Her Halo Was My Money

The student I once sponsored, Lillian Pegg, jacked my identity, slapped on the "rich heiress" title, and started tossing out houses and cars like she was some fairy godmother for "underprivileged" students.

Her big mission? Making sure everyone had a roof over their head.

My in-laws? Wrapped around her finger. They swore up and down she'd saved their lives. Even Liam—my son with my late husband—acted like she was the only mom he'd ever had.

Meanwhile, I was puking blood from ulcers, and everyone treated it like a bad improv act.

Liam bought every word out of her mouth. Thought she and my husband were some kind of twin-flame couple and labeled me the evil baby snatcher.

Fast-forward: I got locked in a bedroom and left to bleed out.

Then I woke up.

It was the exact day Lillian was playing Santa Claus. The crowd around her practically worshipped her.

"You're the kindest boss in the world! You care about our food, clothes, housing, everything. We'll support you and your company forever!"

Yeah, not on my watch.

I shut down all her privileges right then and there.

This time? Lillian and that backstabbing son of mine were gonna eat regret for the rest of their lives.

"Lillian, you're amazing! You even care about broke students like us—buying us houses and cars? You're literally one in a million!"

"Just landing a job with you feels like winning the lottery!"

"Hurry, Lillian! The TV crew's still waiting for your interview!"

...

My head was a mess—like someone had thrown a sheet over my brain.

Then it started to clear. And there she was: Lillian Pegg, front and center, soaking up the spotlight, holding court with reporters like she actually built the empire she stole.

I reached up, fingers brushing my forehead. The wound Liam gave me? Gone. And my stomach—usually a war zone—felt warm, steady.

No way. I was alive. I was back.

I stepped forward, half in a daze, trying to get to Lillian.

Then bam—one of her groupies stumbled and shoved me aside. "Who even are you? Move!"

That shout flipped every head.

Lillian spotted me too. Her smile twitched, just for a second, before she snapped on that fake sweetness.

"Clara, what are you doing here? Go wait in my office, okay? I'll find you after the interview."

That soft tone? Instant charm bomb. A few more employees practically melted.

Last time around, Arthur and I were in the same car when it crashed. He died shielding me.

I made it out, barely—broken and spiraling.

I backed off from the company. Gave up.

Then Lillian showed up, all sweet and grateful, saying she just wanted to pay me back for sponsoring her.

We weren't that far apart in age, and over time, she felt like the little sister I never had. She kept showing up, acting all capable and loyal, so I handed her the reins at Vectorial Corp—just for a while.

Yeah. Huge mistake.

Turns out, all that kindness was an act. She didn't want to help me. She wanted to be me—take my company, my family, my life.

I didn't say a word. Just turned and walked into the office.

Dropped into my old chair, lifted my hand, and wiped her access clean.

She wanted fame? Cool. She was about to be front-page material.