The next day, she stepped out of her apartment, only to spot Atticus coming back with an urn in his hands.

  He looked different. There was a fresh cut on his face, and the corners of his mouth were bruised and swollen. The urn was carefully wrapped, held close to his chest like something precious.

  He must’ve felt her gaze, because his sharp eyes darted toward her, cold and piercing.

  Clarissa froze. It was like he was a predator sizing her up, and for a moment, she felt something akin to pressure—an eleven-year-old boy making her feel small.

  Was it his presence? Or the nightmare still clinging to her mind?

  She couldn’t decide. But it didn’t matter.

  When Atticus noticed it was her, he quickly looked away and retreated into the house.

  Clarissa didn’t feel like leaving after that. Instead, she stayed in and tried to study, knowing she needed to catch up on her high school lessons during the summer break. The original owner of this body had been a top student, and Clarissa couldn’t let that legacy slip away.

  In her past life, Clarissa’s grades had been mediocre at best. Her university performance had been just okay. So, when she focused on her studies now, she expected the same level of effort. But something strange happened.

  She found that her memory was sharper than ever. Her ability to learn had improved drastically. Things that had once been difficult to grasp now clicked almost effortlessly. The equations and formulas she had struggled with in the past—she could solve them with ease. It felt... effortless.

  Could this be because of the body she was in now?

  The original owner had really been a genius.

  Clarissa snorted under her breath. God’s giving her all this, but she’s stuck with a body that just wants to chase after a scumbag like the male protagonist.

  Clarissa spent the entire afternoon reading and finished going over everything she planned to study. After school started, she should be fine academically.

  For a moment, she found herself envying the original owner's natural talent. She even thought about what it might be like to be the genius in the next life... but then reality set in.

  "Clarissa, I'm back. You must be starving. Let me cook something for you."

  Clementine had been busy all day—cleaning, washing, and cooking. After finishing the chores, she’d gone out to buy groceries.

  Clarissa couldn't even imagine the toll it must’ve taken on her mother to live as a servant in the Lancaster family.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She glanced over at Clementine, who was hustling in the kitchen, and her heart ached a little.

  Clementine looked up and saw Clarissa approaching. She quickly pushed her back. “Clarissa, what are you doing in here? The kitchen’s full of fumes! It’s bad for your skin. Get out, quickly.”

  Clarissa, feeling a bit guilty, said softly, “Mom... why don’t we move?”

  “Move?” Clementine blinked, confused.

  “Yeah. Let’s move to a bigger place. I’ll hire someone to do the housework for you, so you don’t have to work so hard.”

  There was a pause before Clementine’s eyes welled up with tears. “Silly child… how could I be working too hard? Just calling me ‘mom’—that’s enough to make me feel so happy. And... I’m still a little worried about the food they cook, too. Do you want to leave just because this house is small?”

  “No...” Clarissa didn’t want to push her mother, so she dropped the idea for now. “But how about we go shopping tomorrow, okay?”

  “Shopping?”

  “Yeah. You haven’t bought new clothes in ages. You should get some new skincare products too.”

  When she was younger, Clementine had been a beauty. But now, with a few wrinkles and darker skin, Clarissa knew she could still be stunning if she took proper care of herself. And Clarissa, as her daughter, wanted to make sure she did.

  But Clementine didn’t seem to take her suggestion seriously.

  “I’m too old now. Who am I dressing up for? It’s enough to have clothes to wear. You should keep the money for yourself. I love seeing you look beautiful, Clarissa.”

  Clarissa’s heart softened. Clementine was truly good to her, but this kind of overindulgence wasn’t always a good thing. It’s probably why the original Clarissa had turned out so entitled and reckless.

  The next day, Clarissa dragged Clementine out shopping again.

  This time, she didn’t take her to high-end places. Instead, they went to regular shops.

  Clementine seemed more at ease with this, even though she had been hesitant at first. Clarissa could tell that her mother was in a better mood now, even if she had kept insisting that she didn’t want to waste money. But what woman didn’t love to feel beautiful?

  Clementine had an excellent figure, and everything looked good on her. Clarissa bought three outfits for her mother, and only stopped when Clementine began protesting that it was enough.

  “Hey, isn’t that Clarissa?”

  “What’s she doing buying clothes at a place like this?”

  “You forgot? She’s not part of the Lancaster family anymore. She’s just an ordinary person now.”

  “No, she’s the daughter of a servant in the Lancaster family—she’s worse than ordinary, a wild girl from the slums.”

  Clarissa turned toward the voices, and saw two girls standing nearby, arms crossed, smirking at her.

  A flood of memories hit her. These two were once the original owner’s followers—bullied by Clarissa when she had the power, but always too scared to fight back. As soon as the original Clarissa lost everything, they quickly switched sides, aligning with Lyra and shamelessly taking advantage of the situation.

  In this world, the rich were always safe, while the poor were left to fend for themselves.

  Clarissa knew there would always be people who took advantage of others, but those who helped in times of need were far and few between.

  And for all the arrogant behavior the original Clarissa had displayed, it was no surprise that the people who hated her would take the opportunity to gloat now.

  She shook her head and ignored them, walking past to the front counter to pay.

  The two girls, frustrated by being ignored, glared at her and stepped forward.

  “Hey! Clarissa! Don’t just walk away, we’re talking to you!”

  “Yeah, no manners at all.”

  “Look at you—fake as ever. You can’t compare to Lyra. She has grace, dignity, everything.”

  “So pathetic. The poor are always just clowns, huh?”

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