Two Heiresses

The burning felt like countless tiny needles stabbing at the surface of my skin. I jerked my eyes open, my lashes still dusted with ghostly ashes. Right in front of me hung the Quinn Family's living room crystal chandelier. Twelve prism-shaped glass tubes cast cold reflections, scattering tiny specks of light across the off-white marble floor. One of those light spots flickered over my face, chilling like the floor beneath me as I died in my last life. "Molly Lynn, what are you standing there for? Apologize to your sister, now!" The sharp female voice scraped across my eardrums like nails on glass. I turned my head. Melissa Lopez, Ruby Quinn's mother, stood beside the European-style sofa, hands on her hips, the cuffs of her lotus-pink silk robe slipping down to her forearms, revealing the exquisite jade bracelet on her wrist. Her brows knitted into a tight knot, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes sharpened with disdain, staring at me like I was a piece of gum stuck to the carpet. Beside her, Ruby Quinn clutched her left arm, sobbing. The white dress she wore was a brand-new design, just air-shipped from P City last week, but the pale yellow milk stain at the hem looked like an ugly patch, shining greasy under the crystal chandelier. Her shoulders heaved, tears streaming down her cheeks, landing on the lace trim of her dress and blooming into a dark stain. This scene... was the day I was taken back to the Quinn Family at seventeen. In my last life, I had just crawled out of the muddy countryside, with bits of grass still stuck to my feet. Seeing this lavish living room, seeing Melissa Lopez and George Quinn's so-called 'gentle' faces, I thought, finally, family was here to catch me. When Ruby Quinn cried that I pushed her, I reddened and apologized, saying, 'Sorry, I didn't mean to.' But that apology sounded like Pandora's box had just been flung wide open. For seventeen years, I was nothing but the Quinn Family's free maid. Ruby Quinn's dirty laundry? I washed it. Her homework? I wrote it. The messes she got into? I took the blame. Until the end, when she locked me in that leaky rental apartment in the urban village and set a gasoline-soaked quilt on fire. The choking smoke flooded down my throat, and I couldn't help but cough twice. My right hand clenched instinctively, my nails digging deep into my palm, the pain confirming—this was no dream. "I'm not wrong." My voice was soft, like falling snowflakes, yet carried the sharp, unyielding edge of ice shards. Melissa was stunned. She stood there with her hands on her hips, mouth slightly agape, like she couldn't believe this "wild weed" I dragged in from the countryside actually dared to fight back. Ruby Quinn's sobbing suddenly froze for half a second in the air. Ruby cried even harder, her shoulders shaking like leaves in the wind: "Sis, I know you just got back and aren't used to it, and you haven't seen such good milk in the countryside... But just because I accidentally spilled some, you can't go pushing me around..." Her voice dwindled until the last few words were almost swallowed by her fingers, painting the picture of someone drowning in unbearable injustice. "I didn't push you." I stared straight into her eyes. Those always glossy almond eyes held an innocence that refused to fade, but the moment I said those words, a flicker of panic flashed deep in her pupils, like a startled fish suddenly sinking out of sight. "What's wrong with you, kid?" George Quinn stepped out of his study. He wore a gray pinstriped suit, his necktie tied flawlessly, a document pinched between his fingers. Seeing the tense silence in the living room, he frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening, and said, "Ruby's been spoiled since she was little and has a soft nature; why can't you cut her some slack?" "Why the hell should I?" I sneered coldly, the chill in my voice sounding almost alien even to myself, "Just because she stole seventeen years of my life?" The air in the living room suddenly froze. The light spots from the crystal chandelier seemed to hang frozen in the air. Ruby Quinn's face went deathly pale in an instant—paler than the white dress she wore. She instinctively shrank behind Melissa Lopez, quietly clutching the edge of her clothes with her left hand. I caught that tiny move, a cold smile creeping at the corner of my lips. The prelude to revenge starts right now.