After Becoming A Billionaire, My Family Wants Me To Die

I took the fall for my brother and ended up serving two years in prison. While inside, I unexpectedly saved the daughter of the richest man in town. As a token of gratitude, she gave me a hundred million.

After my release, the first thing I did was to call my father, eager to surprise him. But as soon as he heard my voice, he hung up.

I thought something terrible had happened at home and rushed back.

Just as I reached the door, I overheard my brother's wife, Greta Kessler, complaining, "Of all days, she had to get out today, making me skip my prenatal check-up just to rush and transfer the property."

My mother replied, "It's for your own good. With her prison record, finding a job will be tough, and getting married will be even tougher. She might just end up staying here and fighting you for the house."

Greta snorted, "Let her rent a place. I'm not living with an ex-con!"

Listening to their conversation felt like a punch to the gut. My heart ached. Wasn't my mom the one who used to call me her little sweetheart? Hadn't Greta always said she saw me as her own sister? How did everything change so suddenly?

The door before me was the one I'd dreamt about for two long years. But now, standing in front of it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. After taking a moment to compose myself, I finally knocked.

My mother, Melanie Kessler, opened the door, looking surprised. "Nina, you're back? I was just about to send your dad to pick you up!" She gave me a once-over and forced a concerned look. "You've lost weight over these two years. It must have been tough."

If only I hadn't overheard their conversation, if only her concern had been genuine, how wonderful that would be. I managed a bittersweet smile, "No worries. Taxis are convenient now."

With that, I stepped inside.

Greta immediately rushed over and sprayed me with alcohol until the bottle was empty. Only then did she look at me. "Don't take it the wrong way. I'm just cleansing you of bad luck."

She told me not to overthink, but her disdain was written all over her face.

I knew Greta despised me for being an ex-convict, but she must have forgotten. I went to prison for her and my brother, James Kessler.

Without saying a word, I walked straight to my room. When I opened the door, I found it filled with clutter, and none of my belongings were in sight.

Turning to Melanie, I asked, "Mom, what happened here?"

She hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "You've been gone for so long, and the house is small with lots of stuff, so we stored everything in your room."

"And my things?" I pressed.

Melanie looked down. Her guilt was evident. "Sold or thrown away. They're all gone."

My heart sank again. "Mom, I was in prison, not dead. Was it necessary to clear out all my things?"

When my father, Seamus Kessler, heard this from the sofa, he casually said, "Nina, Greta is five months pregnant and needs space for baby stuff. The house is cramped. Your things weren't needed anymore, so we got rid of them."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. My father used to love organizing my things, saying he wanted to create a collection of my most meaningful belongings to give me as a wedding gift someday. Why didn't he care that they were all gone now?