From Neglected Girl To Unstoppable Heiress

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I lay dying on a hospital gurney, my internal organs crushed from shielding my sister during the crash.

Yet, my parents were down the hall, cooing over Estrella' s minor scratches while ignoring my fading pulse.

"She' s faking it for attention," my father spat. "She' ll regret this stunt when she gets home."

When the nurse frantically told them I was gone, my mother didn't shed a tear. She laughed.

"Nice try," she sneered at the nurse. "Tell Carolina to stop playing dead. It' s pathetic."

My spirit watched helplessly as they turned my funeral into a performance, painting me as the "difficult" child who finally ruined their lives.

I thought my suffering was over, but then a violent pull dragged me back from the void.

I opened my eyes in a stranger's body-Claire Tillman, a billionaire heiress betrayed by her fiancé.

Now armed with a new face and unlimited resources, I realized I had a second chance.

I wasn't just going to survive; I was going to destroy the fiancé who wronged Claire, and then I was coming for the family that let me die.

Chapter 1

Carolina POV

My blood was a chilling tide, ebbing away with every shallow breath. I could feel it, even as my spirit hovered above the gurney, watching my own body. My hair, usually pinned back for work, was a tangled mess around a face too pale. The sterile white of the hospital gown felt like a shroud already. This was it. The end.

My parents, Hulda and Carleton, weren't by my side. Of course not. They were down the hall, their voices carrying the familiar cadence of parental concern-but not for me. Their anguish was reserved for Estrella, my younger sister, who lay in a private room.

"Oh, my precious Estrella," Hulda sobbed, kneeling by Estrella' s bedside, her designer handbag forgotten on the pristine floor. "My poor baby. Thank goodness you' re safe." She clutched a rosary, her eyes cast heavenward, as if bargaining with God for Estrella' s minor scratches.

Carleton stood beside her, his jaw tight, but his gaze was fixed on Estrella, not me. "This is all Carolina' s fault," he growled, his voice a low rumble of accusation. "Always causing trouble. Always looking for attention. When she finally gets home, I swear, she' ll regret this stunt." The words were a physical blow, even to my disembodied self.

A familiar, icy pain bloomed in the center of my chest, a cold flower of neglect that had been cultivated my entire life. It pulsed with a dull ache, mirroring the internal bleeding that was stealing my life. I was dying, and they believed I was faking it.

A bitter, silent laugh choked in my non-existent throat. Faking it for attention? Is that what this looks like, Mother? Father? This slow, quiet fade into nothingness?

Doctors and nurses swarmed around Estrella, their hushed tones a stark contrast to my parents' dramatic pronouncements. They checked her pulse, adjusted her IV, their faces etched with professional concern for the golden child.

Then, a kind voice broke through the haze. A nurse with tired but gentle eyes, her name tag read Kandy Wallace, approached my parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald," she began softly, "we really need to check on Carolina. Her vitals are declining, and she has significant internal trauma."

Hulda' s head snapped up, her eyes blazing. "Declining? Internal trauma?" She scoffed, a truly ugly sound. "That girl is fine. She' s always been overly dramatic. This is just another one of her little acts to draw attention away from Estrella." She waved a dismissive hand. "Focus on my daughter, Nurse. Estrella needs you."

The words hit me like a physical punch. A cold shock rippled through my ethereal form, quickly followed by a crushing weight that stole what little spiritual breath I had left. It wasn' t a surprise, not really. This was their default setting. But the sheer cruelty, voiced so carelessly, still pierced.

Why did I ever think I mattered? Why did I always hope for something different? Each breath I hadn't taken, each beat my heart had skipped, felt like a testament to my insignificance.

Hulda pulled out her phone, her thumb stabbing at the screen. "I' ll call her myself. She knows what happens when she ignores us."

A junior nurse, looking flustered, approached my body. She carefully picked up my phone, which had fallen beside the gurney. The screen was cracked. She brought it to my still fingers, as if I could answer. Helpless, I watched.

Hulda' s voice, amplified by the phone, was sharp and laced with venom. "Carolina! You answer me right now! Where are you? How dare you disappear when your sister is hurt? This is just typical, isn' t it? Always making things about you."

A cold, complete despair settled over me. There was no hope. Not a flicker. The call was not one of concern, but of pure, unadulterated contempt. It was the same tone she' d used when I' d fallen off my bike at seven and broken my arm, only to be told I was clumsy and had ruined our family picnic. It was the same tone when I' d gotten food poisoning on vacation, and she' d accused me of trying to get out of sightseeing.

Hulda then turned back to Kandy, her voice dripping with disdain. "See? I knew it. She' s fine. Just ignoring my calls. She knows how to manipulate people into giving her attention. Don't fall for it, Nurse." She gave Kandy a look that dared her to defy.

Carleton nodded in agreement. "She' s always been a burden. A black cloud over this family." He looked at Estrella, then back at the nurse, as if to reinforce the contrast.

