When the Family Reads the Fake Heiress’s Mind

Jean Ginger was dead.

She’d made it big all on her own and reached financial freedom before hitting thirty. But just like that, a car accident wiped it all away.

When she came to, she was lying in a ridiculously frilly princess bed.

The headboard was covered with stuffed animals that looked like they belonged in a doll museum.

Her head was pounding as memories that weren’t hers came crashing in.

No freaking way.

She had fallen into a book.

Why was this kind of cheesy plot twist happening to her?

Jean lived for money. Hustling was her life. If it hadn’t been for one random night when she couldn’t sleep and ended up on some sketchy novel site…

She never would’ve clicked on that trashy title, The Real Heiress Awakens.

This story was as cheesy and over-the-top as it gets. The real heiress, Sarah, had everything going for her and the whole world wrapped around her finger.

In her past life, Sarah had it rough. Raised dirt poor out in the sticks, she eventually made her way to Blairford, only to be crushed under the heel of the upper crust. She married the wrong guy, suffered in silence, and died heartbroken.

Only at the very end did she find out the truth.

She was the real daughter of one of Blairford’s elite families.

Given a second shot at life, Sarah made a vow—she was taking it all back.

She sprinted to Blairford to reclaim her place, humiliated the fake heiress who had walked all over her in the past, and effortlessly won the hearts of her rich birth parents and five powerhouse big brothers.

And then, because why not, she snagged the fake heiress’s fiancé too.

Of course, he was the official male lead of the story.

Sarah went straight to the top. Meanwhile, the fake heiress lost everything and became so hated by everyone that she ended up institutionalized.

And wouldn’t you know it—Jean had landed in the body of that same fake heiress with the tragic ending. They even had the exact same name.

She groaned and rubbed her temples.

Should I just start packing and call ahead for a VIP room at the psych ward?

Jean climbed off the bed and froze—she was shorter. Way shorter. She must’ve lost at least half a foot in height.

Her long, elegant limbs had turned into chubby little arms and stubby legs.

The fake heiress she’d become was only thirteen years old.

The upside? The real heiress hadn’t shown up yet to ruin her life.

The downside? She would—just not for a few more years.

Ding-dong.

Her phone lit up on the nightstand with a text.

Jean tapped it open. It was a bank notification.

Her account had just been credited with 70 thousand dollars.

Hold up.

Seventy thousand dollars?

She counted the zeroes like her life depended on it. Yep. Seventy thousand dollars.