The Day Before the Wedding: My Mother and My Fiancé

The day before my wedding, I stumbled upon my mother and my fiancé flirting in a room.

As they were about to have sex, I felt no emotional turmoil. Instead, my hands trembled with excitement.

Because I was about to win.

The twenty-year-long rivalry with my mother, the relentless competitor for male attention, was finally coming to an end.

1

I was a strategist with only one mission, which was to obtain an "excellent" life rating from the system that issued tasks to me before I died.

Unlike the typical disastrous beginnings, my birth was surrounded by a halo of fortune.

My mother, Harriet Rogers, was a popular A-list actress who quickly rose to fame with her beauty and natural talent. Her career was smooth sailing.

In love, she was equally successful, marrying into a wealthy family and being pampered like a princess by my father, Albin Rogers.

Even when asked about the gender of the baby in her belly, she didn't hide her tenderness and happiness, which almost radiated through the screen.

"This baby is the best gift for Albin and me. Whether it's a boy or a girl, I will love it forever."

Despite such a favorable background and environment, the difficulty of my task was the highest tier.

Simply because my mother couldn't live without men and was a relentless competitor for male attention.

2

When the nurse brought me to my mother and congratulated her on having a little princess, she coldly replied, "Wrinkled and ugly, keep it away."

But the situation was already set. Whether a daughter or a son, she had to inform the media that she had given birth. Ten months of pregnancy had kept her away from the entertainment industry for too long, and if she didn't seize this moment, returning would be too difficult.

Harriet stared at my body for a long time, finally focusing on my clenched hands.

Then, with tears in her eyes, she looked at my father and spoke in a voice filled with grievance, "Honey, this is our first baby, a gift from heaven. I want to keep a memento."

The people she called acted quickly, bringing out the materials for handprints.

My parents pressed their handprints into the clay one after the other, and then my father carefully lifted me to leave a faint little fist print.

Harriet saw the love and happiness on my father's face and showed some dissatisfaction but said nothing.

However, when the staff showed her the clay, she exploded, "Why is it a fist print? It's ugly! Bring her over, redo it."

So Harriet had me brought over, ignoring my cries, and prying open my fingers, pressing out a small but very standard palm print in the clay.

That night, the photo of our family's palm prints was uploaded online and quickly went viral.

With my mother's professional marketing team and my father's capital backing, she quickly returned to the public eye and her status remained unchanged. Instead, she relied on her image as a hot mom princess to keep her schedule full.

2

Soon, more than six years passed, and by then Harriet had firmly established herself as a leading figure in the entertainment industry.

After recovering from childbirth, she never cared for me again, except when necessary to shoot together to build her image. I only saw her in magazines and on TV.

At six years old, I was lovable. When everyone saw me, they all praised me for being cute and well-behaved.

But my mother was different. She hated me the most.

During an interview, when the host asked my father about his view on his current life, he couldn't stop smiling, "With a wonderful wife like Harriet and my daughter, the little princess, I feel happy."

After this, I even had my own fan club, and many netizens called me the little princess under my mother's posts.

But when Harriet saw this, she immediately deleted all images and texts about me from social media, claiming it was to protect my privacy.

Then she returned home and threw out all my pretty dresses and accessories. I collapsed on the floor, crying, but only received her victorious mockery before leaving, "I'm the real princess in everyone's eyes. Who do you think you are?"

3

Since then, without the need for social media marketing, I saw my mother even less.

Moreover, my parents' relationship plummeted.

She began taking on numerous intimate roles, some with astonishingly bold scenes, but relying on her accumulated goodwill, everyone just thought she was career-driven.

"It's all for career reinvention. I hope to bring everyone a different Harriet," she answered charmingly in front of the camera.

This was her explanation to my father.

But I knew it wasn't as she said. In fact, my father secretly suppressed many of her negative news, even some scandals.

My father gradually became despondent, often sitting in the room, holding a photo of my mother, staring at it for an entire afternoon.

Soon it was my mother's birthday.

