My Nanny’s Daughter Pretended To Be Me Chapter 01
“Chelsea’s treating again! Everyone, hurry up! If you’re late, there won’t be any chicken legs left!”
“Thanks, Chelsea! It’s such a blessing to be your classmate!”
*****
I woke up to a cacophony of voices and opened my eyes to see Chelsea Klein standing by the cafeteria window, effortlessly accepting heartfelt compliments from the students in line. She looked every bit the goddess, completely at ease.
In my dazed state, she pushed me with a frown and snapped, “Kinsley Foreman! What are you still doing here? Go get your lunch already. You still have questions for me later, right? God, you’re such an idiot. Can’t learn anything, and now I can’t even take a proper nap!”
She shoved me off-balance, and it hit me like a bolt of lightning. I had travelled through time.
In my past life, I had thought it was my lack of effort that made Chelsea resent me.
But after dying once, I understood the truth. It wasn’t that I didn’t try hard enough; it was because standing next to her made her look ordinary and plain.
The incessant “campus beauty” praises I heard were a joke.
Clearly, at this point, Chelsea had already forgotten she was just the daughter of our family’s maid, basking in “genuine” praise.
She hadn’t realized that my monthly tutoring fees were enough to hire a hundred top-tier tutors.
Instead of being treated like a student receiving help, I was constantly scolded for asking questions.
Thinking back to my previous life and the miserable end I met, I decided to cancel the relative card I’d given her.
Chelsea, this time, enjoy the life you truly deserve.
On the first day of freshman year, Chelsea had kneeled at the gate of my villa, begging the maid Monica to stop her from dropping out to work and help her brother earn dowry money.
Seeing her in such a pitiful state, I immediately gave her a relative card and promised to cover her high school fees.
Having lived abroad for most of my life, the domestic curriculum was a real struggle for me.
Chelsea, on the other hand, was the top student, always first in her class. She approached me and offered to help me with my studies in return for my sponsorship. She asked me not to tell anyone her mother worked as a maid.
I agreed, and when I realized I couldn’t understand what she was teaching me, I briefly considered hiring a tutor. But every time I mentioned it, she would scold me for having such a weak foundation, claiming it wouldn’t matter who I hired. She would cry, asking if I regretted helping her.
No matter how I tried to explain, it never worked. She insisted I promise not to hire a tutor before she’d smile.
Looking back, I realized she wasn’t struggling to explain things. She just didn’t want me to understand on purpose.
In my past life, because I had no tutor and Chelsea actively obstructed my learning, it took me two years just to catch up to the class’s average level.
During that time, Chelsea kept swiping my card to donate money to poor students, almost like a little philanthropist.
Thanks to her generosity, she was adored by everyone at school. Despite being plain-looking, she was still called the “campus beauty” and became the center of attention wherever she went.
It wasn’t until one month when the 30,000 dollars limit on my card was completely exhausted that Chelsea came to me, tearfully claiming that I wasn’t giving her enough.
I was shocked when she said she hadn’t eaten for three days, swearing that she wasn’t spending recklessly, but was simply trying to help her classmates because of her humble background.
Although I didn’t fully understand, I raised her limit to 230,000 dollars.
If, as she claimed, the money was really going to help her classmates, why would I object?
In my senior year, my grades took a dramatic leap. I thought I could get into a good university, but on the day of the SATs, she slipped a piece of paper full of formulas into my bag—torn from my notebook.
I never imagined that, after three years of helping her, I’d raised such a thankless person. She ruined my future, and all the students who admired her good deeds were now witnesses for her.
My father tried to uncover the truth, asking for help everywhere.
But Monica, her mother, recorded a video and reported him for bribery.
My father’s company went bankrupt, and he was sent to prison for investigation.
As for me, I was assaulted and left to die, my face slashed by the debt collectors.
I vaguely remember the man whispering in my ear before my death, “Just because you stuck your nose in, I couldn’t sell Chelsea, and now my wife’s run off with someone else! Serves you right, bitch!”
He was Chelsea’s brother, Brycen Klein.
