There was only ever one spot to marry into America’s richest dynasty.
And of course, it was never going to be mine.
I was the girl raised in a farmhouse. She was the one our parents believed to be their “real daughter.”
She got the diamond ring and the billionaire heir.
I got the spotlight, the red carpet, and a hard-fought career.
Two years later, her golden husband went up in flames—literally. Plane crash. No survivors.
And the sharks of high society didn’t wait long. They tore her apart.
Her once-perfect face was gone. So was her fortune.
Meanwhile, I won an Oscar, married the most wanted director in Hollywood, and owned every headline.
But she couldn’t stand it.
She disguised herself as a fan, drenched me in gasoline, lit the match—
and tried to take me down with her.
Next thing I knew, I opened my eyes…
and we were back on the day it all began—
the day they had to choose which daughter would marry the billionaire.
She made the same damn choice again.
Only this time, she added a twist—
She’d take the man, the money, and Hollywood.
No room left for me.
Too bad for her.
She’s still not worthy of being my rival.
Never thought I’d die young.
Sure as hell never thought I’d die that horrifically.
She knocked me out, shattered my leg,
and looked me dead in the eyes with her melted face twisted in rage:
“You’re just a rat from the gutter.
You don’t belong on stage. You don’t belong in the light.
Burn, bitch.”
I couldn’t even scream.
The gasoline stung my eyes, and then—
flames.
Hot, furious flames.
My body lit up like a torch.
The pain was everywhere, ripping through me like nails under my skin.
Then nothing.
Silence.
Smoke.
And then—
voices.
“Marrying into the Whitmore family isn’t just about love,” she said.
“Vera grew up on a farm. She’d humiliate us at every dinner party. Let me go instead.”
Same lines. Same script.
Same condescending tone.
I’d heard it all before.
Gavin Whitmore—America’s golden boy, heir to the Whitmore fortune.
Only one of us could have him.
Henry and Catherine Lancaster pretended to care what we thought,
but their choice had always been clear.
She was the daughter they adored. The one they believed was truly theirs.
“I don’t want to just be a trophy wife,” she added sweetly.
“I want a career too. I want to be a star.”
Catherine gasped, horrified.
“Absolutely not. The Whitmores won’t let their daughter-in-law whore around in showbiz.”
But Lila leaned in close to her mother, whispered something in her ear.
Catherine hesitated… then nodded.
Henry tried to act like he was the stern one.
But everyone knew—Lila was the princess.
No demand too wild.
No whim denied.
I never even wanted to marry into that mess.
I believed I could build something better—on my own.
And I did.
Lila strutted past me, smug as hell, whispering:
“Guess what, big sis?
I’m taking the man, the spotlight, and the crown.
Think I’ve got what it takes to be America’s sweetheart?”
Her eyes burned with hate.
And I finally understood—
She remembered too.
She had come back just like I had.
She wanted everything I had.
Even Marcus.
Even the life that burned me alive.
So I smiled.
“You’ve always been clever, Lila.
You’ll make a dazzling star.”
Go on then.
Take every step I did.
Let’s see who makes it out this time.
I grew up with dirt under my fingernails and hay in my hair.
Janet Foster—my mom, or so I thought—raised me with calloused hands and half a heart.
It wasn’t until I turned eighteen, got into college, and she fell sick,
that she told me the truth.
I was the illegitimate daughter of Henry Lancaster—CEO of the Lancaster Corporation.
She said she didn’t want me to be alone after she died.
So she made the call.
Told the Lancaster family everything.
We did a DNA test. It was undeniable.
Frederick Lancaster—the family patriarch—accepted me.
Catherine… didn’t.
To her, I was living proof that her husband had betrayed her.
A weak, cowardly husband who’d never stood up to her.
A man who had slept with a nobody from the sticks.
They let me into their mansion—technically.
But I was shoved into a dusty attic room, barely big enough for a mattress.
Every time Catherine saw me, her eyes flared with venom.
Lila?
She made it worse.
Spilled water in my bed.
Tossed cockroaches under my blanket.
One night, I slipped into bed and found a dead cat under the covers.
Henry stayed silent.
No guilt. No shame.
He owed me everything but gave me nothing.
Even the housekeeper, Mrs. Winters, stopped cooking for me.
I was invisible.
I hated being the bastard.
I hated myself for crashing their perfect little family.
So I swallowed my pride and said nothing.
In my last life, while Lila was married off to Gavin Whitmore,
I clawed my way through Hollywood.
Started from scraps—bit parts, coffee runs, dressing rooms with no mirrors.
Didn’t go home for two years.
Then came the headlines.
Gavin Whitmore: dead in a crash.
His wife: disfigured, discarded, and powerless.
And me?
I took home the Best Actress award that year.
Married Marcus Davenport—Hollywood’s darling director.
Lived in a Malibu mansion and woke up to morning mimosas.
Our agency booked us on a couple’s travel show to boost the ratings.
Lila found me during a solo shoot, dressed like a fan, hiding a blade in her purse.
She’d lost everything.
And it drove her insane.
