Reborn as the Kingpin's Caged Bird

1: 1

The year I turned eighteen, fate handed me two choices.

I could become the secret kept woman of Paul Griffin, the man who ran everything beneath the surface of Harbor City, or I could go back to the Fox family, that dynasty of art-world names, and take my place as their true daughter.

In my last life, I chose the second.

The day they brought me home from the slums, I thought everyone would ache for me, for the eighteen years I'd spent with no one, scraping by.

Instead, the first thing my birth parents said when they laid eyes on me was, "You don't stand right, you don't sit right, you're not fit to be seen. The day you learn some manners is the day you get to call yourself a Fox."

My brother said it too. "Eleanor Pruitt, do something about that cheap, threadbare air of yours. Don't embarrass this family."

I told myself the Foxes were simply cold by nature.

It wasn't until the day I died that I finally understood. They'd already poured every scrap of love they had into their fake daughter, Bridget Fox. There was nothing left over for me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day the Foxes came to collect me.

Standing in the familiar streets of the slums, I dialed the number I'd carried in my memory for a lifetime.

"Mr. Griffin, I'll be your kept woman. I agree."

01

I was nervous. My voice shook.

The man on the other end was silent for a moment, then gave a cold, flat, "Mm."

As if we weren't discussing something as intimate as being kept.

His tone gave nothing away, and without thinking I opened my mouth to say more.

The next second, the call cut off.

At the same time, a message landed on my phone.

Wait for me at home.

I let out a breath.

Paul Griffin kept his word. Whatever he promised, he did.

Just then, a black chauffeured van pulled up in front of me.

The butler stepped out, took his place beside the door, and said, "Miss Pruitt, Mrs. Fox has sent me to bring you home."

His words were respectful. The look in his eyes was contempt.

I took out my phone and sent Paul Griffin a message.

Mr. Griffin, the Foxes have come for me.

He answered fast, just a single Mm.

But I knew what it meant. He was giving me his permission to go.

I smiled a little and told the butler, "Put my luggage in the car for me."

"Miss Pruitt, the Fox family has prepared a complete set of everything you'll need. You don't need to bring any luggage."

In my last life, the butler had said those exact words and then dumped my things at the roadside.

As if my past eighteen years were filth that couldn't be carried into the Fox house.

This time, I didn't swallow it. I picked up my bags, turned, and walked away.

For a second his composure slipped, but he collected himself quickly. "Miss Pruitt, don't keep Mrs. Fox waiting too long."

I didn't so much as glance at him, not until he caught up and blocked my path.

"Miss Pruitt, where exactly are you going?"

I looked up at him, my voice even. "A servant of this family won't even obey his own mistress. A place with that little discipline? I'm not going back to it."

He held my gaze. I don't know how long it lasted before he lowered his head and took the bags from my hand.

"Miss Pruitt, Mrs. Fox is still waiting for you at home."

I let out a scornful laugh, then turned and got into the car.

The butler followed behind me with a calm face, and I knew he wouldn't let it go.

Sure enough, the moment we hit the road, the car veered off in an unfamiliar direction.

He drove me around the beltway three full loops, and by the time we reached the Fox house the sky had gone completely dark.

The family was already seated at the dinner table, and every one of them frowned the instant they saw me.

Every one except Bridget.

Head down, eyes red, her voice thick with hurt.

"Sister, I know you don't like that I exist, but you didn't have to drag it out on purpose. Dad, Mom, and our brother have been sitting here hungry this whole time, waiting for you."

I looked at her, and for a moment the world went hazy, my mind dragged straight back to the day I died.

2: 2

02

I died in prison at twenty.

Not long after I came home, Bridget accused me of burning down her gallery.

My mother said I was too calculating, that there was something rotten in me.

My brother said I'd grown up in the slums, that the rot had already gone into my bones.

In the end my father made the call and sent me to prison.

There was too much wrong with me, they said. Only suffering would set me straight.

No one listened when I tried to explain.

Bridget must have put in a word, because prison was hard on me from the start.

Getting bullied was just the ordinary state of things.

But I bore it.

Because they told me all I had to do was three years, and then I'd be out.

