Chapter 4

The five years that followed were a blur of calculated risks and relentless work. The money from Mark wasn't just a payout; it was my war chest. In my first life, I poured my soul into my art, only to see it gather dust. This time, I poured that same passion into the stock market and real estate.

I was no longer the naive, trusting artist. The woman who collapsed on the ballroom floor was dead and buried. In her place was a shrewd businesswoman who saw the world not in colors and shapes, but in assets and opportunities. I bought undervalued properties in up-and-coming neighborhoods. I invested in tech startups that my past knowledge told me would explode. My small fortune grew, quietly and steadily.

But my life wasn't just about spreadsheets and market trends. Two years after the hospital incident, a different kind of tragedy struck. A former colleague, Daniel Thompson's older brother, and his wife were killed in a car accident. They left behind a three-year-old son.

Daniel was a successful venture capitalist I'd met briefly at a business seminar. He was overwhelmed with grief and the sudden responsibility of raising his nephew. When I heard the news, I reached out. I knew what it was like to be suddenly faced with the prospect of raising a child alone.

We bonded over our shared, albeit different, circumstances. He saw a strength in me he admired, and I saw a stability and kindness I had never known.

His nephew was a quiet, sweet boy, also named Liam. When I looked at him, I didn't see the ghost of the boy who betrayed me. I saw a chance for a different future, a chance to do it right.

When Daniel' s work required him to travel extensively, I offered to become Liam' s primary guardian. It wasn' t a sacrifice this time; it was a choice. Daniel, trusting and grateful, agreed. We would raise him together.

I poured everything into this new Liam. But I didn't push him towards tech or business. I saw a different spark in him. He was creative, charismatic, and loved to perform. So, I nurtured that. I enrolled him in the best acting classes, hired private coaches, and used my growing network to get him auditions.

I wasn't raising a replacement son. I was raising a partner in my long-term plan. I taught him about loyalty, integrity, and the importance of choosing your own family. I told him, in age-appropriate ways, about a world where people weren't always what they seemed. He grew up fiercely protective of me, his loyalty absolute.

Years passed. My business empire flourished. And Liam, my Liam, became a star. He started with commercials, then guest spots on TV shows, and by the time he was eighteen, he was one of the most promising young actors in Hollywood.

Tonight was the culmination of his hard work: the Golden Globe Awards. He was nominated for Best Actor for his breakout role in a critically acclaimed film.

As I sat beside him in the glittering auditorium, I felt a familiar sense of pride, but this time it was clean, untainted by impending doom. Daniel sat on my other side, his hand resting reassuringly on mine. We had married a year ago, cementing our partnership and our family.

I knew Olivia and Mark would be watching. Liam' s fame was too big to ignore. They were opportunists, and a famous, successful young man named Liam would be an irresistible target. They would assume he was their son, their abandoned lottery ticket who had inexplicably hit the jackpot.

I had been waiting for this moment for eighteen years. I wasn't just anticipating it; I had planned for it.

As Liam' s category was announced, I squeezed his hand.

"No matter what happens tonight, I' m proud of you," I whispered.

He smiled at me, his eyes full of love and trust. "I know, Mom. We' ve got this."

The presenter opened the envelope. "And the Golden Globe goes to... Liam Miller!"

The room erupted in applause. Liam hugged me tightly, then Daniel, and made his way to the stage. As he stood at the podium, a vision of success and grace, I saw a movement near the entrance of the ballroom.

Just as I predicted.

There they were. Olivia, in a gown that screamed 'look at me,' and Mark, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. They were older, but their aura of arrogant entitlement was unchanged. They started walking towards the stage, ready to hijack my son' s moment, to reclaim the prize they thought was theirs.

I smiled. The curtain was finally rising on the second act. And this time, I was the director.