For the next two weeks, I kept myself busy with studying.

I had memories from my previous life. I knew what would be on the SAT, what problems needed to be solved, and which concepts mattered most.

However, I couldn't stand out too much.

If an orphan suddenly became a genius overnight, people would start asking questions.

On the first practice test, I deliberately ranked second in the grade. I was right behind Henry.

The day the scores came out, Henry stared at my answer sheet for a long time.

"Your solution to the last math problem is a lot more succinct than the official answer," he said. "Who taught you that?"

"I figured it out myself."

He glanced at me but didn't ask further.

I knew he didn't believe me.

One Saturday afternoon, I pretended to coincidentally run into Henry in the library.

Stacks of documents covered the table in front of him. Every one of them was related to heart transplantation. Some were in English, while others were in foreign languages.

He read quickly and occasionally jotted notes into a notebook.

I walked over and sat across from him.

"Are you interested in heart transplants?" I asked.

He looked up. There was a guarded look in his eyes. "Do you know a lot about it?"

"I read a lot of medical books at the orphanage.

"I think the biggest problem with heart transplants isn't the procedure itself. It's the donor supply. Legal donors are scarce. That's why the black market thrives."

Henry set his pen down and leaned back in his chair. He looked at me.

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

I took a deep breath and met his gaze. Word by word, I said, "If someone obtained a heart through illegal means, could you help put them behind bars?"

For a long time, he said nothing.

The caution in his expression gradually shifted into scrutiny.

"Do you have evidence?" he asked.

"Not yet," I said. "But I will soon."

I didn't say another word.

I knew it wasn't time yet.

I needed evidence from inside the Fletcher family.

That night, I returned to the orphanage. I lay in bed flipping through my journal.

Daisy had already died in my place.

The Fletcher family would come for me soon.

I needed to be ready.

After closing my eyes, I replayed every detail from my previous life. I recalled the layout of Mary's study, the location of the safe, and the drawer that contained the compatibility reports.

I also recalled the passcode hidden in my adoptive father David Fletcher's fountain pen, the maids' shift schedules, and the blind spots in the security cameras.

Every detail remained crystal clear.

This time, I wouldn't be fooled again.

Two months later, news that Stanley had been admitted to ICU due to a severe case of heart transplant rejection went viral.

Media outlets flooded every platform with the story. Fletcher Group's stock plunged by fifteen percent overnight.

Another headline soon followed. Daisy had died in the Fletcher family's villa due to a supposed fall.

I sat in the school's reading room and scrolled through the news on my phone. There was a blank expression on my face.

I had known this would happen.

Daisy's heart had never been a safe medical match for Stanley.

After the transplant, Stanley's immune system attacked the new heart almost immediately, triggering severe rejection.

With Stanley's life hanging by a thread, Daisy had lost her value.

The Fletcher family would never allow someone carrying that many secrets to stay alive.

A fatal fall was the perfect solution. It was a clean job, respectable on the surface, and impossible to trace.

The news called it an accident.

The Fletcher family even held a funeral for her. They published an obituary describing Daisy as kind, sweet, and deeply loved.

I snorted.

'Kind? Sweet?'

At the orphanage, Daisy had bullied everyone. She stole food and clothes from younger children and beat up anyone she disliked.

The night she died, I looked out the window at the moon and said, "Sorry, but you owed me that much."

Less than a week after Daisy's death, I anonymously sent information about her biological mother to the Fletcher family.

The woman, who had once worked at the orphanage, was the one who had switched the babies years ago.

After her arrest, she confessed everything about the switch.

Only then did the Fletcher family finally find me.

That afternoon, a black Maybach pulled up outside the orphanage.

The director personally came out to greet them. She was smiling so hard it looked as if her makeup might crack.

She trailed behind them and was practically tripping over herself to please them.

From the second-floor window, I watched Mary step out of the car. She had on a beige cashmere coat. Her hair was done perfectly. Her eyes were slightly red, and so was the tip of her nose.

Her acting was excellent.

In my previous life, she'd worn that exact expression while having me completely fooled.

The director called me downstairs.

I took a deep breath, hid my journal under my pillow, and changed into my best outfit.

It was really just a school uniform without patches of mended fabric.

I studied myself in the reflection of the window. I was tanned, skinny, and had frizzy hair, but my eyes were sharp.

My eyes were different from before.

In my previous life, they had been filled with longing for love, family, and warmth.

This time, only one word could describe the look in my eyes, and that was revenge.

I walked down the stairs and stopped in front of Mary.

She immediately grabbed my hands while tears rolled down her cheeks. "Honey, I'm so sorry. You've suffered so much out here all these years."

I didn't pull away because I needed to touch her.

The instant our fingertips touched, a vision sliced through my mind like a blade.

Mary sat in her study across from David.

A compatibility report lay open on the desk. I could see the words on it clearly.

[Perfect match.]

Mary said, "Her heart can be used. Once Stan's condition stabilizes a little more, we'll schedule the surgery."

David asked, "What about the girl?"

Mary snorted. "Set it up like an accident. She came from an orphanage anyway. Nobody will care."

The vision shattered.

My nose felt warm. I quickly lowered my head and pretended to wipe away tears. I then smeared the blood across the back of my hand.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mary asked in an affectionate and gentle tone.

"I'm just so happy." I looked up with tears streaming down my face. This time, they were real. It wasn't because I was touched but because I was furious.

"Mom, I finally have a family."

I threw myself into her arms and trembled as I cried.

Mary gently patted my back. It was such a tender act that she almost felt like a real mother to me.

But with my face buried in her cashmere coat, I could feel that her body was stiff. Her motions were mechanical.

She looked over my shoulder toward David waiting in the car.

The two of them exchanged a knowing glance.

I buried my face deeper into her coat. From an angle nobody could see, the corners of my lips curled upward.