Chapter 3

I expected Serenity Hills to be a sterile, hospital-like facility. I imagined white walls, locked doors, and staff in scrubs.

The reality was... surprisingly pleasant.

It looked more like a rustic mountain lodge than a high-security institution. The main building was made of dark wood and stone, surrounded by tall pine trees. The air was clean and crisp, a world away from the city's smog. My room was small and simple, but it was clean. It had a comfortable bed, a small desk, and a window that looked out onto a dense forest. There were no bars on the window.

They took my phone and wallet at check-in, but they assured me all my needs would be met. Three meals a day were served in a communal dining hall. The food was simple but filling. There was a library, a gym, and even a small workshop with tools.

My "punishment" was turning out to be more like a state-funded artist's residency. For the first time since waking up in this world, I felt a sense of peace. The constant pressure of trying to live up to the Miller name, of navigating Brandon' s subtle sabotage, was gone.

Here, I was just Alex. A resident. No expectations, no family drama. It was perfect.

But peace didn't pay the bills. I didn't plan on staying here forever. My goal was self-sufficiency, and that meant money. I needed to save up enough to disappear completely once I decided to leave this place.

I started working. The facility had grounds that needed maintaining. I volunteered to rake leaves, tend the gardens, and chop wood for the fireplaces. The physical labor was tiring, but it cleared my head. They paid a small stipend for the work, which I squirreled away.

I spent my evenings in the workshop. Using scrap wood and some old tools, I started carving small, intricate figures-characters from the games I wanted to make. In the library, I found books on coding and game design, devouring them late into the night. My mind, free from the constant stress of the Millers, felt sharp and focused.

Weeks turned into months. I had a routine. I was quiet, kept to myself, and worked hard. The staff left me alone. The other residents, a collection of disgraced heirs and black sheep from other wealthy families, were mostly too wrapped up in their own misery to bother me.

One day, the System chimed in my head.

[Plot Notification: The Miller family is hosting their annual MillerTech Foundation Gala. The event is a celebration of Brandon Miller's official appointment as CEO.]

So, Brandon got everything he wanted. Good for him. It had nothing to do with me.

[This event is a major plot point for showcasing the protagonist's benevolence and influence.]

"I don' t care," I thought back, sanding a piece of wood.

But the universe, or the author of this stupid novel, had other plans.

The next day, the head of maintenance, a gruff but fair man named George, approached me.

"Alex," he said, wiping his hands on a rag. "Got a weird job for you. One of the catering companies for some fancy party down in the city is short-staffed. A friend of mine runs it. They need a driver for one of the delivery vans. Just for tonight. Pays well."

My heart sank. A fancy party. In the city.

"I don' t know, George..."

"It' s good money," he pressed. "Triple the usual rate. You' ve been working hard, thought you could use the cash."

He was right. The money was too good to pass up. It would significantly speed up my escape plan.

"Okay," I sighed. "I' ll do it."

That evening, I found myself in a cheap, ill-fitting server' s uniform, driving a beat-up catering van toward the heart of the city. Toward the very gala being thrown in Brandon' s honor. The irony was so thick I could have choked on it.

The venue was a massive, modern art museum, its glass walls glowing against the night sky. I parked the van in the loading dock at the back, surrounded by other service vehicles. My job was simple: help unload the food, then wait in the van until it was time to pick up the empty equipment. Stay out of sight.

I was hauling a heavy crate of champagne flutes when I saw him.

Brandon.

He was standing on a balcony overlooking the service entrance, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was surrounded by admirers, laughing, looking every bit the charismatic, powerful CEO. He hadn't seen me.

A familiar ache surfaced in my chest-that ghost of the original Alex' s envy. The longing to be the one up there, to be accepted, celebrated. I quickly shoved it down. That wasn't my life. That wasn't my desire.

My desire was to finish this job, get paid, and go back to my quiet life in the mountains.

I turned to head back to the van, keeping my head down. But as I passed a pile of discarded linen bags, I heard voices. Quiet, conspiratorial.

It was Brandon, talking to one of his friends, a guy named Mark who had always been his lapdog.

"Is it in place?" Brandon asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," Mark replied. "I slipped my grandmother' s diamond watch into one of the dessert boxes. The one scheduled for the last delivery. When it goes missing, we' ll have the perfect excuse."

"An excuse for what?"

Brandon chuckled, a low, ugly sound. "To teach someone a lesson. I just saw him, you know. Alex. He' s here, working as a delivery boy. Can you believe the nerve?"

My blood ran cold.

"What are you going to do?" Mark asked.

"I' m going to have the staff search every single worker who leaves tonight," Brandon said, his voice laced with cold fury. "And when they find a priceless family heirloom on the disgraced brother who was just caught selling company secrets... well. People will believe he' s capable of anything. It' ll be the final nail in his coffin. No one will ever trust him again."

I stood frozen behind the pile of linens, the crate of glasses heavy in my hands. He wasn't content with just taking everything from me. He had to grind me into dust. He had to destroy any possibility of me ever having a life.

Rage, hot and pure, surged through me for the first time. This wasn't about some novel's plot anymore. This was about my survival. He had just declared war, and I had no choice but to fight back.

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