From Cellblock to Chaebol: I Took the Fall, Then Took It All.Chapter 1

The wind screamed past my ears, tearing the breath from my lungs.

A split second before the fall, a billionaire had claimed I was his long-lost granddaughter, whisking me away into a life of unimaginable wealth. He had casually tossed my mother a check with enough zeroes to buy a small island. Without a flicker of hesitation, she signed her name, shoving me out the door without once asking if I wanted to go.

Later, my twin sister saw me on television, living in a sprawling mansion, flanked by a security detail. Jealousy is a venom that rots the brain. She used a tearful reunion as an excuse to visit, and the moment my back was turned, she shoved me off the sixteenth-floor balcony.

Her face, contorted into a monstrous sneer, was the last thing I saw.

"We have the exact same face! Why do you get to be the billionaire’s miracle? Once you’re dead, that empire is mine!"

When I hit the pavement, the pain wasn't just immense; it was an apocalyptic shattering of every nerve in my body. Blood pooled in my mouth, hot and thick. The heavy, metallic stench of iron filled my nostrils as my vision dimmed, my dying eyes locked on the tiny, frantic silhouette of my sister looking down from the penthouse.

In those final, agonizing seconds, the truth of my "fairytale" reunion flashed before my eyes. The sterile rooms. The needles. The cage.

If I ever get a second chance, I thought, the darkness swallowing me whole, I would rather die than let him take me again.

* * *

"Are you deaf? I told you to get your sister for dinner!"

The shrill, grating voice of my mother, Brenda, shattered the silence. I stood frozen, my mind violently spinning.

It wasn't until a sharp kick landed on my shin that the sensory details of the room snapped into focus—the smell of stale cooking grease, the peeling wallpaper, the faded linoleum.

I was back. I was standing in our cramped apartment, mere minutes before the billionaire and his lawyers knocked on our door.

A tidal wave of euphoria crashed over me. But the real shock came when my twin sister, Riley, walked out of my bedroom. She was wearing my clothes—a faded, oversized band tee I usually slept in.

The moment she met my eyes, a chilling smirk played on her lips. My gut instantly knew. She remembered, too. She had also been sent back.

"Sweetheart, why are you wearing her rags? Won't your skin break out?" Brenda asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Riley only ever wore the good clothes. If a fabric wasn't premium cotton or silk blends, she claimed it gave her a rash. So, for eighteen years, I wore the thrift store rejects and her cast-offs.

Riley ignored Brenda's concern, excitedly grabbing her arm. "Mom, that doesn't matter right now. Come here. I need to tell you something."

She dragged Brenda into the tiny kitchen, their heads bent together in hushed, urgent whispers. Through the narrow doorway, I watched the skepticism on Brenda’s face melt away, replaced by a greedy, ear-to-ear grin that deepened the harsh lines around her mouth.

Cold sweat prickled across my skin. Riley was going to steal my identity. She was going to volunteer to be the billionaire's long-lost granddaughter.

But would he buy it? Would he believe Riley was the one he was looking for? What if I was the one dragged away again?

Three sharp knocks on the front door made me flinch. My heart hammered against my ribs. I made a silent vow right then and there: if he saw through her lie and tried to take me, I would throw myself out the window before I ever let him put me in his car. Better to end it on my own terms than endure the slow, torturous hell of my past life.

Smack!

A stinging slap across my cheek snapped my head to the side. Brenda glared at me, her voice a venomous hiss. "From this second on, you are your sister. You keep your mouth shut, you hear me? You say one word, and I'll beat you half to death."

At the door, Riley pulled it open just a crack, peeking out with manufactured innocence. "Um, can I help you?"

She was perfectly mirroring my quiet, timid voice from our past life. She even nailed my wide-eyed, hesitant stare.

Mr. Hayes, the icy, suited secretary, stepped inside without asking, holding a thick leather portfolio. Behind him walked Arthur Kensington.

Arthur’s sharp, sunken eyes scanned our decaying living room with unconcealed disgust. He lowered himself onto our ratty sofa like a king claiming a dirty throne, immediately doubling over in a fit of violent, wet coughing.

Riley hurried over, playing her part. "Who are you? Why are you in our house? Get out before I call the cops!"

Mr. Hayes adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, looking Riley up and down before turning his attention to Brenda. "Ms. Miller. Please review these documents. Your daughter, Wren, is Mr. Kensington's biological granddaughter. She was switched at birth in the hospital. Mr. Kensington’s health is failing, and he wishes to bring his sole heir home."

It was a poorly constructed lie, riddled with plot holes. The first time I heard it, I thought they were running a scam. Riley and I were identical twins. How on earth could only one of us be switched at birth?

But before I could even process the absurdity, Brenda had snatched the supposed DNA test. She pretended to read the medical jargon, but her eyes were entirely locked on the document tucked behind it.

The settlement agreement.

If she let me go, Arthur was offering her a cool five million dollars as "compensation for her years of care."

Brenda didn't hesitate. She didn't ask for a pen; she grabbed the one from Hayes's breast pocket and scrawled her name with trembling, frantic hands. She was vibrating with the high of a sudden, unearned fortune.

"Mom?" I mumbled, playing my part perfectly, letting my voice crack with feigned confusion.

"Shut up," Brenda snapped, not even looking at me. "The DNA test is right here. You're his granddaughter. No wonder I never could stand you—you aren't even mine." She turned to Arthur, her smile practically unhinged. "Mr. Kensington, I only have one daughter now, and that's Riley. Please, take your girl home."

She couldn't get rid of me fast enough.

She didn't question the logic of twins. She didn't ask what I wanted, or if I was terrified to leave with strangers. She didn't even wonder where her other daughter would theoretically be. Her eyes were glued to the check, terrified that if she blinked, the paper would evaporate.

In my past life, I had clung to the doorframe, crying, begging her not to make me go. My fingernails had bled against the wood. She hadn't even looked back.