Chapter 5: Ten Years Later, Same Bullshit

Seraphina's POV

Ten years later, and here we are.

Eighteen, college-bound, and watching my "sister" play house in a white sundress with a frilly apron tied around her surgically enhanced waist.

"Good morning, Sera!" Brielle chirps, setting down a plate of perfectly arranged fruit. "I made your favorite—strawberries and cream!"

I glance at the berries, then at her face. Ten years of procedures had worked their magic. Gone were the buck teeth and pudgy cheeks of my childhood tormentor. Now she sported a perfectly symmetrical nose, veneered teeth that gleamed like Chiclets, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

Too bad you can't surgically remove a shitty personality.

"How thoughtful," I say, sliding into the head chair.

The table goes quiet. Irene's sitting next to Conrad, while Julian and Brielle huddle together on the opposite side like some twisted double date.

Brielle's smile falters for a split second before she recovers. "Oh! Sister, would you like to sit here instead?" She stands up, gesturing to her chair with theatrical humility. "I know you prefer—"

"I'm fine where I am." I cut a strawberry with surgical precision. "Though I have to ask—did you sign with an agency yet? That performance just now was Oscar-worthy."

Her face flushes pink beneath her foundation. "I'm focusing on violin, actually. I'd never go somewhere as... complicated as the entertainment industry."

Julian nods approvingly, like she just announced she's joining the Peace Corps.

"That's my thoughtful girl," Irene gushes. "But honey, you don't need to make breakfast anymore. The staff can handle—"

"No!" Brielle's eyes well up instantly—another skill she'd perfected over the years. "I... I just want to help. I'm scared Sister thinks I don't belong here, that you and Dad might..." Her voice cracks perfectly on cue. "That you might not want me anymore."

Julian immediately reaches over, spreading jam on her toast like she's made of porcelain. "Don't be ridiculous, Brie. You're family."

I watch this nauseating display while chewing my strawberries. Over the years, Brielle had mastered the art of weaponized vulnerability. Every trembling lip, every strategically timed tear—calculated to maximum effect.

"Today's our first day at Orlan Bay University," I announce, changing the subject. "Isn't that exciting?"

Conrad's chest puffs with pride. "Three million well spent," he says, clearly referring to whatever donation bought Brielle's admission.

Three million. For a mediocre student with a sob story.

Meanwhile, I'd earned my spot the old-fashioned way—perfect grades, perfect test scores, and a recommendation letter from Grandpa Silas.

But family togetherness was more important than merit, apparently.

That's when Bessie, one of the younger maids, stuck her foot in her mouth.

"Yes, Miss Brielle, you deserve it!" she said, refilling our juice glasses. "I mean, Miss Seraphina's only been the family's daughter for eleven years, but you've been their daughter for eighteen whole years!"

The silence that followed could've choked a horse.

Conrad's face went nuclear. "What did you just say?"

Bessie's eyes went wide as she realized her mistake. "I... I didn't mean..."

"You're fired." His voice cut like a blade. "Security will escort you out. Now."

"Sir, please—" Bessie started to cry, but Conrad was already standing.

Brielle jumped up too, wringing her hands. "Dad, wait! She didn't mean anything by it!"

But her protest was halfhearted at best. She knew better than to push Conrad when he was this pissed.

"I'm so sorry," Brielle whispered, sinking back into her chair. "This is all my fault. Maybe... maybe I should be the one to leave."

I nearly choked on my orange juice. "Oh please. All talk and no action—classic you. If you want to leave so badly, the door's right there."

"Enough!" Irene slammed her palm on the table. "You're both my daughters, and nobody's going anywhere!"

The possessiveness in her voice was almost funny. Like we were collectibles she couldn't bear to lose.

After breakfast, Conrad pulled out a sleek black card and slid it across to me. "Your college fund," he said simply. "No spending limits."

I picked up the Centurion card, feeling its weight. Unlimited access to the family fortune—now that was more like it.

Brielle's eyes went wide with naked envy. "Sister, I'm so jealous! Dad really spoils you."

"Of course he does," I replied sweetly. "He loves his real daughter."

The barb hit home, making her flinch.

Irene immediately jumped in. "Conrad, we should give Brielle something too. A few million for expenses?"

With visible reluctance, he handed over a standard platinum card. "Reasonable limits," he muttered.

Brielle clutched it like a lifeline, but I could see the disappointment behind her grateful smile.

In the car, she made a show of fanning out both cards—Conrad's and one Irene had slipped her earlier.

"Look, I got two!" she announced to no one in particular.

I leaned back in my seat, amused. "Didn't you say you wanted to leave? Better stock up while you can."

Her jaw tightened. "Mom said she couldn't bear to lose me."

Time for the killing blow.

"Speaking of parents," I said casually, "didn't your real mom and dad just get out of prison?"

Brielle's face went sheet white.

The driver held the door as I stepped out of the Bentley, Orlan Bay University's ivy-covered gates towering ahead like some pretentious monument to privilege.

"Beautiful, need help? Are you a freshman?"

I turned to see some frat boy with an overeager smile and polo shirt tucked into khakis—the kind of guy who probably peaked in high school.

"Thanks, I can handle it myself." My tone was arctic enough to freeze his balls off.

He backed away, hands raised in surrender. Smart boy.

I watched the driver unload my luggage with military precision while campus buses belched diesel smoke nearby. The contrast wasn't lost on me—princess arriving via private car while the peasants rode public transport.

"Oh my God, are you Seraphina Alden?"

I turned to find a petite blonde bouncing toward me like a golden retriever on Red Bull. Her cheerleader skirt barely covered her ass, and her smile was bright enough to power a small city.

"Emma Rodriguez," she introduced herself, practically vibrating with excitement. "I'm your roommate! This is so cool—wait till the other girls hear I'm rooming with actual royalty!"

"You're so beautiful," Emma gushed, circling me. "Tomorrow's the big basketball game—Finance versus Medicine. There'll be so many hot guys! You'll love meeting everyone."

Against my better judgment, I found myself agreeing.

The next evening, the arena was packed. Emma dragged me through the crowd, her cheerleader uniform making her blend right in with the sea of school spirit and raging hormones.

"There's our section!" She pointed toward the front row, where a cluster of perfectly manicured girls had claimed the prime real estate.

And right in the center, like a spider in her web, sat the star of the show.

Brielle fucking Miller.

She wore a white designer dress, her surgically perfect features glowing under the arena lights. Three girls flanked her like ladies-in-waiting, hanging on her every word.

"That's Brielle Alden, the heiress of the Alden family," Emma whispered, awe dripping from her voice. "They say that dress is eighty thousand dollars!"

"But I always feel this 'heiress' thing is a bit strange," Emma continued, her voice dropping lower. "My dad used to work at Alden Corporation and met the real Alden couple a few times. He said the daughter had these incredible green eyes, like emeralds. But Brielle's are..."

"Blue," I finished quietly.

"Yeah! Weird, right?"

I was still processing this information when chaos erupted near the cheerleader section. Some girl had accidentally bumped into Brielle while trying to get to her seat, sending a perfectly staged stumble through the princess's performance.

"I'm so sorry!" the girl said, immediately bowing her head. "I didn't mean—"

That's when Brielle's attack dog struck.

"You bitch!" A brunette with dead eyes and too much makeup grabbed the girl's arm. "Apologize to Miss Brielle properly! Do you know who you stepped on?"