Chapter 3

When I woke the next morning, I was still on the floor.

I hadn't had the strength to climb into bed the night before, so I'd fallen asleep on the boards.

A high fever came in the night, and I drifted through fevered dreams of the way things used to be.

Back then I was still the rightful daughter of the Simmons family. My parents were busy with the business, but they never missed a single moment of my life.

The first time I emceed a school event in grade school, my mother switched an overseas meeting to a video call and rushed to the school to watch.

At ten, I parroted a commercial off the TV and kept announcing that my goal was the stars and the sea.

My father laughed and ruffled my hair, then bought and named a few small asteroids, saying I could go explore them myself one day.

At fifteen I often went to my parents' company to hang around, and every time the staff would bow and welcome the young miss.

I'd hide behind my mother, embarrassed, and she would give this knowing little smile.

"So Margie's little fantasy finally came true? What else do you want to act out? Mom will have them all play along."

It hit me then that this was a line I'd once tossed off while watching one of those over-the-top rich-family dramas: this looks so fun, I want a turn too.

Then, the year I turned eighteen, I had the accident. I woke up in the hospital and, out of nowhere, awakened a system.

Everything changed.

I dragged my heavy body to the servants' shared bathroom to wash up and change.

The breakfast cook, the one who handled the American breakfasts, had just come out of the shower. She frowned.

"Margie, why are you so pale? Are you feeling sick somewhere?"

"How about I say something to Mr. and Mrs. Simmons, so you can rest today and go see a doctor?"

Ever since Marcia had cried a few times about going hungry as a child, the only way I could earn my three meals in this house was through work.

A day of rest meant a day without food.

Even when I went out to work over the summer break to earn tuition, I still had to do chores when I came home.

And at the company, they only ever paid me exactly enough to cover the tuition, never a cent more.

So I had no money to see a doctor.

The arm she was holding had started to burn. "No, child, you really have to go to the hospital. If this fever keeps up, you'll cook your own brain."

"Where's the wound? Let me have a look."

I lifted the hem of my short sleeve, and her eyes went wide, her voice failing her.

"It's already red and swollen and starting to fester! How can you stand it? Come on, we're going to find Mrs. Simmons."

She grabbed me and started for the living room.

I tried to pull away, but the fever had drained me, and I couldn't get free.

All I could do was murmur,

"Ma'am, they won't do anything for me. Could you lend me a little money instead…"

The servants in this mansion made tens of thousands a month.

I never saw a dime.

My parents said it all went toward paying off my debt to Marcia.

Her face was complicated as she tried to reassure me.

"Mr. and Mrs. Simmons may not be your birth parents, but they did raise you all these years. There's some feeling there. They won't just leave you."

"Don't worry, Margie. And if they really won't help, then I'll take you to the hospital myself."

"Never mind lending. You were always so good to everyone here. This new young miss now… ah, never mind, I shouldn't say it…"

Marcia had the mindset of someone poor who'd suddenly come into money. She was hard on all the household staff, picking at everything.

Quite a few who'd worked here for years couldn't take it and quit on their own.

But with my parents backing her, swapping out a few servants meant nothing.

When the cook brought me into the living room, we walked right into Marcia fussing over a vase of flowers, playing up to Lance.

"Lance, come look at the flowers I arranged just for you."

Lance, who used to frown and sneeze at the sight of fresh flowers, took the vase with a smile and set it on the table.

"Careful. It's such a big arrangement. Just let me come to you. What if you dropped it and got hurt?"

Hearing that gentle, doting voice of his, something in my chest cracked hollow.

The words were out before they'd passed through my head.

"Aren't you allergic to fresh flowers?"

Lance answered without missing a beat.

"I knew Marcia would give me flowers, so of course I took allergy medicine ahead of time."

Marcia's face flushed at that, while mine went even paler.

My mother frowned, displeased by my appearance.

"Lance is Marcia's fiancé now. What are you doing out here? Margery, you'd better stop clinging to unrealistic fantasies about winning him back. Lance was only ever good to you because you were a Simmons child. Strip that away, and you're nothing."

I bowed my head. I knew this was just the daily lecture, and it didn't need an answer.