The Winner of the Don's Selection

"Those are for your future dowry. You want them now—don't you trust me?"

I shrugged.

"This isn't about trust. Don Killian's selection is dangerous. If I die out there, I'd rather die with something to my name."

The color drained from her face, quickly replaced by a flush of anger. She finally suppressed her rage and nodded.

"Fine. I'll have the lawyer transfer ownership to you."

I lowered my head in a small gesture of respect.

"Thank you, Mother."

She looked at me, then sighed, her voice softening slightly.

"Don't dwell on it. When you come back, the Ricci family will still be your home."

In my last life, I heard the exact same words.

Later, she said with her own mouth:

"There is no place for you here."

Late at night, I returned to my penthouse apartment.

I heard whispering outside—the bodyguards she’d posted.

They were her watchdogs, making sure I didn't have a last-minute change of heart and bolt.

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, my fists slowly clenching.

This time, of course I would go.

But I would never again be the Aveline who was casually discarded as a sacrifice.

The selection—I wouldn't just survive it. I would win it.

Everyone who owed me a debt would pay it back, one by one.

This time, relying on the memories of my past life, I passed the selection unscathed.

By the time I returned from the Thorne Group's headquarters to my family's penthouse, it was nearly dusk.

I went back to my apartment.

Before I even entered, I heard voices from inside.

Camilla's tone was honeyed, laced with a practiced worry.

"Mother, I've been using Aveline's apartment. What if she suddenly comes back?"

My foster mother’s voice was warm with an affection she never showed me.

"Don't worry. Killian is ruthless, and his selection is brutal. No one who goes in comes back alive."

A pause.

"Besides, you're different from her. You're destined to marry the Don of another family."

Camilla giggled.

"Marco said the same thing. He even helped me pick out my engagement dress."

Marco interjected smugly:

"Camilla, of course, deserves the best."

My foster mother smiled.

"He adores you, of course."

I stood outside the door, my fingertips turning cold.

In my last life, I had overheard a similar conversation.

Back then, I had desperately tried to make excuses for them.

Even after being reborn, I still couldn't understand.

Why? Why did she treat us so differently?

Before I could dwell on it, I heard the sound of a jewelry box opening inside.

Her gentle voice followed:

"This antique Cartier necklace is something I saved especially for you. It was your father's—originally meant for Aveline. But since she's gone to the Thorne Group, we shouldn't let such a fine thing go to waste."

Camilla's voice was filled with delight.

"Mother, you're so good to me."

I lowered my eyes and knocked on the door.

A moment of silence.