
Dumped For Pennies, Returning With Billions
Cari Butler woke up in a damp, smelly dorm room, realizing she had transmigrated into the body of a disgraced fake daughter who had just been kicked out of a wealthy family.
Before she could even process her reality, the real daughter's friends kicked her door open to mock her, flaunting a custom Tiffany necklace that supposedly cost a mere eighty cents.
Cari thought they were crazy, until she saw the news: a top Manhattan mansion had just sold for a record-breaking $3,500.
The entire world's currency value had shrunk by ten thousand times!
This meant the original owner's bank balance of $854,000 gave Cari the purchasing power of eight and a half billion dollars.
But a mysterious system froze her funds, forcing her to work demeaning gig jobs to unlock the money bit by bit.
While working as a hotel server for twenty cents a day, she caught her ex-boyfriend kissing up to the real daughter, mocking Cari for being a desperate beggar.
Even her snobby roommates laughed at her, claiming she couldn't afford a ten-cent iPhone.
What truly angered Cari wasn't the humiliation, but receiving a five-cent transfer from her poor biological brother, who was starving himself just to keep her fed.
Yet, the system strictly forbade her from giving her unlocked billions directly to her family.
Looking at the restrictive system and the arrogant elites who thought they owned the city, Cari's eyes turned icy cold.
"If I can't just hand them the cash,"
Cari sneered, pulling out her phone to outright buy the luxury hotel and fire everyone who wronged her.
"Then I will just buy the entire world and place it at their feet."
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Chapter 1
Cari Butler shot up from the narrow mattress.
Her lungs pulled in air violently, making her chest ache.
Cold sweat coated her forehead, dripping down her temples and stinging her eyes.
She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her temples. Her skull felt like it was splitting open.
Massive waves of unfamiliar memories forced their way into her brain, causing her stomach to churn with nausea.
She opened her eyes and blinked against the dim light.
Her vision scanned the peeling paint on the walls, the leaking water pipe in the corner, and the cheap luggage scattered across the sticky linoleum floor.
The air smelled like stale sweat and cheap bleach.
Her breathing slowed as the memories settled. She realized exactly what had happened.
She had transmigrated. She was now the fake daughter of the wealthy Zamora family, sharing the same name, and she had just been kicked out of her luxurious life.
A massive crash shattered the silence.
The flimsy wooden door of the dorm room flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.
Rory Corrigan stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. A malicious smirk stretched across her face.
Rory stepped into the room, the sharp click of her heels echoing. She waved a hand in front of her nose, her face twisting in disgust at the damp smell of the room.
She held a thick textbook in her other hand and slammed it down hard on Cari's only intact desk.
A cloud of dust rose into the air.
"Look at the little plucked bird," Rory said loudly, looking down at Cari. "Finally rolled back to the slums where you belong."
Cari slowly raised her head.
The fear and weakness that usually clouded the original owner's eyes were gone. Instead, Cari's gaze was sharp, cold, and entirely adult.
Her eyes immediately locked onto the thick, sparkling diamond necklace resting against Rory's collarbone.
It was a custom Tiffany piece.
Cari's mind automatically calculated the value based on her past life. That necklace had to be worth at least eight thousand dollars.
Rory noticed the direction of Cari's stare. She puffed out her chest and reached up, her fingers playing with the largest diamond.
"Like it?" Rory bragged, her voice echoing in the hallway. "Harper gave it to me. It cost a whole eighty cents."
Cari's eyebrows pulled together instantly.
Eighty cents.
She thought her ears were malfunctioning.
"Eighty cents?" Cari repeated, her voice dripping with pure, unhidden disbelief.
Rory took the tone as jealousy. Her smirk grew wider.
"That's right," Rory sneered. "A broke loser like you will never see eighty cents in your entire pathetic life."
Cari's brain spun. Eighty cents for a custom Tiffany necklace?
She wondered if Rory was using some obscure American slang to insult her.
Cari decided she was done listening to this nonsense.
"Did you buy your brain at a discount store for a penny, or were you just born this stupid?" Cari asked, her tone flat and brutal.
Rory froze. It took her a full second to process the insult.
The smugness vanished, and her cheeks turned a dark, angry red.
"You bitch!" Rory yelled, pointing a shaking finger at Cari's nose. "I will make sure you are dead in this school! You hear me?"
Outside the door, a few students had gathered. They sucked in their breath, whispering to each other in shock that Cari actually talked back.
Cari did not hesitate. She stood up from the bed.
She stepped directly into Rory's personal space, using her taller frame to look down at the girl.
The air around Cari felt like ice.
Rory felt the physical pressure of Cari's stare. Her breath hitched, and she instinctively took a step backward.
Her high heel caught on the uneven floor, and her ankle twisted slightly.
Rory scrambled to catch her balance. Her face burned with humiliation.
"You'll regret this," Rory spat out, her voice trembling slightly. She turned around and practically ran out of the room.
The students in the hallway scattered immediately, terrified of catching the fake daughter's bad luck.
Cari watched them go, then sat back down on the edge of the bed.
She picked up the original owner's phone. The screen was covered in a web of cracks.
Her thumb rubbed against the sharp edge of the broken glass as she tapped the news app.
The headline at the top of the screen made her heart stop.
"Top Manhattan Mansion Sells for Record-Breaking Three Thousand Five Hundred Dollars, Shocking Wall Street."
Cari's thumb froze on the screen.
Her pupils shrank. Her chest tightened until she could barely pull in oxygen.
She stared at the numbers, the cracked glass distorting the text.
A crazy, impossible theory began to form in her mind.
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7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.

