Transmigrated Queen Versus Reborn Rival

Bad news: Im dead.

Good news: Ive transmigrated into a book.

Bad news: I woke up in the womb of a rural farm wife, destined to be the Fake Heiress in a trashy melodrama.

Good news: Ive read the book. Cover to cover.

I know exactly what happens. The True Heiress returns, weaponizing our parents' guilt to dismantle my life. She orchestrates a scandal, framing me for an incestuous affair with my brother. The scandal destroys the Calloway family's reputation, my parents kick me out in a rage, and I end up dying alone in a rain-slicked alleyway.

So, I started planning early.

At five years old, I emptied my piggy bank and hired a little beggar girl to knock on our front door and claim she was the long-lost daughter.

At eight, I hired the second one.

At ten, the third.

...

By the time I turned fifteen, the Calloway mansion was stuffed with eight "True Heiresses."

The ancients didn't understand the science of DNA, and neither did the modern pseudo-science peddled in this books universe. They just knew that when you mixed alum with water, blood merged. And miraculously, the blood of all eight girls blended perfectly with the Marquis and Marchioness.

As for how one missing daughter turned into eight...

As the familys spiritual gurua Monk from the Hillssaid: Destiny is ineffable.

Then came the year I turned sixteen. The real True Heiress finally showed up.

"Im looking for Senator Calloway, or Lady Catherine. Please, just tell them... Im their biological daughter. There was a switch at the hospital sixteen years ago."

The day Tiffany, the actual True Daughter, came to claim her birthright, the rain was coming down harder than a scene from The Notebook.

She stood ramrod straight at the wrought-iron gates.

Her cheap, thin clothes clung to her starving frame, outlining every rib. Rainwater streamed down her matted hair, and her skin was the color of old paper. But her eyes? They burned with a terrifying, manic brightness.

Or, as Old Man Miller, the gatekeeper, put it:

"That girls got a few screws loose, standing out in a hurricane like that."

"Besides, I cant drag a soaking wet stray in front of the Senator and Her Ladyship. If she tracks mud on the Persian rugs or gets everyone sick, its my head on the block!"

Miller looked at the shivering girl with a pained expression. Ever since the mansion started collecting daughters like Pokmon, every month brought a few new hopefuls claiming to be the lost Calloway heiress. Most were frauds. But you never knew when a real one might slip through.

When the news reached the inner parlor, I was sitting with Mother.

Hearing that another daughter had arrived to claim her bloodline, Mother physically shuddered.

"Oh, dear God. When will it end? I dont have any fingers left to prick!"

She held up her hands, looking utterly tragic. Ten fingers, all wrapped in bandages.

"Do you know how long its been since I played the piano? I see a needle now and my phantom pain flares up."

She thrust her bandaged hands into my face, pouting like a child.

"Mommy needs ten of your special lattes to recover from this trauma."

I laughed, carefully cradling her hands and blowing on them gently. "Okay, okay. Ill make them this afternoon. With the extra caramel drizzle you like."

"Why couldn't she come when your father was home?" Mother sighed, defeated, but she still extended a finger for the maid to unwrap. "Why does it always have to be my blood?"

Jinx, Mothers personal assistant, brought over the gilded bowl and carefully took a drop of blood.

"Let's just hope this is finally Number Nine. Then we can stop the bloodletting," Jinx muttered.

"Heaven have mercy, this has to be Sister Nine!" I said cheerfully.

The whole household knew the prophecy: Nine daughters would return.

Counting me, that made ten. Mother always said I was the one who made the family "a perfect ten."

When the first "True Daughter" arrived, the blood merged, and my parents wept tears of joy.

When the second ones blood merged, Father cried, but Mother grabbed a decorative sword from the walluntil her blood merged too.

By the third, they hired the Guru.

The Guru stroked his beard and declared, "Nine is the number of the ultimate. Through a twist of cosmic fate, the Calloway destiny has split into nine avatars."

Why nine?

Ineffable.

With so many "True Daughters" running aroundand so many fakes trying to get inI, the "Fake Daughter" who grew up by their side, actually became a rare commodity. I was the constant. The emotional support animal. Plus, I had a silver tongue. Being the favorite was simply my paycheck for managing this circus.

Jinx returned with the bowl.

Naturally, Tiffany hadn't even met Mother yet. DNA testingor this world's mystic blood equivalentwas an industrial assembly line at the Calloway estate.

Mother looked at the two merging drops of blood in the bowl and wept tears of relief.

"Finally! Number Nine! Get a suite ready! And tell security: if anyone else comes claiming to be my daughter, release the hounds!"

Tiffany was cleaned up and brought to the main courtyard.

Why the courtyard and not the living room?

Honestly, there were too many of us. We wouldn't fit on the sectional.

Tiffany, looking bewildered in fresh designer clothes, was immediately swarmed by a gaggle of beautiful, loud women.

"How old are you, sis?"

"Don't be stupid, she's the same age as us!"

"Where have you been living? Why did it take you so long to come home?"

"Did you go to school? What's your GPA?"

"You look anemic. Have you been taking your iron supplements?"

"What's your talent? We can trade skills!"

Mother looked on with a satisfied, maternal glow. Sure, it was chaotic, but they were all her good girls.

Sister One came back early; shes a prodigy in arts and literature.

Sister Two, the General, isn't into the arts. She leads the "Extinction Unit" in the Special Forces. Shes rarely home.

Sister Three grew up poor and terrified, so she became a Wall Street shark. She manages the familys investment portfolio now.

Sisters Four through Eight came later, but they all hustled.

Four is a fashion designerher embroidery is so exclusive even the Royal Consorts have to get on a waitlist.

