The Fake Heiress’s Deadly Scheme

The second I came to, I grabbed the box cutter off the shelf and pressed it to the convenience store cashier’s throat.

Amid the chaos of screams, I calmly told the clerk to call the cops and insisted they handcuff me, demanding a mandatory 24-hour hold.

Everyone thought I’d snapped or was having some kind of psychotic episode.

Only I knew I was trembling with sheer relief.

In my past life, on this exact night, my scheming stepsister Tiffany—the fake heiress—pushed my adoptive mom down the stairs, killing her instantly from brain death.

I was asleep in my room when the police hauled me out. They showed me security footage, claiming I’d murdered my mother.

I was totally helpless, begging my adoptive dad and brother to uncover the truth.

But they just lashed out, calling me an ungrateful snake they’d raised for eighteen years, always plotting to steal their family’s money.

Internet trolls doxxed me, cornered me in an alley, and beat me to death.

“Oh my God, Chloe’s totally lost it!”

“Officer! Arrest me! I’m a dangerous criminal!”

“I told you that girl had a dark streak since she was a kid. Now she’s finally gone off the deep end!”

The convenience store entrance was packed with people—some filming on their phones, others just gawking and pointing.

The reason was simple: I’d just barged into the convenience store, held a box cutter to an innocent clerk’s neck, yet all I forced him to give me was a soda.

Then I turned to the arriving cops, sticking out my hands and practically begging to be cuffed and hauled away.

The clerk’s legs shook with terror. The more scared he got, the more relieved I felt.

Two officers pinned me to the ground, then stuffed me into a squad car with sirens blaring down the street.

At the station, they wanted my statement, trying to figure out if it was a real robbery or just a stunt.

I sat in the interrogation chair, acting completely uncooperative. “I did try to rob the place. I want to go to jail, and you have to hold me for 24 hours!”

Officer Davis frowned, jotting down notes. “I’ve seen plenty of thrill-seekers like you. A night in lockup should straighten you out!”

“Not just detention—we’re calling your family. Let them see the mess you’ve made!”

The second he mentioned family, I shook my head frantically. “No family! I’m an adult. I’ll take the rap myself!”

“And you have to put me in a cell with cameras and bars! No less than 24 hours!”

Officer Davis probably thought I was nuts, but with the weapon threat, he followed procedure and booked me.

The second the station’s iron gates clanged shut, I wanted to dance for joy.

Last time around, on this exact night, my “sweet” stepsister Tiffany pushed my adoptive mom down the stairs during a fight over a necklace.

Mom hit the back of her head, bleeding badly, and died instantly.

I was in my room, listening to an English podcast with headphones, when the cops kicked down my door.

Tiffany was sobbing dramatically, putting on a show of grief, pointing at me and claiming I’d pushed her. She even showed them the hallway security footage.

The monitor clearly showed me in my pajamas, with a crazy look on my face, shoving my adoptive mother down.

I was confused, but I knew it couldn’t be real.

I’d been in my room studying—never even left. How could I have pushed her?

But my adoptive dad Richard and brother looked devastated, pointing and yelling, “We raised you for 18 years, and you’re just an ungrateful snake…”

I wondered if I was dreaming. How could the family who’d always loved me turn on me like this?

Internet trolls were furious, doxxed my address, and jumped me on my way home.

Sticks hit me, bricks smashed my head, and blood poured into my eyes.

“This monster who killed her own mom doesn’t deserve to live!”

When I woke up again, the hard cot in lockup felt like a five-star hotel bed.