The Step-Mother and Step-Sisters

It was dinnertime, and Anna hesitated at the door.

Mr. Jing had personally come to call her for dinner, his tone gentle yet firm. Anna didn't know how she could face the other people in this house. She barely knew them, and even Shane's body seemed unwilling to eat—almost as if trying to avoid them. But Anna's mind was curious about how this family treated Shane, leaving her with no choice but to go.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the room and made her way downstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The dining room was a display of wealth—a carefully curated picture of sophistication and elegance.

A grand chandelier hung above an impossibly long mahogany table, its golden glow illuminating the pristine white plates and gleaming silverware. The scent of freshly prepared dishes lingered in the air, rich and tantalizing, but Anna barely noticed.

Her focus was on the three people already seated at the table.

At the head sat Patricia Tolentino-Tiu, Shane's stepmother.

Anna had learned about her after Patricia's visit to the hospital, using what little strength she had to uncover the life of the girl whose body she now inhabited.

Patricia was once a celebrated actress—a widow before marrying Shane's father, Samuel Tiu, a powerful business tycoon. Her two daughters from her previous marriage, Phillipa and Phyllis, had been adopted into the Tiu family name.

But that didn't mean they truly belonged. It meant Shane was the legitimate daughter—the rightful heiress.

The realization that Shane was an heiress left Anna in shock. It took her hours to fully accept the truth. She hadn't just woken up in the body of a wealthy man's daughter—she had become an heiress.

Sitting beside Patricia, Phillipa—who was the same age as Shane—glanced up as Anna entered. Her expression was unreadable, but her sharp eyes assessed her with quiet intensity.

Next to her, Phyllis, the youngest, didn't bother to hide her contempt. She stared at Anna with an open scowl, her lips curling as though something about her presence was offensive.

Anna barely had time to process it before an overwhelming wave of fear crashed over her.

Not hers.

Shane's.

Her muscles tensed involuntarily, her stomach twisting with a sickening familiarity. The way Phillipa and Phyllis looked at her—it wasn't just hate. It was something colder. Crueler.

It was the way a predator sizes up prey.

Shane had feared them. Feared them deeply.

Anna's fingers twitched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

"No."

She was not Shane.

And she would not cower.

Forcing Shane's body to straighten, Anna stepped forward, her posture betraying none of the tremors rippling beneath her skin. If they expected her to shrink under their stares, to lower her head and be small, they were wrong.

Patricia was the first to speak.

"Glad you could finally join us for supper," she said smoothly. Her voice held no warmth—only an elegant indifference, like a queen addressing a subject she barely tolerated.

Anna didn't miss the way Patricia's fingers traced the delicate rim of her wine glass, slow and calculated.

"Your father will be pleased to know you're settling back in."

Anna held her gaze.

Settling? As if she doesn't belong here? 

As if this house wasn't suffocating, the air thick with something unspoken?

She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she pulled out a chair and took her seat, meeting Patricia's gaze head-on.

The air shifted.

Subtle. Almost imperceptible.

But it was there.

Phillipa's nails tapped lightly against her plate. Phyllis pursed her lips, her expression twisting with something close to irritation.

They had expected something else.

A weak Shane. A fearful Shane.

But tonight, that Shane did not exist.

–

As they began their meal, Anna hesitated, unsure of what to eat first.

The rich aroma of freshly grilled steak mingled with the delicate scent of saffron-infused seafood, creating a symphony of flavors that filled the dining room. An array of lavish dishes stretched across the long mahogany table—succulent lobsters glistening with butter, seared wagyu steaks resting in pools of their own juices, vibrant garden salads topped with candied pecans and vinaigrette, and velvety pumpkin soup still steaming from its ceramic bowl.

It was mouthwatering.

And yet, Anna hesitated. Guilt weighed on her as she prepared to eat food like this while thinking about her family. With her old body gone, she had no idea how they were managing. She had been their main source of financial support.

Her mother, Alna, earned a meager living doing other people's laundry, but it was never enough. Her father was in and out of jail, and the last time they spoke, they had argued—over money for alcohol.

The weight of the silverware in her hand felt oddly heavy. Shane's body should be used to meals like these, but she wasn't. Every movement felt unfamiliar, every decision—something as simple as choosing what to eat—felt like an entirely new experience.

She wasn't sure what to reach for first.

Before she could decide, a voice cut through the soft clinking of utensils.

"Do you really have to live here? Can't you just tell father that you'll stay in your apartment?"

Anna's fingers stilled over her fork.

The words came from Phillipa, her tone laced with false sweetness, but the irritation underneath was unmistakable.

Beside her, Phyllis smirked, lazily twirling a strand of her dark, perfectly styled hair.

"You don't think you belong here, right?" Phyllis added, her voice carrying the sharpness of a blade wrapped in silk.

Anna finally looked up.

The two sisters sat there, watching her with thinly veiled impatience. They were waiting—expecting—her to react the way Shane always did.

To shrink.

To apologize.

To acknowledge that she didn't belong.

A sharp pang coursed through Shane's body, a phantom ache from years of hearing the same thing over and over.