Then, the year I turned twenty, I overheard two of the guards talking.

That Eleanor Pruitt, she's getting out next year, isn't she?

Getting out? Arson's a serious charge. They gave her fifteen years flat.

I thought the gallery she torched was her own family's. Couldn't they file a letter of forgiveness and get her a lighter sentence?

It was her own family that demanded the harsh sentence. Otherwise she'd never have gotten this long.

Fifteen years.

The fifteen best years of my life.

Spent in prison, carrying the name of an arsonist.

I didn't want that.

So that night, while the guards changed shifts, I used my clothes and hanged myself at the foot of the bed.

Thank god heaven gave me another chance. There's still time to fix all of it.

I lifted my eyes to Bridget, and the corner of my mouth curved up. Since you know I don't want you here, why are you still standing there?

Bridget froze, and then tears the size of beans slid down her cheeks.

She shot to her feet and bowed to me. Sister, I know I shouldn't be here. I'll go right now.

And with that, she started crying and walked toward the door.

I watched her back and answered easily. Mm. Don't let me keep you.

Bridget's whole body went stiff. She hadn't expected me to give her nothing to save face with at all.

The Fox family finally couldn't take it.

First Matthew slammed his chopsticks down and barked at me. Eleanor Pruitt, this isn't your house to run yet!

Then Davina stood up, pulled Bridget back, and the two of them clung together sobbing.

Bridget, Mommy promises you, I will never send you away!

Last came my brother Ivan's accusation. Eleanor Pruitt, you're the one who couldn't be on time, and just because Bridget told the truth you want to throw her out? What else would you expect from the slums. Small-minded and selfish through and through!

I stood with my arms folded, and when every last one of them had finished, I took out my phone and opened her social-media feed.

The newest post was a photo of her getting into the car.

The caption was just one word.

Home.

The timestamp under the photo said it had been posted five hours ago.

I held the photo up in front of the Fox family. The butler picked me up four hours ago. It only takes an hour and a half to get from the slums to this house, but he drove me three loops around the beltway. So I'd like to ask: is it really that I can't keep time, or is it that the Fox family has no rules at all, and the help does whatever it pleases?

No one answered.

I gave a small laugh, walked over to Bridget, and asked her. I just got home. I had no idea who you were, and you had no idea why I was so late. So why did you jump straight to saying I hated you and dragged my feet coming back on purpose?

It couldn't be that you wanted to smear me, so the Fox family's first impression of me would be a bad one?

Bridget hadn't expected me to spell it out so plainly. The color drained from her face, and her defense came out weak. I didn't

Davina couldn't stand to see her like that and jumped in, aching for her. Ellie, you've misunderstood. Bridget's just been so on edge lately, knowing you were coming home.

I didn't answer her. I just looked at Davina, steady and unmoving.

There was so much love in her eyes. None of it was for me.

I lowered my gaze and said. They say a cuckoo that takes over another bird's nest will push the little magpie chicks out to fall to their deaths, so it can be raised by someone else's mother. I wonder if people can be like cuckoos too. Selfish to the core, seizing another bird's nest for themselves.

3: 3

03

Every face at the Fox table changed.

Bridget ran off in tears.

Davina hurried after her to soothe her.

Matthew threw down his chopsticks and went back to his study.

Ivan stood too. He looked at me. "Eleanor Pruitt, play the victim, sow whatever discord you like, none of it will work. Bridget is my only sister, and she'll be the only daughter this family has."

"Mm. I know."

I'd known since my last life. So this time it didn't hurt.

Ivan stared at how calm I was and, for a long moment, couldn't get a single word out. In the end he turned, face dark, and went upstairs.

I looked at the full table of food and sat down to eat, alone.

I'd been on the road all day, and my stomach had long since caved in on itself.

When I finished, I picked up my phone, snapped a photo, and sent it to Paul Griffin.

Mr. Griffin, the Fox family fed me their leftovers. (pitiful.jpg)

Paul answered fast, as always, with the same utterly cold Mm.

I was still trying to work out what he actually meant when my bank account pinged with a transfer of two hundred thousand.

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud.

Davina happened to be passing behind me, and when she saw me laughing, the anger flared up out of nowhere.