Estrella, seemingly jolted by the commotion, stirred from her light sleep. She blinked, her perfect lashes fluttering, and then her eyes widened as if suddenly remembering. "Caro?" she whispered, her voice weak, theatrical. "Is Carolina okay? Is she... is she mad at me?" A single tear tracked a path down her cheek. "It was an accident. I didn' t mean for anything bad to happen."

Hulda rushed back to Estrella' s side, stroking her hair. "Of course not, my angel. You did nothing wrong. It' s always Carolina." Her earlier anger at the nurse was instantly replaced by saccharine concern for Estrella.

"That ungrateful girl," Hulda muttered into the phone, convinced I was still listening. "When you finally decide to show your face, Carolina, you' d better have a good explanation. This is the last straw. The very last straw." She ended the call with a furious stab at the screen.

Carleton, still stone-faced, chimed in. "Your mother' s right. She's caused enough trouble. This family doesn' t need her negativity."

Estrella, sniffling delicately, added, "I just hope she's okay. Even though she always hates me, I still worry about her." Her eyes, though watery, held a faint, triumphant gleam.

A hollow, agonizing laugh resonated within my spirit. Hates you? You cause this, Estrella. You always do. They would never see it. They would never see her for the manipulative, selfish creature she was. They would always believe her innocent tears, her fragile victimhood.

And the crash. I knew the truth of that too. The reckless texting, the swerving, my desperate lunge to protect her, to shield her perfect face with my body. My last act of love, met with dismissal.

My spirit felt a faint pull, a deepening chill. The room, the voices, everything began to recede, swallowed by a vast, echoing darkness.

Carolina POV

My mother' s voice, a distant echo now, still held the power to chill. She was still talking, unaware of my fading form. "She' s never been right, that girl," she murmured, her voice laced with manufactured sadness, the kind she used for distant relatives she barely knew. "Ever since she was a little thing. So moody. So... gloomy."

Carleton nodded grimly. "No sense of family loyalty. Always drifting. What will she ever make of herself?" The question hung in the air, a judgment already delivered.

Estrella, ever the dutiful daughter, spoke up, her voice honeyed with feigned concern. "Oh, Mother, Father, don' t be so hard on Caro. Maybe she' s just... lost. She needs us." Her words were perfectly calibrated, designed to paint her as the compassionate sister while subtly reinforcing my perceived failings.

Hulda' s expression softened instantly. "You' re too kind, my darling. Always thinking of others." She squeezed Estrella' s hand. "That' s why everyone loves you, Estrella. Unlike some people, who only think of themselves." Her gaze, though not directed at me, felt like a physical weight on my vanishing essence.

I watched, a detached observer, as Estrella' s performance unfolded. The slight tilt of her head, the well-timed sniffle, the way her eyes glistened without actually shedding tears. It was a masterpiece of manipulation, honed over years, and my parents were its most ardent audience.

They won' t believe me, even if I screamed the truth from the rooftops. I knew this. I had tried, so many times, to tell them about Estrella' s cruel games, her subtle sabotages. Each time, I was met with their unwavering disbelief, followed by lectures on my jealousy and imagination.

I remembered a time, I must have been eight, and Estrella was six. She' d deliberately broken my favorite porcelain doll, a gift from my grandmother. When I cried and told Mother, Estrella had immediately burst into loud, theatrical sobs, claiming I had pushed her and called her names. Mother had grounded me for a week and made me apologize to Estrella. I had stopped trying to explain after that. It was easier to just accept the blame.

It was always easier. For them, for me. This pattern, this dance of their adoration and my dismissal, had become as natural as breathing.

Suddenly, the door burst open. My older sister, the perpetually stressed but fiercely loyal Victoria, rushed in, her face pale with worry. "Estrella! My God, are you alright?" She ignored my prostrate form in the hallway, her focus, like everyone else' s, solely on the golden child.

Victoria rushed to Estrella' s bed, her hands hovering over her. When she saw Estrella' s small bandage and heard her soft assurances, Victoria exhaled a ragged sigh of relief. "Thank heavens. I was so worried."

Then, her eyes landed on my unmoving body in the hallway. Her face hardened, twisting into a mask of fury. "And she caused all this, didn' t she? That... that nuisance. Always ruining everything." She spat the words, her contempt palpable.

Estrella, seeing her cue, whimpered. "Vicky, don' t be mean. Carolina didn' t mean to... she didn't mean to cause trouble." But her words only fueled Victoria' s rage.

The entire family erupted. Carleton slammed his fist on the bedside table. "How did this even happen, Estrella? That girl is going to pay for this!"

Hulda' s teeth clenched. "She will regret the day she ever crossed us. She will regret it deeply."

Victoria' s eyes, usually sharp, were now narrowed with pure malice, fixed on my form.