“You were nothing but a backwoods mistake!
How dare you win!”
She broke my leg.
Poured gasoline all over me.
Watched me burn.
And as the fire took over, she screamed:
“You think you’re better than me?!
You’re just trash in a dress!”
So now that we’re both back,
she thinks she can rewrite the story.
But she forgot one thing—
This time, I already know how it ends.
And I’m gonna make sure it ends with her losing everything.
Lila got smarter this time around.
She wasn’t in a rush to lock down a wedding.
She played it casual—just “dating” Gavin Whitmore for now.
I could practically see the gears turning in her head.
Use the Whitmore name to climb the charts,
snag a few prime roles, maybe even snag an award or two.
Then when Gavin dies—because he will—
she’ll move on to Marcus Davenport like clockwork.
I almost laughed.
Girl really thinks she’s playing chess,
but all I see is checkmate—for her.
She landed a quick commercial gig through the Lancaster family connections.
But I overheard her bitching to Catherine:
“Marcus has this script—if I could land the lead, I’d be unstoppable.
But the guy’s a total ice block. No one gets through to him.”
Of course.
That script was my breakout film last time.
A brutal underdog-to-legend story.
I starved myself for three days prepping for that role.
Lived in a motel with roaches just to get the pain right.
Catherine gave her usual sugar-coated bullshit:
“It’s okay if it doesn’t work out. You’re marrying into the Whitmores. Acting can just be a little hobby.”
But Lila wasn’t having it.
“You don’t get it. The Whitmores might crash and burn someday. I need my own leverage. I need Marcus.”
Well, if she’s that desperate to meet Marcus…
I could help her with that.
I grabbed my tote and headed out—
then remembered I left my notes upstairs.
Back up to the attic I went.
Coming down, I saw Lila in the living room.
She saw me too.
“What’s in your hands?” she sneered, her chin tilted like a damn queen.
I stepped back, shielding the folder.
“Nothing. Just work stuff.”
She pounced.
Snatched the papers right out of my hand.
Her eyes lit up when she saw it—
A full profile on Marcus Davenport.
His habits. His preferences. His schedule.
“Why the hell are you tracking Marcus?”
I shrank back, voice small, trembling like prey.
“I haven’t found a job yet. I figured maybe I could be an extra in his film… so I did some research…”
SMACK.
Her slap landed clean and hot.
“You seriously think a backwoods bastard like you could work with Marcus Davenport?
Look in the damn mirror, Vee. You don’t belong anywhere near him.”
I cupped my cheek, tears welling up.
Catherine walked in and asked what the hell was going on.
Lila wasted no time twisting the story into knots.
Catherine’s disgust deepened.
“You’re a bastard from the sticks.
Be glad we let you breathe under this roof.
Don’t mistake surviving here for having talent.”
Her face—so much like mine—looked at me with such venom,
I didn’t know whether to pity her… or myself.
After coming back to life, the first thing I did was run three DNA tests.
Results were crystal clear:
Catherine Lancaster was my biological mother.
Lila? She wasn’t.
She was Henry’s kid. Not Catherine’s.
Which meant… we were switched.
The real daughter got dumped in the dirt.
The imposter got raised in a mansion.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Why my foster mom hated me.
Why she whipped me with a belt when I didn’t clean fast enough.
Why she never told me who I really was.
Bitch carried that secret to her grave.
Catherine, with all her pride, all her socialite attitude—
what would she do if she found out
the daughter she adored was her husband’s affair baby…
and the one she mocked and neglected?
Her own flesh and blood?
God, that’d be delicious.
Anyway, Lila ran off with my research files.
In my last life, I spent two years shadowing Marcus.
I knew his moods better than he did.
She’d probably win some points with that cheat sheet.
Let’s see if Marcus gives her the same “surprise” he gave me last time.
With Lila breathing down my neck, I had no shot at even background roles.
But I remembered something—
two years from now, short dramas would blow up online.
TikTok-style binge stories, fast and messy.
Perfect for me.
I hammered out a script in one night.
Sent it in.
Guess what?
The top short-drama company in the country…
was under Gavin Whitmore’s name.
Took me a minute to decide.
But I submitted anyway.
Lila was laser-focused on Marcus.
She wouldn’t notice me switching lanes.
Soon enough, I got called in for a meeting.
He was already there when I walked in—
suit crisp, standing by the window.
When he turned around, I nearly choked.
Gavin Whitmore.
The man himself.
Even more gorgeous in person.
Sharp jawline. Thin gold frames.
God damn.
“Miss Lancaster?” he said, holding out his hand.
“I’m Gavin. Thanks for coming.”
His fingers were long, his voice warm.
Not the cold asshole Lila always complained about.
We dove into the script.
He was smart, detailed.
Asked good questions.
Pushed on plot holes.
“So… the male lead changes after he gets a second chance.
Why can’t the woman forgive him?”
I smiled.
“Because the damage is already done.
Some people only learn to love after they’ve destroyed everything.
Doesn’t mean they deserve a second shot.”
He paused.
“Would you forgive someone who hurt you?”
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