Five is a painter. Six is a top-tier surgeon. Seven is a PR genius who knows everyone.

Eight is young but brilliant, currently interning as a companion to the Princess.

And me?

I control the food supply. I introduced modern cuisine to this world. I own their stomachs.

And Tiffany?

As far as I knew, she had zero skills.

The farm wife who raised her was poor. Tiffany didn't suffer abuse, but she didn't get piano lessons or coding boot camps.

"Who... who are they?" Tiffany asked, her voice trembling.

"Oh, sweetie, these are your sisters. Come, say hello," Mother said, beaming.

Tiffany looked like she was about to faint. This wasn't in the script. She traveled hundreds of miles to reclaim her life, only to find the mansion already stocked with eight other versions of herself?

"No! Impossible! I am the real one! I am your only daughter! Mother, theyre lying to you!"

Silence fell over the courtyard like a heavy blanket.

The smile faded from Mothers face. She frowned, elegant brows knitting together.

"Nine, don't speak nonsense. These are your flesh-and-blood sisters. Their blood merged with mine just like yours. How could they be fake?"

"Blood? What blood?!" Tiffany screamed, losing it.

"Them! They have to be fakes! Its a trick! Mother, you have to believe me, I am the only one!"

She was shaking, her eyes darting wildly across the faces of the sisters. Finally, her gaze landed on me, standing right next to Mother.

It was like she found the smoking gun. Her finger stabbed the air in my direction.

"Its her! It has to be her! Beatrix! You did this, didn't you?! You came back too, didn't you?!"

"You knew I was coming, so you hired these imposters to gaslight me, right?!"

I stood there, holding a half-peeled pine nut I was preparing for Mother, and let a look of perfect, innocent confusion wash over my face.

Mothers face went dark. She pulled me behind her protectively.

"Number Nine! Have you lost your mind? What 'coming back'? What imposters? If they are fakes because their blood matches mine, then what does that make you?"

"Jinx! Take Miss Nine to her quarters. She is not to leave without my permission. And call Dr. Evans. Have him check her head."

"I won't go! I'm not crazy! Mother, believe me! Believe me!"

Tiffany was dragged away by two sturdy housekeepers, kicking and screaming, hair flying everywhere.

"Beatrix Calloway! You will die screaming! Just you wait! I won't let you get away with this! I am the True Heiress! I am the one"

Tiffanys outburst revealed a lot. Mother didn't understand it, but as a seasoned reader of the genre, I did.

Tiffany was a Rebirth case.

Oh, wow. A "True vs. Fake Daughter" story just mutated into "Reborn True Daughter vs. Transmigrated Fake Daughter."

Spicy.

After a few days of solitary confinement, Tiffany learned to play the game.

The day she was released, she went straight to Mother and dropped to her knees with a thud.

Tears fell before she even spoke.

"Mother, I was wrong."

She sobbed, shoulders trembling.

"That day... seeing so many sisters... I was just so scared."

"I was afraid... afraid that because I came back last, because I cant compare to them, you wouldn't love me..."

She lifted her facewhich looked about 60% like Mothers did in her youtheyes swimming with tears.

"I never knew I could have such a gentle, beautiful mother... that I could live a life where I didn't have to feed chickens or scrub floors..."

Looking at that thin, pale face and hearing about the hardships of farm life, Mothers heart melted instantly.

She sighed and bent down to help Tiffany up.

"There, there. We don't talk about the past. You're home now. We are family."

"Your sisters are good people. You'll see once you get to know them. As for love..."

Mother stroked Tiffanys hair tenderly.

"You are all my daughters. Naturally, I love you all."

Tiffany buried her face in Mothers chest, sobbing a muffled, "Yes, Mother. I understand."

But from an angle only I could see, she shot me a look of pure, venomous triumph.

A few days later, Father came home.

He stood in the hallway, staring at the room full of blooming, beautiful daughters, and closed his eyes in resignation.

By now, everyone in the Capital knew the Calloway family was unique.

Nine daughters! All biologically linked!

The Guru said these were the avatars of a celestial goddess, a great blessing for the House of Calloway.

What could the Senator say? He couldn't argue with a blessing.

"Well, since everyone is here," Father cleared his throat, using his Senate-floor voice. "It's time we threw a Gala. A proper debut for our daughters!"

The news spread, and the mansion went into overdrive.

Tailors were measuring nine girls for gowns.

Jewelers were commissioning nine identical sets of diamonds.

Everything had to be equal. Down to the millimeter.

Tiffany was suspiciously quiet during this time.

Aside from greeting Mother in the mornings, she stayed in her room.

When a toddler goes quiet, theyre drawing on the walls. When a villain goes quiet, theyre plotting a murder.

In the original book, this Gala was where Tiffany orchestrated the scene where I was found in bed with my brother, Harrison.

That led to my public shaming, expulsion, and eventual death.

Tiffany wasn't satisfied with just exile; she hired thugs to assault and kill me in the rain.

But since I transmigrated, Ive kept a strictly platonic, ten-foot distance from my brother, Harrison.

I also started brainwashing my parents early.

I told them a real man serves his country.

I told them the Calloway title was at risk if we didn't show some military grit.

I mentioned how Grandfather built this house on valor, and how sad his rusty spear looked on the wall.

Apparently, Father had a dream that night where Grandfather chased him with a stick.

The next day, Harrison was shipped off to the Border.

He hasn't been back in three years.

Even for this Gala, Harrison only sent back ten identical white jade bracelets from the frontier.

I was very curious. Without Harrison, what script was Tiffany going to write?

It turns out, you can be reborn, but you can't transplant a brain.