The Nanny's Plot

Lily Clark's hands were rough as sandpaper as she gripped my wrist tightly. I instinctively tried to pull away, but when my fingertips brushed the frayed edge of her sleeve, I suddenly froze. It was just like last time—she used those very hands to push me out the sixth-floor window. The sound of creditors kicking down the door still echoed through the hallway, yet she smiled and said, ‘I never deserved to take my daughter's life away.' "Blair, your brother Wade is buying a house. He's still short of 200,000 for the down payment—you have to help him!" Lily Clark's voice trembled with tears, but not a single drop fell from her eyes—just like I remembered. I stared at her familiar face, but my heart was racing—not with fear, but with excitement. I was really reborn, back to the moment she first forced me to lend money to my brother. "Mom, I just graduated, and my monthly salary is only five thousand. How am I supposed to come up with two hundred thousand?" I deliberately lowered my head, playing the victim, but my fingertips clenched tightly inside my pocket. In my last life, I was too naive—fooled by her tears, I secretly took out online loans and fell into a bottomless pit. Lily Clark furrowed her brow as expected, her tone turning heavy: "You think I don't know? Your company is a big firm, all your coworkers are wealthy—what's wrong with borrowing from them?" She paused, then softened her voice: "Besides, your brother dropped out of school for you. If it weren't for supporting you through university back then, he'd have long ago..." "He dropped out because he landed a classmate in the hospital and was expelled by the school." I lifted my head to cut her off, watching her face freeze instantly—I snorted coldly inside. I believed these lies for a full ten years in my previous life, only hearing the truth from my foster father James Lee just before I died. Lily Clark's face darkened: "How can you talk like that, kid? Your father and I have raised you all these years, and this is how you repay us?" "My college tuition was covered by a student loan, and I earned my living expenses by handing out flyers and tutoring. You never gave me a single cent." I spoke every word deliberately, watching the coldness grow in her eyes. She probably never expected me, usually so obedient, to suddenly talk back. She was stunned for a long moment before she finally reacted. "Still, now that you have a job, shouldn't you be helping support the family?" She kept arguing, but her grip loosened. "If you don't lend me the money, I'll go to your company and talk to your boss. Let them decide who's right!" It was the same trick again. In my last life, she caused such a scene at my company that I lost my job. I took a deep breath, pressing down the hatred in my heart, and deliberately put on a compromising act: "Mom, I'll try. I'll ask my classmates to see if they can help out." Lily Clark's eyes immediately lit up. She grabbed my hand and started nagging again, "You have to borrow a lot—ideally thirty thousand—so your brother can also pitch in for the renovation." I nodded, watching her leave satisfied, then leaned against the door and slowly closed my eyes. The phone in my pocket vibrated—it was the number I saved last night. After I died in my previous life, my soul wandered for a long time before finally finding my biological parents. Their surname is Shawn. They're in the industrial business, and their family is well-off. Yet, because they lost their daughter, they've been unhappy all these years. With trembling hands, I dialed the number. When a steady male voice came through the receiver, tears suddenly streamed down my face. "Hello? May I ask who is calling?" "Dad..." I choked on my words, my voice trembling. There was a long silence on the other end. Just when I thought the call would be cut off, his trembling voice came through: "Where… where are you?" I gave them the address of the rented room, and even after hanging up, my fingers were still trembling. I walked over to the mirror, staring at the face that was both strange and familiar—this face resembled Yale Shawn's mother by about seventy percent. In my previous life, when Yale's mother saw me, she held me and cried for a whole hour. About forty minutes later, the doorbell rang. I rushed to open the door, and outside stood a middle-aged couple. The man wore a suit, his hair streaked with gray; the woman wore a simple dress, her eyes red and swollen. They were Yale Shawn and Wendy Scott.