteen, I actually had one good year.

Back then, Sophie had claimed she felt guilty for stealing my life of privilege. She announced she was giving me back my parents and brother, and she moved out with Rhys.

She left with a dramatic flourish, deleting all her contact information for the family.

That year, my mother cooked my favorite dishes. My father canceled business dinners to eat with me.

And Marcus would pick me up from school every day.

The dinner table was often silent, and Marcus was always distracted on the drives home, but I was still clumsy and greedy in my enjoyment of the warmth I had been denied for fifteen years.

I thought I finally had a home.

But the next year, Sophie came back, with Rhys in tow.

She was rail-thin and looked like a startled bird.

And just like that, in less than a year, my father, mother, and brother were no longer mine.

The food on the table was always Sophie's favorite. My father, no matter how late he came home, would always peek into her room.

And I never saw Marcuss car at the school gates again.

Then came Sophies endless campaign of sabotage.

She said I tore her dress. Marcus believed her and threw my entire wardrobe into the backyard pond.

She said I stole her necklace. Marcus looked at me like I was scum. "Give it back to her, Cora. Don't make me search your room."

The necklace was later found in a hidden compartment of Sophies own jewelry box.

She just stuck out her tongue and said she'd forgotten, and no one cared about the suspicion and hurt I had endured.

She said I was spreading rumors about her at school. Marcus didn't even bother to ask me; he just canceled my car service.

Sophie's tactics were never clever, but they were sharp, and they dug into my flesh, causing a pain that was deep and relentless.

My explanations were useless. Their favoritism was a fortress, and I was never allowed even a sliver of their affection.

So what was this performance now? What was all this supposed to mean?

3

The crowd of onlookers on the shore began to disperse.

I stood up, testing the ankle I had twisted in the fall.

I had only taken a couple of steps when an ice-cold hand clamped down on my arm.

"Cora, what in God's name are you trying to do?"

I didn't answer. My eyes scanned the area, searching for a more efficient way to die.

The lake was out. Too easy to be rescued, and too much trouble for the rescuers.

Jumping from a building wouldn't work unless it was high enough. Bashing my head against a wall wasn't a guarantee

"Cora, answer me!"

My silence enraged Marcus. He let out a low growl, his voice trembling on the edge of a breakdown.

"What is it you want? Was that a threat? Were you trying to scare us? Let me tell you, Cora, threatening suicide is the most pathetic tactic there is! Do you think we'll just give in to you? In your dreams!"

His shouting made my ears ring, but strangely, I felt a laugh bubbling up inside me.

See? People who don't love you will see you hanging from a rope and think you're just playing on a swing.

Ignoring my struggles, Marcus dragged me into his car.

He was soaking wet, his lips a deep shade of purple from the cold.

But he seemed oblivious to it, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other clamped around my wrist like a manacle.

I tried to pull away, my voice calm.

"Let go."

He didn't. His grip only tightened.

"Cora, Mom and Dad are waiting for us. You said you wanted to go to Disneyland, remember? I'll buy the tickets in a few days. We'll all go as a family."

A humorless smile twisted my lips. "Is Sophie going?"

His fingers tightened on my wrist. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "I'll keep an eye on her."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. My laughter darkened his expression.

"Cora, you don't need to compete with Sophie. You"

I didn't let him finish. I lunged for the steering wheel.

The car swerved wildly on the empty road. Marcuss voice cracked with terror.

"Cora! Are you insane?"

"We're going to crash!"

Perfect. A quick end for both of us.

Dying with him was disgusting, but taking one of them with me felt like a fair trade.

Fueled by that thought, I yanked the wheel with all my might.

The car fishtailed violently before veering sharply to the right, crashing into the median strip.

The screech of tires echoed in the sudden silence that followed.

But apparently, Marcus had slammed on the brakes in time. The impact wasn't even hard enough to deploy the airbags.

My head swam. I sighed.

Another failure. What a shame.

The first thing I did was reach for the door handle.

Locked.

Marcus slumped in the driver's seat, his face a ghastly shade of white.

After a long moment, he turned to me, the corners of his eyes red, his voice a raw, broken whisper.

"You really want to die that badly? Even if it means taking me with you?"

I clutched my aching head, not even bothering to look at him.

"Marcus, why didn't you just drown in that lake?"

4

Marcus didn't say another word. He just drove, forcing me back to the Moreau estate.

The dead silence between us lasted until we stepped through the front door and saw Sophie.

She was dressed in a white sundress, her cheeks rosy. It was clear my absence had been good for her.

Her eyes widened when she saw Marcus, then narrowed at me, her face immediately crumpling into its usual mask of tearful victimhood.

