I was the real heiress, born with what everyone called an extreme case of "people-pleasing syndrome". After I was kidnapped and trafficked to a dusty desert town, one of the traffickers got pissed because I ate too much. He grabbed a whip and came at me. I snatched it out of his hand, then lashed myself eight times across the back until blood seeped through my clothes. After that, I respectfully handed the whip back. "Sir, you shouldn't have to wear yourself out. Hitting people is exhausting—I'll do it myself. No need to dirty your hands." That very night, the traffickers thought I was completely insane. They dumped me outside a bus station and left me there to die. Years later, my biological parents finally found me. On my very first day home, the fake heiress deliberately kicked over a basin of foot-soaking water. Crying her eyes out, she accused me of forcing her to wash my feet, then claimed I'd dumped the dirty water all over her just to humiliate her. My parents and older brother rushed into the living room. My brother even raised his hand, ready to slap me. But the next second, everyone froze. I was kneeling on the floor, using the custom couture gown I'd just changed into to wipe up the spilled water. When the expensive fabric couldn't soak it all up, I lay flat on the floor, carefully wiping every last drop because I was afraid my sister might slip. Then I looked up at her with an eager, flattering smile. "Your foot-soaking water isn't dirty at all, Freda." My brother's raised hand stopped in midair. The fake heiress's tears froze in her eyes. It took my parents a long moment before they finally spoke, "Freda... did you just say your sister was bullying you?"