The Foster Daughter's Lie Chapter 1

My mother, Eleanor, dropped a bomb in the family group chat: she was bringing home a foster daughter.

This girl, Isabelle, claimed to be a brilliant, underprivileged student recommended by a prestigious charity foundation.

What she didn’t know was that my entire family could now hear my innermost thoughts.

So, as Isabelle tried everything she could to win over my father, I stood by, thinking to myself:

If Dad knew she was actually Mom’s illegitimate daughter with her secret lover, he’d probably have a heart attack.

* * *

In my past life, after Isabelle came to live with us, my family showered her with affection.

Me? I was assaulted by thugs she hired and left to die in a corporate parking garage.

Only in my final moments did the truth dawn on me: she was the daughter of my mother and her long-time lover. My mother, Eleanor, would never have married my father if he hadn't been a self-made man who founded the Sterling Group from nothing. After their wedding, her single-minded obsession became seizing the family fortune and leaving my father with nothing.

Everything was going according to her plan. But then, I was reborn.

I woke up on the exact day my mother brought Isabelle home.

“From now on, Isabelle is your little sister. You need to take good care of her, alright?” Mom said, a warm smile plastered on her face.

Isabelle hid behind her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, the very picture of pitiable innocence. It was this same damsel-in-distress act that had wrapped my entire family around her little finger in my last life.

My father’s face softened into a kind smile as he saw her, and he reached out to draw her closer.

I sneered internally.

Heh. My mother’s daughter with her secret lover. If Dad knew, I wonder if he’d just have a heart attack on the spot?

My father’s hand froze in mid-air.

He glanced around the living room, as if searching for the source of the voice. The house staff were all in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was just the four of us.

Finally, his gaze landed on me.

“Claire? Was that you who just spoke?”

Seeing my blank, confused expression, he started to reach for Isabelle again.

I thought silently, If he knew the truth, he would flip this house upside down.

He snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned.

In my previous life, my father had doted on Isabelle. He never imagined that his affection would be the very thing that destroyed our entire family.

Seeing my father retract his hand, Isabelle’s face immediately crumpled into a mask of hurt. Tears welled in her eyes as she tugged on my mother’s sleeve.

“Aunt Eleanor,” she whispered, “does… does Uncle not like me?”

My mother stroked her hair, her voice dripping with sympathy. “Don’t be silly. Now that you’re here, you’re my own daughter. You’re part of this family. Don’t you worry.”

With that, she ordered the housekeeper to prepare a guest room.

“Aunt Eleanor, that room is so beautiful,” Isabelle said, pointing toward the second floor.

She was pointing at my suite—the entire floor was mine, complete with a terrace filled with my favorite roses. In the May air, they were in full, glorious bloom, their fragrance filling the house.

My mother nodded, then turned to me. “Isabelle grew up in an orphanage. You’re the older sister, Claire. You should let her have it.”

I didn’t say a word, but I couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought from bubbling up.

So that’s why Mom’s been ignoring me lately. She was too busy taking care of my new “sister.”

My mother couldn’t hear my thoughts, but my father heard every single word.

His face darkened. He stopped the housekeeper, who was already heading upstairs.

“That is Claire’s suite. Who gave you permission to make decisions for her?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Sterling! I just thought the room was beautiful, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.” Isabelle was quick on her feet, immediately playing the part of the contrite victim.

Before I could even speak, she had launched into a one-woman drama. This was her signature move. In my past life, it made my father pity her, while I was chastised for being selfish for not wanting to give up my own room.

Isabelle sobbed. “Please don’t be angry, Uncle. It’s my fault. I grew up in an orphanage, I’ve just… I’ve never seen such a beautiful room before…”

Watching her, a wave of familiar frustration washed over me.

Here we go again. Dad’s going to get angry with me. I guess I should just give it to her. But… he’s the one who designed that room just for me.

My father looked at me, a flicker of pain in his eyes. He remembered. The room was his gift for my thirteenth birthday, a custom design he’d commissioned himself. Back then, the company was just starting out, and he was drowning in stress, his brow constantly furrowed with worry. I had learned to bake a cake just to surprise him and see him smile. He was remembering that.