This was routine.

They had always reminded her that she was an outsider. A burden. Someone merely tolerated in this house.

And after years of hearing it, Shane had started to believe it.

Anna exhaled slowly, steadying her grip on the fork.

"No."

She wasn't Shane.

And she wasn't going to let them see her flinch.

Lifting her chin slightly, she met Phillipa's gaze head-on.

"Oh? You seem awfully concerned about my living arrangements."

Her voice was even, bored, as if she found their words mildly amusing rather than hurtful.

She carefully sliced into her steak, her movements deliberate, unhurried. The motion felt natural, as if Shane's body was responding on its own. Anna wasn't sure if she was doing it right, but she felt like she was.

Like she was in control.

Phillipa's fingers curled slightly around the stem of her wine glass, though she quickly masked her irritation with a carefully neutral expression.

"Of course, we're concerned," Phillipa said, her voice still dripping with honey, but the venom underneath was obvious. "You've been gone for so long. It's just… strange that Father suddenly wants you back now."

"Right," Phyllis chimed in, leaning forward, eyes glinting with something almost predatory. "Especially when you never really fit in to begin with."

Their words lingered in the air, pressing down like a suffocating fog.

Anna let them settle.

She took another bite, slowly chewing, before dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin.

Her mind marveled at how seamlessly her body moved—how natural it felt to be here, to eat, to control Shane's body.

More importantly, she felt none of the fear that had once weighed so heavily in Shane's heart.

She was in control.

She wasn't afraid.

When she spoke, her voice remained calm, measured.

"That's funny," she mused, tilting her head slightly. "Because as far as I remember… I'm the one with the Tiu blood. And you?"

Her gaze flickered between the two sisters.

"You're just guests my father happened to take in."

The shift was instant.

Phyllis's smirk vanished.

Phillipa's fingers tightened around her glass, her carefully maintained composure slipping—just a little.

A small, tense silence settled over the table.

And then—

"Shane."

It was the first time Patricia spoke.

Unlike her daughters, she hadn't reacted immediately.

Instead, she had been watching. Observing.

Now, she set her fork down gently, her perfectly manicured fingers resting lightly on the edge of her plate.

Her expression was unreadable. Her lips curved—not in disapproval.

But in intrigue.

Anna turned to meet her stepmother's gaze.

Patricia's dark eyes studied her—analyzing, searching.

Like she was looking at someone… different.

Like she was seeing something new.

"You've changed," Patricia finally said, her voice smooth like velvet, yet edged with something sharper.

Anna took another slow bite of her steak.

Swallowed.

And then, with a faint, knowing smile, she replied—

"Have I?"

Patricia regarded her for another moment, then picked up her fork again, returning to her meal.

"It seems like being in a coma made you different," she mused, cutting into her own steak with practiced ease.

She took a bite, savoring it, before adding—

"But don't think your life will change just because you've grown some guts."

"I know," Anna answered, her voice unwavering.

Because she did.

Shane's life wouldn't change overnight just because she had taken over. The past, the relationships, the weight of everything Shane had endured—those things wouldn't disappear so easily. But what no one knew was that Shane wasn't really here anymore.

Anna was.

And she intended to keep it that way.

Still, if she was now living in Shane's body, did that mean she had to live like Shane did?

No.

Anna didn't think so.

"But I don't think it's such a bad idea if I want to live how I want right now."

She set down her knife and leaned back slightly, her lips curling into something almost like a smile.

"Especially since I'm cancer-free and healthier than ever."

There it was again—the slight, almost imperceptible shift in the air.

The silence that followed wasn't quite tense, but it wasn't comfortable either.

Patricia's fingers tapped lightly against her wine glass, a slow, measured rhythm. Phillipa and Phyllis exchanged brief glances, their expressions unreadable, though the flicker of something—unease? Confusion? Annoyance?—was there.

Because this wasn't the Shane they knew.

Shane would have never spoken like this.

She would have never challenged them.

Patricia took a slow sip of her wine, her gaze still on Anna.

"That's an interesting way to put it," she murmured. "You sound... different."

Anna tilted her head, feigning innocence.

"Do I?"

Patricia hummed thoughtfully, swirling the red liquid in her glass.

"Yes. You do."

For a brief moment, their gazes locked.

Patricia wasn't stupid. She was calculating. She was testing.

And Anna knew that.

But she didn't flinch.

Instead, she picked up her fork again, taking another bite of her meal. Slowly, as if completely unbothered, she chewed, swallowed, and dabbed her lips with her napkin.

"Maybe the coma did change me." Anna shrugged, offering a casual, effortless smile. "Or maybe I just realized there's more to life than playing by someone else's rules."

Patricia studied her for another long moment before finally setting her glass down.

"Well then," she said, an almost amused lilt to her tone. "I suppose we'll see how long that lasts."

Phillipa scoffed under her breath, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force.

Phyllis, however, was still watching her—closer this time, eyes sharp.

Anna just smiled, reaching for her wine glass.

Because she wasn't Shane.

And she wasn't going to break.