I'm the Cinderella who caught the eye of a wealthy heir. His young stepmother summoned me and said, "Take 20 million and leave my son."
I fired back, "How much is your son worth? Name your price—I'll buy him."
Her eyes lit up: "10 million. Final offer."
"Deal. We're done."
TV Cinderellas follow a script: work part-time, tie your hair in a ponytail, wear zero makeup, rock faded white tees and thrift-store jeans, and carry a giant backpack from high school to college. I've lived by this manual since birth.
My dad died on a construction site. Mom remarried and ditched us. Grandma raised me and my brother, hoping I'd marry rich to fund her retirement and my brother's education. Thanks to the neighborhood committee, she grudgingly let me finish ninth grade. The day I graduated, she screamed: "You worthless girl! Studying's
pointless—you'll end up scrubbing some man's floors! Quit and let your brother learn!"
I'm built for rebellion. She banned school? I aced exams to get into a top high school. She pulled strings to send my brother instead. I reported them to the education bureau—he got expelled, became a street thug. Grandma kicked me out, then later lured me home with a "nice meal".
And she tried to sell me to some old country guy. I ran out of the house.
For three years, I lived at school, never returning home. My brother grew up vile—cursing by age ten, a mini internet troll king. He'd stalk me at school for money, acting like the family emperor.
The summer after college entrance exams, he beat someone half to death. Grandma tried to fund his escape—until I walked in with the police. She fainted, woke up hurling objects at me: "Why won't you die, you bitch?!"
Clutching my college acceptance letter, I grabbed my suitcase. Watching her sob, I almost laughed: "I sent your precious grandson to jail. I won't die—and neither will you. You'll watch me get rich… and not get a single cent." Eighteen-year-old He Yang made this vow to her future.
In college, I met rich kids: spoiled princesses, reckless heirs, overachievers, and nouveau riche who burned cash for fun. My roommate, Li Xingxing, was a clueless rich girl who "humiliated" me for sport. She'd inspect my closet and sneer: "Can't you wear something nicer?" When I won scholarships, she'd mock in class: "He Yang? Oh, she's always cozying up to teachers. Who knows what she's after? We'd better not ask!"
Once, my food delivery got stolen. Li Xingxing watched me argue with the courier and drawled: "Look at these bitch couple." I ignored her—she'd be useful someday.
To flex her status, Li Xingxing got me a gig as a server at a high-society gala. She glittered in designer gowns while I wore a baggy uniform, serving her wine. I planned to quietly earn my paycheck—until Yuan Yi walked in.
Cinderellas aren't accidentally clumsy. I "tripped," spilling champagne on the event's most eligible bachelor. The host fired me on the spot. Li Xingxing glared and flounced off.
But Yuan Yi didn't rage. He stared down at me: "What's your name?" I let tears fall… and bolted. Don't worry, my blind prince. We'll meet again.
Afterward, Li Xingxing never missed a chance to sneer: "I tried to help her see the world, and she ruined it! Useless trash!"