On this day, my dad specially hired a well-known stylist to do a whole morning of styling, and then he went to the set to pick up my mom, bringing with him a necklace he bought from an auction and a cart of roses.

Before leaving, he hugged me apologetically and instructed, "I am going to apologize to you mom. Be good and wait for me at home."

I nodded, watching my father leave with anticipation.

I waited in the large villa for a long time, so long that the nanny came to tell me to rest.

I looked at the clock on the wall, then at the transparent cake box in my arms. The cake had long melted, smearing the name beyond recognition.

At this time, my mother returned, reeking of alcohol, her face flushed, and her clothes wrinkled and disheveled.

I shrank on the sofa, mustering the courage to ask, "Mommy, where's Daddy?"

My mother paused, then glanced at me with extreme indifference, muttering she didn't know, and went upstairs.

I waited on the sofa, waited until the sky grew darker, waited until I fell asleep, and waited until morning when I was startled awake by a woman's cries.

It was my mother's screams.

My father had died in a car accident. The news report's pictures were pixelated, showing only a car full of shattered roses and my father's hand crushed under the vehicle.

From that day on, I knew Harriet and I could never reconcile.

4

Because of the suddenness of the event and its significant impact on the family business, my father's funeral was rushed and hasty.

The Rogers family had always been dissatisfied with my mother's celebrity career, and without my father as the mediator, my mother and the Rogers family parted on bad terms.

So my custody rights fell entirely to my mother.

But she had no time to talk to me. Her husband died young, her beautiful family was broken up, and she looked so miserable in the eyes of outsiders. How could she miss such a good marketing hotspot?

So she used this topic to continuously promote her films, even publishing a personal autobiography. The tragedy of her "deceased husband" brought her benefits, making her the unshakable queen of the entertainment industry.

But there were always men around her. On the seventh day after my father's death, she even brought two young men back to the villa.

I knew those two men were always moderately successful, but recently, their schedules increased significantly. It was all because of my mom.

For convenience, my mother dismissed all the servants, leaving only me at home.

I took two eggs from the fridge to fry in the kitchen, just as I encountered one of the men.

The man was handsome, with a slightly lean physique. Seeing me holding two eggs, he smiled and helped me turn on the stove.

The eggs sizzled, slowly releasing a fragrant aroma in the pan.

Before I could taste the egg, my mother violently overturned the pan.

Scalding hot oil and egg splattered onto the man's face, and my mother screamed with a voice that seemed to tear from her very soul.

"Didn't I ask you to get me a glass of juice? Why are you frying eggs for her? Why are you being kind to her behind my back?"

Amidst my mother's shrill cries and the man's agonized expression, I fled in a frantic rush.

After that incident, whenever my mother brought someone home, she would lock me in the attic beforehand.

To avoid starving or dying of thirst, I would stash some water, stale bread, and crackers in the attic when she wasn't around.

Later, when I reached school age, my mother's agent had arranged for me to attend a remote, low-ranking elementary school.

But the Rogers family intervened, enrolling me in a prestigious academy instead.

In their eyes, attending a regular school would tarnish their family's reputation.

Yet, they showed no interest in my well-being.

5

Initially, the students and teachers here were curious about my background. Even without mentioning the Rogers family, my mother, a top-tier celebrity, was enough to earn me their utmost courtesy.

But gradually, they sensed something amiss.

While other students were driven in luxury cars to school, I ran every day, barely making it to class on time.

My worn-out school uniform starkly contrasted against the designer clothes worn by others, and my shoes were worn and misshapen.

Rumors about my background began to circulate, but these whispers, however unpleasant, made my school life slightly more bearable since they remained unconfirmed.

Even this fragile peace, bought with rumors, was shattered by my mother.

The parent-teacher meeting, meant for discussing students' progress, turned into a grand event for the elite.

Parents flaunted their status and wealth, and the most conspicuous among them was my nemesis, Tatiana Price.

Her parents, renowned in the business world, were the center of attention as soon as they arrived.

Tatiana, surrounded by classmates, strutted over to me.