8.2
A week before my wedding, I went to the airport parking garage to surprise my fiancé with a luxury watch.
Instead, I caught him having sex in his car with my best friend and maid of honor.
Devastated and desperate to forget, I went to an exclusive club and blew my $50,000 trust fund to buy a one-night stand with a gorgeous stranger.
But the nightmare was just beginning.
At work, my cheating best friend stole my hard-earned promotion, and my ex shamelessly defended her.
Worse, the escort I had paid for sex turned out to be the ruthless new CEO of my airline.
He tormented me on a flight to Paris. When I was robbed of my passport and wallet on the freezing streets, he forced me to be his gala date just to get my life back.
But the ultimate trap was waiting for me in New York.
A secretly taken photo of me leaving the CEO's penthouse leaked on the company forum.
"I knew she got that Paris trip for a reason."
My ex and my former best friend led the charge in the comments, framing me as a shameless gold digger who slept her way to the top.
I was stripped of my flying credentials, suspended from the job I loved, and publicly humiliated.
I didn't understand why the CEO was playing these cruel games, or who had orchestrated this perfect trap to ruin my life.
Standing outside the airport with my career in ashes, I realized crying wouldn't save me.
I wiped my tears, accepted my mother's invitation to a high-society mixer, and prepared to make everyone who set me up pay the price.

9.0
Ashlyn was supposed to be just a fragile college student, selling her rare blood to a vicious crime syndicate enforcer to keep his dying sister alive.
But the dynamic shattered when Alex returned from a two-month disappearance. He stepped into the penthouse covered in dirt and blood, sporting a horrific, jagged knife wound slashed completely across his face.
Knowing exactly how to exploit his insecurities, Ashlyn played the role of the terrified victim to perfection. She screamed, pushed against his chest, and called him a terrifying monster. Humiliated and enraged by her blatant disgust, Alex violently smashed a marble table and kicked her out. He forced her out into a freezing, torrential rainstorm without a coat, vowing to kill her if she ever showed her face again.
What the ruthless enforcer didn't know was that her pathetic, trembling tears were a flawless, calculated lie. She wasn't a helpless, greedy girl. She was a cold-blooded corporate mastermind hiding from a family of elite assassins. She desperately needed his impenetrable penthouse fortress to stay alive, and she knew the only way to secure her place wasn't to ask for it, but to make him beg for her return.
Three days later, his sister's organs began to fail, and the hospital's blood bank ran dry.
"I'll pay you whatever you want. Just get here."
Listening to the desperate, broken voice of the monster over her burner phone, Ashlyn smiled coldly in the dark. The trap had snapped shut, and he had just handed her all the power.