"Eleanor Pruitt, does making your sister cry really make you this happy? What has she ever done to you!"

Her eyes reddened as she spoke.

She was remembering Bridget as a little girl, that thin, tiny bundle pressed to her chest, the child she'd nursed and raised with her own hands.

Such a bright, cheerful child, and now she was crying her heart out, brow furrowed even in her sleep.

And here the one who'd caused it all was this happy.

She really was furious.

I put away the smile, lifted my head, and said, "Mrs. Fox, Bridget and I are the same age."

Her anger jammed mid-breath. Her mouth opened, and it took her a long while before she managed, "Ellie, that's not what I meant... I just think you two sisters could get along..."

I didn't answer that. I changed the subject. "Mrs. Fox, where am I staying?"

Only then did Davina realize that all this time she'd been so busy comforting Bridget she'd completely forgotten to arrange a room for me.

All she could manage, awkwardly, was, "The guest room..."

I nodded. "Thank you."

Guilt flickered through her eyes, and she carried my luggage upstairs herself.

But the moment she pushed the guest room door open, she froze.

The perfectly good guest room was packed with junk, not even room to set a foot down.

She quickly called a maid over to ask what was going on.

"Miss Bridget was worried her piano practice would disturb everyone's rest, so she turned the basement into a music room. There was nowhere to put the things from the basement, so we had to move them into the guest room for now..."

"Is there any other guest room still open?"

"Only the maid's room is left..."

Davina's vision went black. She looked at me, mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, unable to get a word out for a long time.

I smiled at her and said, unbothered, "I'll take the maid's room, then."

The guilt on her face grew heavier.

She saw me into the room and, eyes red, said, "Ellie, I'll have someone clear out the guest room tomorrow. Just bear with it for tonight."

"Mm." I nodded coldly.

Her eyes reddened further. "Do you really have nothing to say to your mother?"

I felt a flicker of impatience.

I thought back to the day I first came home last life.

That night I'd stayed in this same maid's room, and Davina had been just as guilty then, holding my hand, telling me to pour out every hurt I'd ever carried.

I leaned into her arms and told her how at five I'd been so hungry I had to steal the bread other people had left behind.

Told her how at ten I'd had my eardrum ruptured fighting over a plastic bottle.

Told her how at fifteen, with nowhere to go, a strange man had cornered me under a bridge and I'd nearly been violated.

Eighteen years of suffering, and spoken aloud it came out as nothing more than a few weightless sentences.

Davina held me and wept until her face was streaked with tears, swearing she would love me properly from then on, never let me suffer again.

Except the very next day she broke her word.

Bridget cried that her necklace was missing, and only I had been in her room.

Davina didn't give me a single chance to explain. She slapped me across the face.

She said I'd been a thief since childhood, that this life I would never be cured of my stealing.

The memory drew back in. I leaned against the headboard and said flatly, "Mrs. Fox, I'm tired. I'd like to rest."

Davina had probably never been shown out this bluntly. She stiffened, then slowly rose and left, closing the door behind her.

The moment she was gone I sat up and took a photo of the maid's room.

Just as I was about to hit send, I hesitated.

I couldn't keep playing the victim with Paul.

I thought for a moment, then pulled my clothes into disarray, baring two long, pale legs, and took the photo again.

No face.

But it looked innocent and inviting at once.

Pleased, I sent that photo to Paul Griffin.

Mr. Griffin, the maid's room is so small, I can't even stretch my legs out. (crying.jpg)

4: 4

04

This time Paul's reply wasn't just a cold "Mm."

The chat window kept showing that he was typing.

It was a long while before I heard the message tone.

Dress properly.

"Tsk. Such a prude."

I muttered it under my breath, didn't bother replying, lay back on the bed, and was out cold within minutes.

Those two years in prison in my last life had been brutal. I'd never once slept well.

By the time I woke, it was already past noon.

I lingered in bed a while before getting up, because I really didn't want to face whatever new tricks Bridget had cooked up.

But when I stepped out, I found the villa quiet and empty. Not one of the Foxes was home.

This wasn't how things had gone last time.

Was rebirth setting off some kind of butterfly effect?

