Too Rich to Be Real

EPISODE 1 :“The Mansion and the Misfit”Once upon a time — and not in a fairytale kind of way — there lived a ridiculously rich couple known as the Bernard family.They were everything magazines drooled over: successful, stylish, and extremely good at pretending to be humble. Their mansion had more rooms than people, their garden had its own staff, and their parties? Let’s just say Beyoncé wouldn’t be out of place there.But none of that mattered to them nearly as much as their greatest treasure: their only daughter, Fave Bernard.Now, Fave was a girl you’d notice — not because she tried to be noticed, but because she didn’t. She had bright, thoughtful eyes and a warm smile that could make even angry teachers soften. She was smart, polite, hardworking, and honestly… kind of a gem.But there was one teeny, tiny problem.She. Could. Not. Dress.Like, at all.If fashion were a subject, Fave would’ve failed it even with a cheat sheet. Mismatched socks? Check. Cartoon hoodie with church shoes? Double check. Once, she wore a skirt over jeans and called it "creative layering."But here’s the twist: she didn’t care.Fave had been raised by her grandmother — a sweet, loving woman who could cook a pot of jollof so good it made grown men cry. Grandma taught Fave how to be respectful, how to pray, how to cook, clean, and survive in a world that often forgot kindness.What she didn’t teach? How to dress like someone who knew what a “capsule wardrobe” was.To Fave, clothes were just something you wore to avoid getting arrested. That was it.“She dresses like it’s still 2012,” her classmates would whisper, huddled near their lockers like insecure influencers.But Fave? She’d just walk by, head held high, wearing confidence like it was Gucci.Then came the day everything changed.Her beloved grandmother — the woman who had been her mother, her best friend, her world — passed away peacefully in her sleep. Fave didn’t cry much at the funeral. Not because she wasn’t broken, but because she had been raised to be strong.With no other option, Fave moved into her parents’ mansion — a palace of chandeliers, dinner bells, and the quiet hum of luxury she had never gotten used to.Her room had a chandelier. The bathroom had a TV. There was a dress code for breakfast.At first, Fave felt like a houseplant in a spaceship — out of place and always being watered with expectations.But being who she was, she tried. She smiled when her mother criticized her “village clothes.” She nodded when the maids offered to “steam her hair.” And when her dad told her she needed to look the part of a Bernard, she simply said, “What part is that exactly — the jacket or the attitude?”Then, just as she was learning how not to get lost in a house with five sitting rooms, a letter came.Printed on thick, royal-looking paper with a golden crest and a name that screamed elite: Regal Heights Academy — the most prestigious school in the country.Fave had gotten in.Cue the fireworks. Her parents popped champagne. Her mom booked a stylist. Her dad arranged a driver.And Fave? She sat quietly, holding the letter in one hand and her favorite purple hoodie in the other.She had the brains. She had the dream. She had the drive.But could she survive Regal Heights — where confidence wasn’t enough, and sometimes, your outfit spoke louder than your voice?