His eyes narrowed, practically dripping with disdain.
“You must be one of the Sinclair servants,” he sneered. “Just like the butler said- completely unhinged.
“Once I finish up this donation nonsense, I’ll deal with you next. Bold move for a lowly servant, messing with Brenda and trying to ruin the donation? You’re gonna pay for this.”
I didn’t even get a chance to respond before he shoved me to the floor.
The classmates who’d been backing me up just seconds ago flipped sides again.
“Claire, quit the act. Brenda’s butler is literally here, and you’re still arguing?”
“Brenda’s been so nice, not even holding you accountable, and this is how you repay her? Trying to ruin her life now?”
“First, you wrecked her birthday party, and now you’re messing up the donation ceremony? Seriously? Grow up!”
The crowd surged, jostling me hard enough that my head smacked the corner of a desk. Stars blurred my vision as dizziness hit.
And just like that, I was back there again.
Brenda, stealing my life, piece by piece. In my last life, she’d pulled this exact stunt–on her birthday, no less. She’d dressed up as me, invited everyone to my house, and Miranda had erased every trace of me, swapping in Brenda’s things to make her look like the Sinclair heiress.
I’d been stupid back then. I let it slide, thought she deserved to enjoy her day. Sisterly love or whatever.
That was the beginning of the end.
By the next morning, rumors spread through school that I was just a jealous servant in Brenda’s house, always bullying her.
I begged David to set things straight. He promised he would–but instead, he donated a whole new school building in Brenda’s name. That sealed the lie.
When I tried confronting him at home, Robert stopped me. Brenda’s orders. My classmates beat me to death that day.
After I was gone, Mom tried to come back home but died in a car crash–brakes mysteriously failed.
David didn’t even bother hiding anymore after that. He took everything that was ours, gave it to Brenda, and she officially became “Brenda Sinclair,” the heiress to the Sinclair family.
The memory of my tragic end burned through me, ice–cold rage rising inside me. Teeth clenched, I shoved past the crowd of classmates throwing accusations and stepped right into Brenda and Mr. Moore’s path.
“Calling me a servant, Brenda? Wow, no shame left at all, huh? Guess that runs in the family.”
Then I turned to Mr. Moore, my glare practically slicing through him.
“And you. Threatening me over a donation? What’s your deal? Haven’t bothered to check each student’s family background?”
