Chapter 1
I looked up. Sweat dripped down my face from scrubbing the floor, but I still wore the most fawning smile I could manage.
"No, no. I wanted to clean it. Freda's feet are way too delicate. How could someone like me ever deserve to have her wash my feet? Being allowed to clean the floor for her is already more than I deserve."
To prove how sincere I was, I rubbed the floor even harder. Soon, the six-figure couture gown was completely soaked with filthy water.
Silence filled the living room.
Freda Walker's face turned green, then white. She'd walked in with an entire speech prepared, accusing me of being an arrogant bully who abused her, the adopted daughter of the family. Now she couldn't get a single word out.
"Are you freaking insane?" Freda finally screamed.
"Who told you to wipe the floor? Are you putting on this disgusting act on purpose to make everyone feel sorry for you?"
"You're absolutely right! I am insane—disgusting even!"
My eyes lit up. Without hesitation, I slapped myself hard twice across the face.
The sharp cracks echoed through the room. Within seconds, my cheeks were swollen.
"You're right to scold me. Trash like me must be an eyesore to you. I'm leaving. I won't bother you anymore."
The moment I finished speaking, I dropped to all fours and started crawling toward the front door.
"Vicky! What are you doing?!"
My mother, Helen Walker, finally snapped out of her daze. She screamed and rushed over, wrapping me tightly in her arms.
"Sweetie... why did you slap yourself?"
At the sight of my swollen face, tears streamed down her cheeks.
My father, Martin Walker's eyes reddened too. He shoved Freda aside and demanded in a trembling voice, "Freda! Vicky just came home. How could you push her this far?"
Freda stared at him in disbelief. "Mom? Dad? She's the one acting crazy! I never even touched her! Steward, you saw it too, didn't you? She's completely insane!"
Out of habit, she reached for my brother, Steward Walker's sleeve.
Steward looked at me curled up in Helen's arms, still desperately trying to please Freda. His face darkened.
He shook Freda's hand off. "Enough. Vicky was willing to kneel on the floor and wipe it clean, and you're still saying she's the one bullying you? Freda, do you seriously think we're blind?"
Panic flashed across Freda's face. Only then did her tears finally fall.
"No, Steward... I really didn't... "
"That's right! Freda didn't do anything wrong! It's all my fault!"
I hurriedly broke free from Helen's embrace, dropped to my knees before Freda, and knocked my forehead against the floor with practiced ease.
"Please don't be mad at Steward. He only yelled because he cares about you. If it makes you happy, I'll go lick every toilet in the house clean right now!"
I jumped up and sprinted toward the bathroom.
"Our family must be cursed! Stop her! Somebody stop her!" Martin shouted in panic.
Several housekeepers rushed over and grabbed me before I could get away.
I struggled with all my strength. "Let me go! I can do it! I can do anything! Please don't kick me out!"
The carefully planned showdown between the real heiress and the fake one completely spun out of control because of me.
That night, Helen cried while gently applying ointment to the slap marks on my face.
Freda stood in the doorway with red eyes, biting her lip.
"Mom... Dad... If Vicky hates me this much, maybe I should move out. She can have the big master bedroom. I'll just sleep in the storage space in the basement."
She'd used this trick countless times before—pretending to take a step back to gain sympathy.
Each time, the whole family would take her side and hate me even more.
But this time, before anyone else could speak, I sprung to my feet.
"How could Freda sleep in the storage space? She's our family's princess. She deserves better."
I rushed over in panic and grabbed both of her hands.
"Freda, the master bedroom will always belong to you. Someone as worthless as me only deserves to sleep in the doghouse outside. That's right, Buddy's doghouse. I checked earlier. It's big enough for me with plenty of fresh air. I'll move in right away."
I snatched a cleaning rag off the table to use as a blanket and turned to run outside.
"Vicky!" Steward had finally reached his limit. He grabbed the back of my collar and yanked me back.
He stared straight at me. There was anger in his eyes—and fear.
"What are you doing? We're your family. This is your home. So why are you treating yourself like this?"
His shout made me shiver uncontrollably.
Then the familiar pain hit. I doubled over in a violent coughing fit. Blood splattered onto my lips.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I was wrong. I shouldn't have talked back. I shouldn't have made you angry. Please... Please don't hit me. Don't lock me back in the cage..."
Steward's eyes turned red. He slowly let go of me and took two unsteady steps backward.
Helen covered her mouth, crying so hard she couldn't speak.
They all believed I'd suffered so much before that I'd developed an extreme people-pleasing disorder.
They thought it was terrible. They pitied me.
But they had no idea there was nothing wrong with me.
I just wanted to survive.
I'd already been reborn eight times.
In my first seven lives, Freda used every trick imaginable to drive a wedge between me and my family.
She accused me of bullying her, stealing from her, and humiliating her.
I'd tried pleasing them, fighting back, or explaining myself. None of it worked.
Each time, my parents, who claimed they loved me, and my brother, who always looked so fair and righteous, ended up choosing her.
They locked me in the basement, then watched as I slowly died without food and water.
They stood by without lifting a finger while Freda stabbed through my artery, leaving me to bleed to death on the cold floor.
They kept saying, "Vicky, you're so immature. You'll never measure up to Freda."
They were right. I could never compete with Freda.
She was better at pretending and ruining people.
So, in my eighth life, I learned my lesson.
If I couldn't survive as a person, I'd rather reduce myself to a dog.
A dog with no dignity, no bottom line.
As long as I could stay alive, I'd take whatever my enemy threw at me—even her foot water.
