Rewriting My Fate: The Billionaire's Forgotten Daughter

My family was poor, the kind of poor where we didn't know where our next meal was coming from.

Mom and Dad just holed up at home, refusing to work or earn a dime.

I once overheard them talking: Just endure it a little longer. Once Claire is born, everything will be fine.

Later, my little sister was born. They named her Claire.

Overnight, my deadbeat dad founded a company and became a billionaire CEO.

My lazy mother suddenly transformed into a sophisticated, highly sought-after socialite.

By chance, I overheard another one of their conversations. It turned out my sister was the "female lead"born to be the undisputed queen of this world.

My family was poor, the kind of poor where we'd eat one meal and starve the next.

Mom and Dad were the town's notorious deadbeats. They idled their days away, shamelessly begging for scraps from the neighbors.

I still remember one winter, my mom dragged me to Mrs. Gable's house next door to beg for a casserole, only to get kicked out.

My mom cursed all the way home: "Today I'm begging you, but just wait until my Claire is born. You'll be the ones on your knees begging me!"

It wasn't the first time I had heard something like that.

She and Dad kept the phrase "wait until Claire is born" constantly on their lips, muttering it like a mantra.

It was as if "Claire being born" possessed some magical power to completely alter our family's destiny.

Even though I was young, I didn't believe it. Our family was in ruins; how could popping out another baby change anything?

But the facts proved them right.

My dad, Arthur, said that on the day he and my mom got married, an eccentric fortune teller wandered into town.

The man seemed half-crazy, rambling on and on about bizarre things.

He claimed that the world we lived in was actually a book.

He said their second daughter would be the female lead of this world. Once she was born, our family's wretched fate would instantly change, because the female lead was destined to grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth.

My dad believed him completely. After the wedding, he and Mom continued to slack off at home, refusing to lift a finger.

I originally had an older sister. When she was born, they were disgusted that she was a girljust another useless mouth to feedso they abandoned her in the woods behind our town.

When I was born, they assumed I was the female lead the psychic had prophesied. They treated me decently, but our house remained dirt poor.

Until my mom got pregnant again.

The very day she found out she was expecting, the county issued a massive commercial buyout notice for our area.

Our family owned acres of useless, undeveloped land. Almost instantly, we became the wealthiest family in the county.

My dad had a sudden, terrifying realization: the baby in Mom's belly was the true female lead they had been waiting for all these years.

To test his theory, on the day we received the buyout funds, my dad took half his net worth and headed to the casino.

A week later, he drove back home in a luxury sports car.

He scooped my mom, Fiona, into his arms, practically tossing her into the air.

"Fiona! This baby is our savior, our guardian angel! She's basically my god!"

My mom looked at the towering stacks of expensive supplements and designer gifts he had brought back. Pushing out her barely-there pregnant belly, she paraded around the neighborhood for hours.

She was positively glowing with arrogant pride.

I stared at the yard full of fancy food, reaching out to touch a box here, a tin there. My dad fiercely swatted my hand away.

"Greedy brat! This is to nourish your mother's body. If you starve your little sister, I'll end you!"

My mom's previously elated mood soured the moment she looked at me. "You useless, unpresentable thing! All of this belongs to your sister. Don't even think about taking a bite!"

With that, she placed her hands on her hips and started ordering my dad around. "You better serve me well! If I get upset, Claire will be the first to punish you for it!"

My dad nodded profusely. "Yes, yes, of course!"

For the next few months, he waited on her hand and foot.

Until it was time for the delivery.

My mom had a difficult labor with Claire. She begged my dad to come into the delivery room with her.

My dad got a phone call about a massive business deal and walked away.

Before leaving, he didn't forget to literally shove me into the delivery room in his place.

He stubbornly refused to authorize a C-section, repeating over and over: "This is our family's golden goose! She absolutely cannot be touched by a scalpel!"

In his ignorance, he was terrified that the surgeon's knife might accidentally graze Claire.

And so, my mom took out all the agonizing pain of childbirthand all her resentment toward my dadentirely on me.

She grabbed my arm and bit down with everything she had. By the time Claire was finally born, the exhausted doctors and nurses realized that a massive chunk of flesh had been bitten out of my arm.

When Mom was wheeled out of the delivery room, my dad scooped up Claire, hovering obsessively by Mom's bedside. "Look, Fiona! Our precious baby girl. She's absolutely stunning."

Only I stood shivering at the door of the hospital room, completely lost.

I had been so terrified by my mom's screaming that I had wet my pants, completely forgetting the searing pain in my arm.

Smelling dirty and gross, my dad blocked me from entering the room.

"Get lost! If you stink up the room for your mom and sister, I'll skin you alive!"

Mom lay weakly on the hospital bed.

Dad excitedly explained everything to her. His factory permits had been instantly approved, and he had just signed a multimillion-dollar contract.

"Fiona! Claire really is our lucky charm! I just sat at home, and the money practically delivered itself to our doorstep!"

"Of course she is. Claire is our family's greatest hero!"

And Claire certainly didn't disappoint them. From a very young age, she was the most dazzling existence in any room.

