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It was still the next day when Maria learned the truth about her family's situation: they were on the verge of bankruptcy. This time, it came earlier than in her previous life. The reason? Her father—overconfident and prideful—had tried to mimic the so-called "god of stocks" (ironically, her). But he overestimated his abilities and invested in the wrong companies, leading to their downfall.
Maria woke up and dressed for school without a word.
In the gold-trimmed living room, sunlight streamed through sheer curtains, casting soft, shifting shadows across the polished marble floor. Her father sat in an armchair, legs crossed, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand like a forgotten prop.
"We still have options," he said, calm as if reciting stock reports. "Start with the jewelry sets I gave you over the years. Sell them. And bring me whatever savings you've stashed. I'll handle the rest."
By the grand piano, Maria's mother froze. Her smile was tight. "You want me to… sell my jewelry?"
He nodded. "What's the point of keeping them locked up? They're investments, aren't they? You said that yourself."
Her fingers gripped the edge of the piano. That was before you dragged our name through the mud, she thought bitterly.
Out loud, she gave a delicate laugh. "But what will people say? A woman of my status, showing up at a gala without earrings? Without the anniversary necklace? People notice, you know. Friends talk."
Her husband raised a brow. "They'll talk even more when the debt collectors show up."
She shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Surely we can find other ways. Sell one of the vacation homes. Or reduce the staff. There's no need to touch my personal things."
As if I'd walk into a party bare-necked like some commoner, she scoffed inwardly. Do you know how long it took me to build my image? How many envy me? That snake Yvonne would have a field day if I showed up looking plain. She's been waiting for this. She'll whisper, Oh dear, poor thing had to sell her gold. Must be so hard...
Her husband sneered, almost like he could hear her thoughts. "Then call your family. Ask them for help."
Color drained from her face. "My family?" she repeated, the words dry and bitter.
My sister-in-law already treats me like dirt. She'll laugh behind my back and call me a leech. My brothers' wives will bring it up at every dinner. The mighty daughter ran to us with her hands out—how pathetic.
She shook her head quickly. "They... they've helped us before."
"That was years ago," he replied coldly. "Tell them your husband needs backing. They always said you married well—now prove it."
Before she could reply, a sharp voice sliced through the tension.
"You're not even worth the food in your mouth, you mad woman."
Maria's grandmother had entered silently, her cane tapping rhythmically across the marble. Her hand moved faster than expected for someone her age, slapping her daughter-in-law hard across the face.
"You sit there dressed in silk, but when your husband is sinking, all you care about is your vanity? Is this what a wife does? Curse her luck and hide her wealth while her husband drowns?"
Maria's mother held her cheek, stunned, the sting burning deeper than skin. Her pride cracked, but she refused to let it show.
Why should I suffer for his mistakes? Why must I kneel and beg, while he gets to fail and still call himself a man? she screamed silently.
The old woman turned to her son with a huff. "She's not worth your name. No loyalty. If she can't support you now, throw her back to her family."
From the staircase above, Maria watched silently, eyes narrowed.
Her mother slowly lowered her hand from her cheek, her fingers trembling. With practiced grace, she lifted her chin and met her mother-in-law's gaze head-on.
"You're right," she said coldly. "I am a mad woman—for thinking you'd ever do more than scream and insult."
The older woman scoffed, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. "Of course I'll help my son! He's my flesh and blood. But I'm old now—I don't have the strength or energy to deal with these messes. I've done more than enough. You should be standing by him, not hiding behind excuses."
Maria's mother laughed softly—mocking, sharp. "Oh? You'd help? Then why not sell your jewelry? You have a safe full of gold. What use does an old woman have for diamonds and five apartments across the city?"
The room fell silent. For a brief moment, the grandmother's expression cracked.
Maria's mother smiled sweetly, venom lacing every word. "Yes. If anyone should sacrifice, it should be you. You live off our wealth, parade around in your old luxury like you're still thirty. But what do you need jewelry for now? What will you take to the grave—your pearls?"
With exaggerated concern, she added, "It's pitiful, really. You say you want to help your son, yet you cling to your stones. What for? Isn't it time to finally act like family?"
The old woman clutched her chest with theatrical flair and stumbled back into her chair. "Ah! Wicked woman! You want my jewelry now? My own son's wife, trying to strip me bare in my old age! This is what middle-class daughters do—always aiming for the mother-in-law's wealth!"
She broke into dramatic sobs, her hands trembling as she lamented loudly. "Why, oh why did my son marry such a cruel and greedy woman? A snake in a silk dress!"
Maria's mother turned toward her husband, panic flickering across her face. "That's not what I meant—" she tried to explain.
But the man's expression was already twisted with rage. Without a word, his hand flew across her face, harder than before.
Crack.
The sound echoed like a gunshot through the room.
She staggered back, clutching her cheek, blinking rapidly as tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled, but she stayed silent.
"You dare accuse my mother?" he spat. "You filthy social climber. Get out of my sight."
From the staircase above, Maria watched it all with cold, detached eyes.
So this… is their true color.
Her father's face contorted further as he turned toward his own mother. "Enough," he barked, glaring at the old woman with barely concealed disgust. "If you really care about this family, then stop stirring up trouble and do something useful for once in your life."
Grabbing his phone, he began dialing frantically—old friends, business partners, colleagues. One by one, they either ignored him, made excuses, or gave vague responses. Some didn't even let the call ring twice before rejecting it. One blocked him outright. When he called the bank manager, the line cut before it could connect.
With each failed call, the lines on his face deepened in frustration.
Just then, measured footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Maria descended slowly, dressed neatly for school with her bag slung over one shoulder. The air in the room shifted as every eye turned to her.
Her mother's voice cracked like a whip. "Where do you think you're going?!"
Maria didn't flinch. "School," she replied, her tone cool and unwavering as she brushed past the chaos like it was background noise.
"School?" her mother repeated with a bitter sneer. "What school?! You think you'll pass anything? You'll still carry last! You should stop pretending and face reality! Worthless girl! Stay home and do something useful instead of wasting money!"
Maria halted, then slowly turned her head.
"And what would you have me do?" she asked evenly. "Sit here and watch you all tear each other apart like wild dogs? None of this is my fault. I didn't make the deal that blew up. I didn't gamble the family's future away."
Her mother's face twisted in rage, and she lunged—hand raised, ready to strike.
But Maria caught her wrist mid-air.
The room froze.
Her grandmother gasped. "You insolent brat! You dare raise a hand to your mother?! No manners, no respect! Just like your cheap, low-born mother!"
Her father, unfazed, was already speaking into his phone. "Fine. I'll sign the damn deal. Give them the land for the project."
Maria's breath caught.
That deal.
Her eyes narrowed, fists tightening at her sides.
In my last life, he signed that exact deal. It bled the company dry and buried us completely. If it weren't for Oliver stepping in…
"Don't sign it," she said suddenly, voice steady and calm.
Her father glanced at her like she was dirt beneath his shoe. "What?"
"Don't sign it. At least look into it first. Investigate their partners. Check the paperwork. Something's not right."
He laughed coldly, shaking his head. "You? What the hell do you know about business? A child like you? And a dumb one at that! Stay in your place!"
Her grandmother let out a high-pitched cackle. "Does this brat think she's Oliver now? Just because that little boy's smart doesn't mean she is! Sit down, foolish girl. You'll only embarrass yourself."
Maria looked at her, then her father, then her still-shaking mother.
If Oliver warned them, they'd jump to listen. But me? Even if I handed them the truth wrapped in gold, they'd still spit in my face.
She let out a soft, bitter laugh. "You'll regret it."
Then she turned and walked out the door without looking back.
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