"Sister Cora, my brother went all the way to get you what did you do to him? How could he be"

"Shut up."

Marcuss voice was hoarse and dry, but it carried an undeniable weight.

Sophies eyes flew open in disbelief. Even our parents, who had hurried into the foyer, looked stunned.

I turned my head, surprised.

It was the first time I had ever heard Marcus speak to Sophie with anything less than gentle indulgence.

His head was bowed, his normally ramrod-straight spine slumped with an uncharacteristic weariness.

"It has nothing to do with Cora."

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over all of us. "From now on, don't jump to conclusions about my business, or Cora's. Especially you."

He fixed his eyes on her. "Sophie."

The color drained from Sophies face. Her lips trembled, and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

But this time, her usual pitiable act was tinged with genuine panic and hurt.

"Brother youre yelling at me for her?"

Just then, another voice, clear but sharp with anger, cut in.

"Marcus! How could you say that to my sister?"

I looked up. Another traitor.

Rhys. The younger brother I had raised by hand before I was "rescued" by the Moreaus.

He stormed down the stairs and planted himself protectively in front of Sophie.

I could still see the ghost of the little boy he used to be in his features, but the look he gave me was pure, cold hostility.

"Cora! What lies have you been telling about my sister now?"

"She has always treated you like her real sister, putting up with all your moods! How can you be so vicious, trying to drive a wedge between her and Marcus? Can't you stand to see any of us happy?"

His words had barely faded when my hand connected with his cheek in a sharp slap.

He staggered back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with shock.

"Cora you you hit me?"

I looked into his disbelieving eyes and gave him a careless smile.

"So what if I did? With a mouth that filthy, aren't you just begging for it?"

Perhaps because I had never treated him this way before, his expression went blank, a familiar, wounded look creeping into his eyes.

For a fleeting moment, I was transported back in time.

I was ten, and Rhys was three.

Our parents had died together in a car accident.

Suddenly, I, a child who could barely care for herself, became the guardian of a toddler.

The meager settlement money was quickly spent by relatives on the pretext of buying a burial plot.

So I learned to act like an adult. I went to the market to pick up the rotten vegetable leaves the vendors threw away.

I would cook a pot of watery porridge, so thin you could see your reflection. I'd drink the water off the top and give the thicker parts at the bottom to Rhys.

When he was old enough for school, I knew there wasn't enough money for both of us.

So, after my own classes, I would scavenge for scraps to sell.

I was chased by stray dogs and bullied by other scavengers.

Back then, I was steeped in the sour stench of the junkyard. My classmates would pinch their noses when I came near.

The smell felt like it had seeped into my very skin. So much so that when I first arrived at the Moreau's house, my mother rushed to embrace me, but her arms only hovered around me for a second before quickly pulling away.

Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and she discreetly raised a hand to her nose.

Rhys had seen my humiliation.

As I stood there, frozen with shame, he reached out and squeezed my hand tightly.

Then he stood in front of me and announced to the Moreau family that I was the best sister in the world, and if they dared to bully me, he would make them pay.

That was the Rhys I knew. But a year after he and Sophie returned to the Moreau house, the best sister in the world became the worst.

He was full of praise for Sophie and criticism for me.

And now, this boy who constantly accused me of being manipulative and psychologically twisted, was looking at me with a rare flicker of hurt in his eyes.

He stood there, head bowed, clutching his cheek, looking pathetic.

His precious sister was clearly heartbroken for him.

Sophie walked toward me, her voice trembling with perfectly modulated emotion.

"Sister, please don't be angry. Rhys is still young, he doesn't know any better. He speaks without thinking. I'll apologize to you on his behalf."

She reached out, as if to take my hand.

"I didn't raise him well. And I I shouldn't have come back. If my being here makes you so unhappy, if it's tearing this family apart, I I can leave again"

There it was. The same old act.

As expected, our mother immediately wrapped a protective arm around her.

"Sophie, don't say such foolish things. This is your home."

Our father glared at me, his eyes full of warning. "Cora, don't stir up trouble the moment you walk in the door."

I scanned the faces in the room.

They were all clustered around Sophie, a protective circle.

And there I was, standing alone in the entryway, an outsider who had never, not for a moment, belonged in this so-called family.

The thought made me sigh.

"You really are a loving family," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "So wonderfully, disgustingly alike."

They all stared at me, stunned.

Sophie was the first to react. She tore herself from our mother's grasp.

"I'll just die! I was a mistake from the beginning! If I die, everything will be clean again!"

She ran to the nearby dining room, snatched a steak knife from the table, and held it to her wrist.

"It's all my fault"

"No! Sophie, put the knife down!" our mother shrieked, shooting me a look of pure hatred.