Chapter <b>2 </b>


    Truth be told, since she’d body hopped into this body, she hadn’t really taken a good look at the ce she was living in.


    The house was a quaint two–story cottage with a yard, the kind you’d find out in the countryside. It had red brick walls topped with ck shingles, and the walls were untouched by paint or tiles. In some areas, <b>due </b>to the passage of time. dark, moldy streaks had etched their presence into the surface. All in all, it was the epitome of 1980s


    architecture–undeniably old and tattered.


    Mirabe touched the tip of her nose and mused that she had lived in these rough conditions for over a year with rtive ease.


    Just then, the shrill voice inside the house ceased. Mandy emerged, dressed in a ckce gown and a violet silk scarf tied around her neck. Her makeup was impable, her hair pinned up with a diamond clip, exuding an aura of a high–societydy. She paused upon seeing Mirabe <b>standing </b>in the yard, taken aback.


    But quickly, Mandy gathered her wits, concealing theplex emotions in her eyes, and asked with indifference, “What are you doing here?”


    Mirabe regarded Mandy calmly, her eyes a serene pool, her mind drifting.


    A year ago, she’d jumped <b>in </b>this body for reasons unknown. Back then, the original body wasn’t called Mirbe but Mirabelle, a pampered daughter of a newly wealthy family in Ashford.


    A few months ago, she was abruptly informed that this body was not a true Gilbert family child but was switched at birth by a nurse. Her biological parents were just an ordinary working couple, not onlycking in wealth and influence but also burdened with four seemingly unmotivated sons to support–a heavy load by any measure.


    Mandy, her foster mother standing before her, discovered that her biological daughter lived in poverty while she raised a poor family’s child in luxury. Perhaps Mandy felt her dormant maternal instincts stir due to this stark contrast. She saw her biological daughter appear gracious and sweet–spoken, so she quickly brought her back home, renaming her and inviting her to the family with haste as if topensate for any past neglect.


    As for the faux heiress Mirabe, though born into wealth, she was never truly cherished by the Gilbert family. She spent her childhood in a small town, raised by Mandy’s mother, and <b>was </b>rarely visited, even once a year.


    With the real daughter reimed, the counterfeit had to step aside. So, before the Davis family came to reim Mirabe, Mandy told her she didn’t deserve the Gilbert name nor to stay there–a sentiment as clear then as Mandy’s cold demeanor now.


    Mirabe collected her thoughts and nonchntly withdrew her gaze from Mandy.


    Mandy, noticing the shift, furrowed her brows, her anger ring. “What kind of attitude is that?” she snapped.


    Hearing the rage in the question, Mirabe raised an eyebrow yfully and replied with a sly smile, “And what, may I ask, is your current title?”


    At that, Mandy’s well–maintained face darkened instantly. Clearly, no matter how long you raised someone else’s child, they remained wild and without a <b>shred </b>of manners or propriety.


    At <b>that </b>moment, Mandy’s thoughts turned to her biological daughter, Summer. Raised in a modest household, she exuded elegance and grace, excelled in her studies, and possessed diverse talents. Now scouted to be a star, Summer <b>was </b>seemingly born to bring pride to the Gilbert family. In contrast, Mirabe, the foster daughter, was no match for Summer in any way, save for her looks.


    Mandy took a deep breath, recalling the purpose of her visit. Her eyes hardened as she pondered for a few seconds<b>, </b>then she reined in her anger.