I said nothing and waited. The Foxes didn't come back until evening.

They all wore pleased expressions, Bridget most of all. Instead of the sobbing act she'd put on the moment she saw me last life, she smiled and greeted me.

It was downright eerie.

Stranger still, in the days that followed, Bridget didn't come after me even once. It made no sense at all.

Right up until the day before her gallery opening.

I braced myself as if for battle.

Last life, this was the very day Bridget invited me to her gallery, burned her most expensive oil painting right in front of me, then framed me for arson.

I expected her to pull the same trick. Instead the day passed calm as still water, and nothing happened.

I pressed my lips together. Bridget, and the whole Fox family, couldn't have just changed their nature like that.

What on earth had happened?

Luckily my confusion didn't last long. That night, I got my answer.

It turned out it was all because of Paul.

The second day after I arrived at the Fox house, Paul had made an announcement.

He was looking for a fiance, with two requirements.

One, she had to be from their circles.

Two, she had to have just turned eighteen this year.

Not many people fit that, and Bridget was one of them.

So all this time, Matthew and Davina had been dragging Bridget from one social event to the next, trying to get her in front of Paul.

Their efforts paid off. Paul had decided to attend Bridget's opening ceremony.

Which was why, this whole time, Bridget hadn't had a moment to spare for tormenting me.

Today especially, she was frantic.

She'd hired the best styling team money could buy, spending an entire day just trying on gowns and jewelry. To make sure nothing went wrong, she'd had the whole team brought straight to the Fox house.

That was how I ended up learning about Paul in the first place.

Seeing that I already knew, Bridget put on a guilty face, eyes rimmed red. "Sis, it's been so hectic these past few days, I forgot to order you a gown for tomorrow's ceremony. We're about the same size, though. Why don't you wear one of my old ones?"

The words were barely out of her mouth when Ivan strode over, impatient. "Eleanor, what are you kicking up a fuss about now? You came out of the slums. You don't know the first thing about etiquette. What business do you have at an opening?"

Davina chimed in too. "Ellie, tomorrow's ceremony means a lot to Bridget. It's not that Mom doesn't want you there. I'm just afraid you won't fit in. Everyone coming tomorrow is from our circles, and you don't know how things work in that world."

Matthew was even more irritable. "Why are you wasting all this breath on her? Eleanor, tomorrow you stay home and behave. You're not to go anywhere."

They expected me to be unhappy, to be hurt, to make a scene.

But I did none of it. I nodded obediently and went back to my room like a good girl.

The moment the door shut, I rubbed at my eyes, hard, for a good long while.

Once they were rubbed raw and red, I took a pitiful little photo and sent it to Paul.

Mr. Griffin, the Foxes won't let me go to the ceremony. I won't be able to see you tomorrow.sad.jpg

By now I had a good read on his temper.

Paul seemed to have a real soft spot for my helpless, coaxing act. Every time I did it, he'd say a little more than usual.

Sure enough, his message came a second later.

Tomorrow morning, someone will come for you.

I sent back a "love you" sticker and fell asleep with my mind at ease.

Early the next morning I was woken by the sound of Bridget screaming at her makeup artist.

Unable to get back to sleep, I snapped a photo of myself in my slip nightgown, heavy-lidded and sleepy, and sent it to Paul.

Morning, Mr. Griffin.

Paul didn't reply.

I wasn't in any hurry.

After the Foxes had all left, a message from Paul suddenly came through.

Come downstairs.

I hurried out.

A black van sat quietly at the corner.

Inside was a top-tier styling team.

Two hours later, I was brought to the entrance of Bridget's gallery.

The opening ceremony was a grand affair. Nearly everyone in high society had turned out.

They hadn't come for the Foxes, and certainly not for Bridget.

Every last one of them had come for Paul.

Even from outside the door I could hear them showering Bridget with praise.

"Bridget is so accomplished for her age. Not only does she paint beautifully, she's even caught the eye of that man."

"Mr. and Mrs. Fox were both giants in the art world in their day. No wonder they raised such a fine daughter."

"Oh, if only our own child were as remarkable as Bridget."

Hearing all this, I curled the corner of my mouth and pushed the gallery doors wide open.