They Poisoned Me for My Inheritance:So I Destroyed Them All

I froze. The warmth at the table evaporated in an instant.

I forced the corners of my mouth upward. "Vivian, we're family. What's there to be awkward about?"

But inside, I couldn't help thinking—this villa was what my mother left me.

After Dad remarried, I'd always treated this place as my home. I had no idea what Vivian thought she needed to draw boundaries over.

She laughed as if I'd told a joke.

"Family? Lola, your mother died young. It was your father who put you through school—with my husband's money. You're thirty years old and still mooching off your parents. Don't you think that's a little shameless?"

Dad couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his palm on the table to shut her down.

But Vivian's face crumpled with grievance, and she barreled right through him.

"Dad, am I wrong? A spinster with zero sense of boundaries—no wonder nobody wants to marry her!"

She paused, her tone softening just a fraction.

"If you insist on letting her stay, fine. She pays ten thousand a month for room and board. Otherwise, she can go rent her own place."

"Rhys works hard for his money. If you don't care about that, I do!"

Leo burst into tears. Christine quickly gathered her grandson into her arms. "Vivian, that's enough—"

But Vivian pointed straight at me, her eyes rimming red.

"Ever since she came back, this house hasn't had a single moment of peace. We can't even get through New Year's dinner! I've been married into this family for seven years. Everything I've given—and now I can't even speak my mind?"

She shoved her chair back, grabbed Leo by the hand, and stormed toward the bedroom.

Rhys followed right behind her.

Dad let out a heavy sigh, pushed himself up from the table, and walked away.

Just like that, our New Year's Eve dinner fell apart.

Back in my room, the weight on my chest was suffocating.

Vivian wasn't wrong about one thing—my mother did leave early.

I was eight when a car accident left her in a vegetative state.

Dad was always busy with work, and he didn't trust outside caregivers. Eventually, he reached out to an old classmate who'd trained as a nurse—Christine.

She took care of Mom with real dedication. Every time I visited the hospital, Mom was clean and comfortable. She never once developed bedsores.

Three years later, Mom passed away.

Before the end, Dad told me that Mom had used her premarital assets to buy me a villa.

"This is the dowry your mother left you," he said, his eyes red. "You were the one she couldn't let go of."

After Mom died, Dad fell seriously ill. Once again, it was Christine who stayed by his side and nursed him through it.

Eventually, they got married.

Christine brought a son with her—Rhys Dickerson, two years older than me.

In all fairness, Christine had always treated me well. She even took my side whenever Rhys and I got into arguments.

So when Rhys got married and the old house couldn't fit everyone, I offered to let them move into the villa. It was sitting empty anyway.

Vivian was newly pregnant at the time. The moment she laid eyes on the three-story house, her whole face lit up.

The day they moved in, she grabbed my hands and said, "Lola, this is our home now. You come back anytime—I'll save the best room for you."

But now, every other word out of her mouth was my house.

Did she really not know this place was mine?

Did she not even know who'd paid for tonight's dinner?

I found Dad and asked him directly. "Dad, does Vivian not know this house belongs to me?"

He hesitated, mouth half-open, about to speak.

Christine suddenly took my hand. Her eyes glistened.

"Lola, this is my fault. I'm the one who told your father not to say anything."

"Back when Rhys was dating, the girl almost called it off the moment she heard it was a blended family—with an unmarried sister-in-law still in the picture. I told her the house was Rhys's. That's the only reason she agreed to marry him." Her voice cracked. "Lola, I know I wronged you. But I didn't have a choice."