This Time I’m Done Fighting

The next morning, when I came downstairs, the living room was humming with activity.

Vivi was in the center of the leather sofa, her arm linked affectionately through Fred's as she leaned on his shoulder, showing him several gold-embossed invitation samples.

"I want champagne-colored ribbons, Fred. White is too plain. After all, this is my official debut as a member of the Rogers family."

Vivi's voice was as sweet and cloying as ever.

"No problem, my little princess. Anything you want." Fred smiled and ruffled her hair, his eyes filled with adoration.

"Vivi is at the right age for a formal debut. It's time the other powerful families got to know the jewel of our family," Bryan said, leaning back on the sofa. Though his tone was restrained, his eyes were full of approval as he looked at Vivi.

"We'll use this opportunity to make all five families remember your name."

The three of them looked as intimate as a perfect portrait of a powerful family, and I was the outsider who had mistakenly wandered into the frame.

In my past life, I had longed for this coming-of-age party.

I wanted to wear a beautiful dress, walk with my brothers on my arm, and proudly tell everyone that I was a daughter of the Rogers family.

I had even given up a precious opportunity to attend an international academic conference for that debut, naively thinking I could finally be one of them.

The result, however, was that the dance Vivi had supposedly taught me, which I had practiced for a month, turned out to be a set of vulgar moves fit for a strip club.

She, dressed in a million-dollar custom gown from Bryan, danced with the Moretti family heir in the center of the ballroom, looking like a white swan.

And I, in an ill-fitting, out-of-season dress, shrank in a corner.

While Vivi accepted everyone's praise in the middle of the dance floor, the high-society ladies whispered about me.

"Look, that's the wild child the Rogers found. The way she holds her wine glass, she looks like a waitress. No wonder she can't even manage a proper ballroom dance."

Bryan refused to listen to any of my explanations, convinced that I had brought utter shame upon the family. He locked me in the basement for three whole days. I was made a complete fool.

"Helena?"

Fred was the first to notice me. He waved me over. "Perfect timing, come here."

I walked over and sat down obediently, but kept my distance.

Fred pointed to a dark-colored gown on a screen. "Helena, there's something I need to discuss with you. Vivi's coming-of-age ball is next week. Could you let Vivi wear that diamond necklace?"

"Just to borrow it for one night. We'll return it to you right after the ball."

This necklace was the exclusive symbol of the Rogers family's principessa.

There was only one. Whoever wore it was the family's most honored daughter.

"Of course. I'll take the necklace to Vivi's room later," I answered crisply, without a moment's hesitation.

Fred froze, seemingly surprised by my quick agreement. "Well, in that case, I'll buy you a new one later. It would go well with that red dress of yours."

"There's no need. My medical program has a mandatory training session that day."

Bryan, who had been in the middle of signing a document, stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. He slowly looked at me. "Are you saying you're not going?"

"It's the same day as a training session for one of my medical projects. It's a scheduling conflict. You all should focus on preparing for Vivi's important debut," I said calmly, playing the part of an exceedingly understanding sister.

After all, in my last life, I was put under house arrest for refusing to lend the necklace and never even made it to the party.

He had pointed at me back then, his eyes burning with fury. "Helena, you know how important this day is for Vivi. Do you have to cause trouble for me right now?"

"How can you be so petty?"

At that time, Vivi had walked over to Bryan, patting his back gently. "Bryan, don't be angry…"

"After all, with my sister's upbringing… she probably hasn't seen anything this grand before. She doesn't know the rules. We just need to be patient."

Her voice was soft, but every word was a needle.

Another act from the kind, understanding girl. That's why in their hearts, she was always the perfect, understanding angel.

And now, I just wanted to escape this suffocating place as fast as I could. Never mind a necklace; she could have whatever she wanted.

Hearing me agree to lend the necklace without a fight, Vivi looked at me, beaming. "Thank you, Helena. I'll take very good care of it. I'll return it to you right after the ball."

"You can keep it. It suits you better than me," I said, shrugging as if it meant nothing. "Besides, I won't have any use for it."

Hearing this, Bryan nodded in satisfaction. "Helena, you're finally coming to your senses."

"Once you learn the ways of our world, I'll throw a debut ball just for you."

"Once you... then I'll..." I had heard promises like that too many times to count, but not a single one was ever kept.

Vivi's requests, even for something as simple as a handmade loaf of bread from the next block over, were always taken to heart by Bryan and Fred.

Although I no longer expected anything from them, the thought that my own brothers, who shared my blood, treated me like a complete stranger still sent a sharp pang through my heart.

It wasn't always like this.

But after Vivi's relentless smearing and constant attempts to drive a wedge between us, everything changed.

The warmth they welcomed me with on that first day has faded so much I've nearly forgotten what it felt like.

Worried they might continue this hollow courtesy with me, I turned and went back to my room, dragging the small, worn-out suitcase from the depths of my closet.

My belongings were few. In this fortress of a mansion, the traces of my existence were negligible.

I hadn't touched the designer gowns in the closet. Fred had the housekeeper buy them, but they were all in Vivi's size.

But inside this suitcase were the few simple clothes and a precious photo album I had brought from my adoptive parents' home.

It was the only family portrait I had with them.

In the photo, my adoptive father wore oil-stained work clothes, my adoptive mother a coarse apron. They held an eight-year-old me, their smiles so radiant.

The background was that old house, cold in the winter and hot in the summer, yet it was a million times warmer than this priceless estate.

My fingers gently caressed the faces of my adoptive parents in the photo.

That was my home.