Estrella, realizing the fury might be turning a little too strongly against me, and thus potentially damaging her "innocent" image, quickly intervened. "No, no, please! Don' t be angry at Carolina. I' m sure it was just an accident. She wouldn' t hurt me on purpose, I know she wouldn' t." Her voice was sweet, a perfect balm to their rage.

Victoria patted Estrella' s arm. "You' re too kind, darling. You always were. You always think the best of everyone." But her eyes still flickered with suspicion towards my body.

Hulda chimed in, "Estrella has a heart of gold. She loves her sister, even when Carolina is so... difficult." She looked at Carleton. "Estrella is right. We shouldn' t completely condemn Carolina without knowing the full story. Perhaps she needs help." But the tone suggested 'help' was more like 'reprimand'.

Carleton nodded, appeased. "For Estrella' s sake, we' ll let it go. This time."

I watched their harmonious tableau, a tight-knit unit of adoration and shared disdain, and a wave of indescribable pain, sharper than any physical wound, washed over my spirit. I was an outsider looking in, not just to this room, but to this family, this life.

My spirit felt trapped, bound to this lingering shell, forced to witness the final, cruel rites of my abandonment. I wanted to scream, to tear free, but I was utterly powerless. I could only stand by, a silent, unseen witness to the contempt they showered upon my memory, even before it was truly established.

Carolina POV

A few days later, Estrella was discharged. The hospital became a flurry of activity, all centered around her. Hulda bustled around Estrella' s room, carefully packing her cashmere sweaters and silk pajamas into a monogrammed weekend bag. She fussed over every detail, ensuring Estrella' s comfort.

Carleton, ever the pragmatic one, had his sleek, black sedan pulled directly to the hospital' s main entrance, defying all parking regulations. He stood guard by the door, impatiently checking his watch, as if Estrella' s delicate constitution couldn' t bear another moment inside the sterile walls.

Victoria, ever the doting older sister, refused to let Estrella tie her own sneakers. She knelt, her brow furrowed with concern, meticulously lacing them up as if performing a sacred ritual.

On the drive home, Hulda sighed dramatically. "I just wish Carolina had been there. It' s so unlike her to be so disrespectful. After all we' ve done for her." She tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the dashboard.

Carleton grunted in agreement. "She' ll get what' s coming to her. This time, she' s gone too far." The words, casual and inevitable, hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

A strange mix of emotions swirled within my hovering spirit. Dread, yes, a faint echo of the fear I once felt. But also, a profound weariness. What could they do to me now that they hadn't already? What else could they take?

This favoritism, this lopsided affection, it wasn't new. It had been the air I breathed since birth. Estrella, the delicate, beautiful younger sister, born premature after a terrifying car accident that had nearly taken Hulda' s life.

I remembered it vividly, though I was only four. The screech of tires, the smell of burning rubber. I had been in the back seat, unhurt, but Mother had been rushed to the hospital, bleeding. Estrella, a tiny, fragile package, had been born too early. Seeing her minuscule form in the incubator, hooked up to a tangle of tubes, had broken my parents' hearts. My father had blamed me.

"If you hadn' t distracted your mother, this never would have happened!" he' d bellowed, his hand connecting sharply with my cheek. "You' re a curse, Carolina! A curse on this family!" Hulda, pale and weak, had watched with a silent, defeated look in her eyes. It was then, I realized, that I had become the family scapegoat.

Another memory, sharp and vivid, pierced through the dullness of my non-existence. I was perhaps seven, clutching a worn, velvet-bound sketchbook, filled with my childish drawings. It was my most prized possession. Estrella, then five, had demanded it.

"I want to draw in it!" she' d shrieked, her voice rising to a terrible pitch.

"No, Estrella, it' s mine," I' d pleaded, pulling it away. "I' m drawing something for Grandma."

She' d immediately collapsed to the floor in a fit of manufactured tears, wailing about how I never shared, how I was always mean to her.

Mother had rushed in, her face contorted with anger. "Carolina! What are you doing to your sister? Give her the sketchbook at once!"

"But it' s mine!" I' d tried to explain, tears blurring my vision. "I was drawing..."

Estrella, still sobbing, looked up with wide, innocent eyes. "It' s okay, Mommy. Carolina can keep it. I just wanted to draw a picture for her." The lie was so perfectly crafted, so self-sacrificing, it made my stomach churn even now.

Later that evening, Father returned home. He hadn' t even taken off his jacket before Mother, her voice dripping with indignation, recounted my alleged cruelty. His face had darkened. He' d grabbed me by the arm, dragging me to my room.

"You ungrateful child!" he' d roared, his belt already in his hand. "How dare you upset your sister? You don' t deserve to be in this house!" The blows rained down, hard and fast. I cried, begging him to stop, but he just hit harder, convinced my tears were crocodile tears.

Mother and Victoria stood in the doorway, watching, their faces impassive. Not a single word of protest, not a single gesture of comfort.

After that, I stopped fighting. I stopped explaining. I simply endured. And now, in death, I was enduring the same cold abandonment.