“Rich girls really are something else," a gruff voice sneered. “Skin as smooth as silk."


    "Even though we didn''t get the ransom, we can still have our fun," another voice chimed in. "When we''re done, we can sell her to one of those seedy underground clubs. We won''t walk away empty-handed..."


    The vulgar conversation was what woke Yvonne Jones.


    She opened her eyes, confused. How had she ended up in a derelict, unfinished building?


    She was supposed to be dead. She''d been an undercover cop, and her identity was exposed while protecting a witness. She died in a staged car ident, the vehicle exploding into a fiery inferno. Her death had been agonizing and brutal, but she had died a hero.


    Suddenly, a searing pain shot through Yvonne''s head as a lifetime of memories that weren''t hers flooded her mind.


    The policewoman Yvonne was truly dead. The body she now inhabited belonged to Yvonne Jones, the heiress to Nexus Media, and a poor, pitiful soul.


    Yvonne Jones had been switched at birth by the family''s nanny. She spent the first dozen years of her life being beaten by her foster mother and molested by her foster father. She was perpetually starved, endlessly overworked, and had lived in a constant state of hell.


    Eventually, her biological parents found her and brought her home. The naive young girl thought she had finally found a loving family—a mother, a father, a brother, and a real home to call her own.


    But she had only traded one hell for another.


    The nanny''s daughter had been raised in her ce for over a decade, molded into a dazzling socialite and deeply loved by Yvonne''s parents.


    After being framed time and time again by the fake heiress, Yvonne''s biological parents grew to despise her. They wished she had died with her foster parents, saving them from the humiliation and disgrace she brought upon their family name.


    Her own fiancé had witnessed her being abducted by kidnappers but ignored her struggles and cries for help, turning and walking away as if he''d seen nothing.


    When the kidnappers called her family to demand a ransom, their responses were chilling.


    Her older brother had said, "First you faked an illness to frame Queena for pushing you. Now you''re faking a kidnapping for sympathy? Yvonne, I''m warning you, stop pushing my buttons. All you know how to do is be jealous and scheme against Queena You know what? Just kill her. I don''t have a sister who would stoop so low."


    Her father had raged, "You know today is Queena''s birthday party! You pretend to be kidnapped just to ruin it for her? Are you trying to drag the Spencer family name through. the mud I never should have brought you back. It would''ve been better if you''d just died out there."


    And her mother had sighed, "Oh, Yvonne, can''t you ever learn? Queena is your older sister. Instead of showing her respect, you constantly try to hurt her. Those foster parents of yours truly ruined. you you have no ss. You are such a disappointment to me."


    Yvonne, born premature, already suffered from a congenital heart condition. The cruelty of her family and the cold indifference of her fiancé finally pushed her into an abyss of despair.


    She had died consumed by terror and hopelessness.


    “Awake, are we? Good. I wasn''t in the mood for a corpse,” a man''s vile voice cut through her thoughts.


    Yvonne looked up to see a burly, middle-aged man unbuckling his belt as he approached her. His lecherous gaze was glued to her body, making her skin crawl.


    Suppressing her disgust, Yvonne shed him a seductive look and spoke in a timid voice. “Sir, could you untie me first? It''s hard to move like this. I''m ufortable, and you won''t be able to enjoy yourself, will you?"


    The man, showing no hint of caution, let out a lewdugh. He actually began to untie the ropes on her hands and feet.


    In his eyes, this frail little thing couldn''t escape even if she sprouted wings.