8.8
I was the despised adopted daughter of the Sanders family, hiding behind heavy gothic makeup and enduring their daily disgust.
The day my adoptive father died in a severe car crash, my adoptive mother and stepsister didn't even bother to call me.
Instead, while his body was still warm, my mother filed a multi-million dollar life insurance claim.
"I am not feeding a useless freak for another day. Pack your trash and get out."
She kicked me out into the freezing rain, but that wasn't the worst of it.
My stepsister Cornelia stole my greatest secret. Five years ago, I saved the life of Fidel Vaughan, a ruthless billionaire heir, from a burning estate.
Cornelia claimed my identity, accepted a million-dollar reward, and secured a marriage proposal from him, burning my only proof to ashes.
They thought I was just a helpless, pathetic high schooler they could discard and replace.
But when I hacked the police files, I discovered my father's crash wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit, and the Vaughan Group had hijacked the traffic cameras to cover it up.
I washed off the ugly black makeup, shedding the disguise of a pathetic outcast.
I am Spectre, the world's most elusive hacker and underground doctor.
I intercepted the billionaire heir's heavily armed convoy in the dead of night. They thought they could steal my life and murder my father, but now, I hold the needle that controls Fidel Vaughan's sanity, and I will make them all pay.

8.5
Cecile jolted awake from months of prescription haze, only to realize she was trapped in a live reality show designed to destroy her.
Her billionaire husband had orchestrated the broadcast to publicly humiliate her and elevate his own PR image. He ordered her to follow a degrading script. What was worse, her five-year-old son, Damien, was genuinely terrified of her. When an empty wine bottle rolled across the floor, the tiny boy instantly threw his arms over his head, bracing for a hit.
The production crew shoved microphones into the trembling child's face, trying to trigger his trauma for ratings. The live chat cursed Cecile as a toxic abuser. The show's golden girl maliciously tried to poach Damien on camera to prove Cecile was an unfit mother. The crew even rigged the game, forcing Cecile and her son into a freezing, rotting mud shack with a collapsed roof. They were all just waiting for her to break down and beg.
"A toxic woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother."
The crew read the hateful comments aloud, expecting a hysterical meltdown. The realization that she had been manipulated into destroying her own child hit Cecile like a physical blow. How could a father subject his own son to this public cruelty?
The weak, easily manipulated Cecile was dead. She threw the PR script away, rolled up her sleeves, and picked up a rusted hammer. This time, she would protect her son and tear down anyone who stood in her way.

9.2
The tip of my fountain pen hovered over the divorce agreement. Across the mahogany desk, my billionaire husband, Chandler, looked at me with cold, dead eyes, waiting for me to sign my life away.
What he didn't know was that a phantom pain was still tearing through my chest—the memory of cold steel sliding between my ribs.
In my previous life, I foolishly signed these papers, burning down my marriage for my lover, Chace, and my sweet stepsister, Annalise.
Only to be left to bleed to death in a dark alley while they laughed, planning to steal my son and Chandler's fortune.
Reborn at the exact moment of my ruin, I tore the divorce agreement to shreds.
I desperately tried to make amends, even joining a reality show with my traumatized six-year-old son to prove I had changed.
But Chace and Annalise wouldn't let me go. Seeing my public redemption, they panicked and released a hyper-realistic deepfake sex tape of me and Chace.
They demanded $300 million from Chandler, framing my newfound love for my family as an elaborate, sickening long con.
Chandler burst into the house, throwing the blackmail papers at my feet.
His eyes were filled with broken agony and absolute disgust, fully believing that my tears, my apologies to our son, and my desperate kisses were all just a performance for money.
He thought I was the exact same monster who had destroyed him once before.
The old me would have screamed, cried, and played right into their hands.
Instead, I calmly stepped forward, gently smoothed the collar of his suit jacket, and looked into his tortured eyes.
"I'm not going to explain the video, or the money."
"I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness."
"I am asking you for one thing, Chandler."
"You have to trust me."