"Hey, what kind of creature are you? Where are your parents? Why aren't they here for the meeting?"

"We've heard she's actually the child of the Rogers family's maid. She got into our school because her mother served them well."

Despite the obvious flaws in their story, Tatiana's friends laughed heartily. I ignored them, focusing on my speech notes.

Seeing this, Tatiana was so angry that she snatched the speech manuscript from my hand, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it, "What are you looking at! Don't look at it!"

She grabbed my chin, sneering, "You're just like that old hag Margaret Trivett, no good at all. My dad gave her so much money, yet she still gave the speaker's spot to you."

Margaret, from a humble background, never discriminated against me and even cared for me more.

Hearing Tatiana insult Margaret, I pushed her to the ground in anger.

I considered going further, but the crowd suddenly erupted in excitement, as if they'd seen something extraordinary.

I turned towards the entrance and saw a line of tall, suited bodyguards forming a barrier against the frenzied crowd. A woman in an elegant gown stepped gracefully out of a car.

I froze, shivering.

My mother... Harriet... Why was she here?

6

Harriet approached us, her face full of concern, seemingly abandoning her usual poise. She hurried over to inquire about the situation.

The crowd, held back by bodyguards, shouted wildly, and cameras flashed incessantly.

"Oh my God, Harriet is so gentle. I'm so touched..."

"I will protect the world's best princess, Harriet."

Harriet, facing us with a hint of pride that quickly turned into concern, asked, "What happened here? You kids shouldn't be sitting on the ground. You'll catch a cold."

Tatiana took the opportunity to ram into my chest and cried, rushing into Harriet's arms, "Harriet, this little brat bullied me!"

Harriet, careful not to dirty her designer dress, patted Tatiana's head to calm her down.

Tatiana's friends immediately chimed in with flattery, "Wow, is this the gorgeous TV celebrity Harriet? She's stunning."

"Really! She's a thousand times prettier in person! Tatiana, you're amazing, even inviting a star."

Tatiana, hearing this, stopped crying and shouted proudly, "Of course! Harriet is my mom's good friend. She came especially for my parent-teacher meeting."

They continued their banter, ignoring me completely. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Doesn't she have her child? Why is she here for your meeting instead?"

As soon as I spoke, my mother looked at me sharply, her expression visibly stiffening.

Tatiana, quick to react, thought Harriet was upset and hurried to defend her, "What do you know! Harriet's child passed away long ago! She's been through so much hardship. What would a brat like you understand?"

Had she had a hard time these years? I laughed.

Listening to this, I glanced at the media surrounding the school. Their faces showed no surprise.

The rumor that "Harriet's husband and daughter were dead" had already spread in their circles, no longer a novelty.

When I looked back at Harriet, her expression had returned to the perfect, flawless smile seen on screen. She affectionately patted Tatiana's head.

"Don't get involved with such uncultured people. Let's go."

7

Before the class bell rang, I returned to the classroom, scanning the room filled with people.

My seat had been moved to the door.

The parents in the classroom were all influential figures, curious and disdainful of a shabby child like me barging in.

I stood at the door, staring at Harriet's seat. She was sitting beside Tatiana's parents, chatting casually.

Someone joked, "This kid looks good, just a bit unkempt."

My mother, hearing this, adjusted her collar and mocked, "Don't be fooled by her age. She's a girl, and I know exactly what she's thinking."

"Look," Harriet nodded towards the cameras.

"After this meeting, the footage will be edited for TV. Don't be deceived by these kids from average families. They're scheming, always seeking quick fame."

As my mother maliciously steered the conversation to a more degrading direction, Margaret entered, gesturing for me to join her on the podium.

"Let me introduce our class's representative speaker for this meeting, Opal Rogers."

Upon hearing the name, some parents immediately changed their expressions.

"Opal Rogers? Is she from the Rogers family?"

Tatiana's mother, hearing this, seemed uneasy, having just been part of the malicious gossip about me. She nervously turned to my mother.

"Harriet..."