When I was seven, we moved into a lavish mansion in the city's most exclusive neighborhood.

If Claire snuck out to play, she would miraculously bump into a Wall Street tycoon who would safely escort her home.

If she squatted by the front door playing with weeds, a renowned classical oil painter walking by would spot her and immediately take her on as his final apprentice.

If she stood up for a homeless kid, she would instantly win the adoration of every child in the neighborhood.

Just like Mom and Dad always said, she existed entirely as the main character. Everywhere she went, she sparkled.

Because of this, every time my mom looked at me, her face contorted with disgust. "Get away from me! How on earth did I give birth to such an ugly monster!"

Claire had porcelain skin and a bright, dazzling smile.

I was tanned dark from the sun, horribly frail from malnutrition, and my hair was as dry as straw.

Anyone who saw us said we looked absolutely nothing like sisters.

Claire was like a little sun, making everyone around her feel warm and comfortable.

And I was an out-and-out feral child, a peasant.

My very existence was a constant reminder to them of those destitute days, of the humiliating past where they had to beg for scraps with their heads bowed.

As a young child, I didn't understand the complexities of adult emotions.

Having nothing else to do, my mom spent her days shopping with her new wealthy friends.

She would bring home piles of gorgeous little dresses and hold them up against Claire.

She didn't have much experience shopping for kids yet, so many of the dresses were far too big.

I thought they were bought for me. Overjoyed, I put one on and ran up to her, spinning in a circle.

"Mom, is it pretty?"

What greeted me wasn't a compliment, but her explosive rage.

"Who told you to wear that?! You don't deserve it!"

She frantically ripped the dress off me, her long, manicured nails leaving bloody scratches all over my skin.

"Can't you be a little more sensible? These are your sister's clothes, and you're trying to steal them?!"

She was completely hysterical. After screaming at me, she turned around and pulled a terrified, crying Claire into her arms, comforting her with absolute tenderness.

"There, there, Claire. Mommy's got you."

As she said it, she didn't forget to aim a harsh kick at my leg, ordering me back to my room.

I was eight years old that year. Claire was three.

Stripped down to my underwear, I fought back tears and walked back to my room.

In my innocence, I desperately wanted to ask my mom: Since my sister has so many clothes, why couldn't I just wear this one big dress?

Why can't you spare just a tiny bit of love for me? Just a little bit.

But the words died in my throat the moment I saw the sheer, unbridled hatred in her eyes.

Once Claire started kindergarten, she was constantly bringing home certificates and gold stars.

Whenever that happened, my dad would lift her high into the air or throw her over his broad shoulders, running wildly around the yard while she giggled.

Mom would agree to absolutely any request she made.

I started studying fiercely.

I thought that if I, like Claire, brought home lots of awards, they would definitely be happy too.

I wanted to be carried on my dad's shoulders. His shoulders looked so broad and sturdy; sitting up there had to be incredibly comfortable.

I consistently maintained first place in my entire grade.

Yet, I never heard a single word of praise from my parents.

"What's the use of good grades? With our family's wealth, if you have to rely on grades to eat, you'll be laughed out of town!"

At first, I didn't understand what my dad meant.

Then, Claire started taking all sorts of extracurriculars: ballet, piano, classical painting, etiquette classes.

She traveled abroad two or three times a year.

She had custom-made designer jewelry.

Both materially and emotionally, Claire was raised like royalty.

Meanwhile, when I was so hungry I stole a pack of expired cookies from the trash and was caught and beaten half to death, she just blinked her innocent, huge eyes and asked, "Sister, there are expensive imported truffles in the kitchen. Why don't you go eat those?"

That pack of expired cookies had been tossed in the garbage bin. I was so desperately hungry that I dug them out.

Since they were individually wrapped, even though they were expired, they still tasted sweet and milkya hundred times better than the sour, spoiled leftovers I used to beg for back in the old neighborhood.

When Mom heard from Claire that I was digging through the trash, she grabbed me by the hair without a word of explanation and slapped me across the face, left and right.

"Why can't you learn how to behave?! Eat, eat, eat, are you the reincarnation of a starving ghost?!"

She hit me so hard that after a few slaps, my right ear exploded in agonizing pain. I cried and begged for mercy. "Stop hitting me, stop hitting me! I won't eat them anymore, I won't eat them anymore!"

"Chloe, are you trying to piss me off to death?!"

"Get the hell back to your room!!!"

Claire trotted over, hugging Mom's leg to comfort her. "Mommy, don't be mad. Claire loves you!"

Watching this beautiful picture of maternal love, I stumbled back to my bedroom.

My ear hurt like hell, but I didn't dare beg her to take me to a doctor.

Later that evening, the housekeeper came into my room to pass on a message. Because of my "disgraceful behavior" of digging through the trash, Mom ordered me to reflect on my actions. No dinner allowed.

"Madam said if she doesn't teach you a lesson, you'll never learn."

She muttered a bunch of other things, but my ear was in such excruciating pain I couldn't hear her clearly.

Before she finally left, she spat hard on my floor. "You really think you're some rich young lady? You're absolutely nothing!"

That night, starving and in agony, I didn't even know how I eventually passed out.