My Reborn 18-Year-Old Revenge Scam? Bankrupting Bullies! - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Ten years ago, right before the SATs, Vivian deliberately locked me in the bathroom.
I screamed for help for ages. But nobody came.
Finally, I broke the bathroom window and climbed out from the third floor.
Glass cut my fingers—blood mixed with my answers on the test paper.
No surprise, I failed.
And I didn't get a second chance.
That night, Dad and Vivian sat in the living room discussing what to do with me. Dad said I was too young, Vivian said cosmetology school was really popular now.
Maya, who was eating watermelon in the bedroom, said smugly: "When you get good at hair styling, I'll come to you for business."
I turned to look at her. Watermelon juice stained her lips—she looked like a demon.
She wanted to devour me—bit by bit, swallow me whole.
But I wouldn't take it.
Years of built-up resentment exploded in that moment. I rushed over and slapped her, grabbed her throat, and squeezed with all my might.
Maya screamed.
Someone grabbed my hair and dragged me off her. Vivian held Maya, comforting her.
Dad yelled, "Jess, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Yeah, I was losing it.
If I stayed any longer, I'd go completely insane.
So I had to run.
With just my passport and a few hundred bucks, I grabbed a ticket for the next train out.
In the cramped corridors of that urban village, hostile eyes were always watching.
I'd lock my door AND barricade it with furniture, keeping a kitchen knife under my pillow.
I never dared sleep deeply or get sick.
Like it was on purpose, the old pervert next door always cranked his TV to max volume at night—women's moans and men's grunting, back and forth.
I'd lie there with my eyes open, listening to it over and over.
The cockroaches were horrifyingly huge. In that filthy, moldy bathroom, these things were always crawling around.
I swore I wouldn't rot away like them.
Finally, when I'd saved enough money, I enrolled in an accounting class.
Since childhood, I'd had a sharp intuition for numbers.
I loved math—no ambiguous words, just cold numbers. Right and wrong had only one answer.
I immersed myself in this world of numbers, greedily absorbing every formula, hungry like I was suffocating.
But I didn't dare stop.
Then I passed the exam and left that urban village.
Later, I found a real job.
The company was small and did lots of shady stuff, but I still appreciated them giving me a chance.
Even though I got the lowest salary, I didn't care.
I had no degree—I needed experience. So I treasured every opportunity.
Even though I was still going hungry, I didn't feel bitter anymore.
I studied, took exams, worked. Every day I kept my head down, not daring to stop for even one day.
Finally, year two, I became a financial supervisor.
Year three, I switched to a bigger company.
Year four, I made my first hundred thousand.
Year five, another job change, got a chance to study abroad, salary jumped from a hundred thousand to three hundred thousand.
Year ten, finally, I bought a house, a car, all kinds of jewelry, clothes, designer bags.
One afternoon, I ordered myself a slice of cake and sat there leisurely.
The sweet cake hit my taste buds. I ate a lot, then quickly threw it all up in the bathroom.
But I was incredibly happy.
I threw up while laughing, then cleaned my mouth and went home.
So how could I possibly need someone else's salvation?
I'd saved myself thousands and thousands of times.