Fiorella’s foster parents had always cared about her health, buying her plenty of nutritional supplements.

She was tall, and with intense daily training, she wasn’t as slim as other girls her age.

The dress Jamila picked was too small, the wrong color, and the wrong style.

But in her past life, Fiorella had squeezed herself into it.

The dress Jamila picked was too small, the wrong color, and the wrong style.

She also made Fiorella wear heavy makeup she had chosen for her.

It covered her acne marks but only made her look overdone and gaudy.

Fiorella showed up looking swollen, like a clown.

And worse, midway through the party, the dress burst.

Her body was exposed in front of everyone.

The disastrous party ended with Jamila in tears.

“I’m so sorry, Fiorella… Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have picked that dress. I didn’t even think it would fit her. I just wanted her to have the best thing I had… I was thoughtless.”

“It’s not your fault, Mila. Don’t cry,” someone said.

While Fiorella stood there, humiliated, they were showing Jamila concern.

No one blamed Jamila for her “well-meaning” mistake.

And in an instant, Fiorella became the butt of their jokes.

“She looks so awkward and messy. Is she really a Huerta?”

“Look at Jamila, then look at her. They’re worlds apart.”

“Jamila’s not blood, but at least she looks the part—refined, well-educated.”

“Fiorella grew up outside the family, you know…”

“Just give her some money and send her off.”

Because of the incident, the Huerta family barely saw Fiorella as one of their own. Even her biological parents looked at her with disappointment.

Now, remembering it, she walked to the bed and picked up the dress.

It was exactly as she recalled—a pink, puff-sleeved gown.

This childish style and color were completely wrong for Fiorella.

She checked the dress, turning it inside out. Then she noticed one corner of the inner lining had been cut.

In a prestigious household like this, no one touched someone else’s clothes without permission, let alone sabotaged them.

Jamila had given her this dress. Fiorella knew exactly what that meant.

“Fiorella, you ready?” Jamila urged from outside.

“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Don’t take too long, okay? If you miss your chance to shine, Mom and Dad won’t be happy.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Hearing the unease in Fiorella’s voice, Jamila turned and left.

Her sweet smile vanished, replaced by a sneer. “It’s me or you; only one of us stays in this family. If you wanna blame someone, well, tough luck.”

She lifted the hem of her gown slightly and walked ahead like she had done this a hundred times before.

The luxurious hall was packed with influential people. Dressed sharp, they were chatting over drinks.

The scene made Jamila’s expression soften. She felt she belonged here.

“Jamila? Where’s your sister?” Her mother’s gentle voice came from behind.

Jamila turned, flashing a perfectly polished smile.

“She’s just a little nervous. Needs a moment. She’ll be here soon.”

A sly grin tugged at her lips as she imagined what was coming next.