Chapter 6: The Real Test

At the dinner table, Mr. Campbell pushed a glass of wine toward me.

The silverware clinked, the chandelier casting warm light over everything. The billionaire raised his glass, waiting for me to do the same.

Mrs. Campbell frowned and scolded him: "I told you, the kid is young and still in school. Why let him drink? It’s bad for his brain."

She reached out and gently pushed the glass away from me, her maternal instincts kicking in. I flashed her a grateful smile.

Mr. Campbell looked at me for a long time, then asked: "Before you two brothers made your choices, do you remember my requirements?"

He leaned in, his tone serious. The weight of the moment settled over the table, silencing any chatter.

"Dad, I remember. Choosing to be your son means automatically giving up my studies."

I kept my voice steady, meeting his gaze. I wanted him to know I understood the rules, even if I didn’t agree with them.

"That’s right, because if you could have both, the choice would be meaningless. So this wine is to cut off your other path—the beginning of a change in fate."

He raised the glass again, his meaning clear. It wasn’t just a drink—it was a ritual, a marker between old life and new.

Mrs. Campbell understood and quickly questioned Mr. Campbell.

She set her fork down, her expression worried. “Is that really fair, honey? He’s just a boy.”

"Is this really necessary? Nathan is so obedient and smart. If you don’t let him study, how is he any different from a fool in the future? We adopted him to nurture him."

Her voice trembled, genuine concern coloring every word. I felt a surge of gratitude for her defense.

"That’s the rule of the game. If he could still study after becoming my son, what would his brother think? Where would my authority be?"

He sounded weary, like a man explaining the rules of a game he didn’t invent. I could tell he hated the idea as much as she did, but felt trapped by his own logic.

"But…" Mrs. Campbell still wanted to speak for me.

She started to protest, but he shook his head, the conversation already decided.

I knew Mr. Campbell was in a tough spot.

I could see the struggle in his eyes—a man torn between fairness and affection, between what’s right and what’s easy.

And he had made it very clear.

I forced myself to accept it. This was the cost of admission to his world.

If you could have both—family and school—no one would ever pick the hard road. That’s what made the choice real.

The logic was cold, but I understood it. Every choice comes with a price.

"Mom, let’s listen to Dad. It’s fairer this way."

I tried to sound mature, to ease her worry. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

I raised my glass and drank it all in one go.

I’d only ever tasted communion wine at church, and that was years ago. This felt like crossing some invisible line. The wine burned all the way down. I coughed, my cheeks flushing. It was both an ending and a beginning.

The alcohol choked me, making me cough.

Mrs. Campbell rushed to pour me a glass of water, patting my back. “Slow down, honey.”

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell just looked at me, silent for a long time.

Their silence stretched, heavy with unspoken hopes and fears. I felt like they were seeing me—not just as a charity case, but as their own.

"Sigh."

Mrs. Campbell sighed, as if feeling it was unfair.

She reached over and squeezed my hand, her eyes misty.

Or perhaps she thought I was a talent, and was afraid of missing out.

I saw the regret in her eyes, the wish that things could be different. She wanted the best for me, even if she couldn’t give it.

Mr. Campbell took a deep breath: "Nathan, be good from now on. Being my son, you won’t suffer."

His words were both a promise and a warning. I nodded, determined to live up to his faith in me.

I nodded, then asked: "Dad, can I take the SATs?"

I couldn’t help it. The question burst out of me. The SATs weren’t just a test—they were a rite of passage, something I’d always dreamed of conquering.

Mr. Campbell frowned: "Didn’t you hear what I just said?"

His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. I swallowed, choosing my words carefully.

"I heard clearly, I won’t go to school. I just want to experience the atmosphere of the SATs. After all, isn’t the first turning point in most people’s lives the SATs?"

I tried to explain, hoping he’d understand it was about closure, not rebellion.

"Let Nathan do it. All the students study late into the night to prepare for the test and stand out," Mrs. Campbell argued for me.

She shot him a pleading look. “Let the boy have this. He deserves it.”

Mr. Campbell’s family was wealthy and couldn’t understand the importance of the SATs for regular people.

For them, the test was just another box to check. For us, it was everything—a shot at a future beyond our circumstances.

"You just finished the first semester of high school. If you don’t study for the next two and a half years, what’s the point of taking the test? Aren’t you afraid of being laughed at?"

His question was sharp, almost taunting. But I stood my ground.

"Not afraid," I answered very seriously.

I looked him in the eye, willing him to see how much this mattered.

"Fine, if you’re not afraid, go ahead. Just don’t get discouraged."

He relented, though I could tell he still thought it was pointless. I nodded, determined to prove him wrong.

"Thank you, Dad." I stood up happily and nodded to Mr. Campbell.

I couldn’t hide my excitement. It felt like a small victory, one that I wouldn’t take for granted.

In my previous life, I was recommended to Harvard or Stanford with excellent grades, so I didn’t need to take the test.

Back then, my academic record had opened doors for me. But part of me always wondered what I could’ve done on my own.

But I also wanted to know my own strength. After the exam, I searched for real test papers online and did them all at once, just for practice.

I’d stayed up late, hunched over a borrowed laptop, timing myself with an old kitchen timer. The challenge was addicting, proof that I could do it on my own.

That time, I estimated my own score: at least 1500.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was more than enough to prove my worth.

You could say, the test questions were engraved in my mind.

Even now, I could recite half the vocabulary and math tricks in my sleep.

If the full score is 1600, not getting 1580 now would be letting myself down.

This time, I promised myself: I’d do it for real, for me, not for anyone else.

Even though I was given a second chance, even though I was forced to choose, the gears of fate are always in my own hands.

I squeezed the edge of the table, feeling the determination settle deep in my bones. No matter what happened next, I’d make this life my own.

Obviously, my brother didn’t expect this.

He thought he’d shut me out for good. He never saw how quietly I’d keep fighting.

At this moment, he sent me a text.

My phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with his name. My heart sank a little as I read the message.

[Nice digs, huh? Bet you think you’re set. Don’t forget, there’s a real son in this family. Good luck, genius.]

He couldn’t resist the dig, reminding me that I was still just a guest in his world.

He was laying a trap, setting me up for failure before I even met the real heir. I read the message twice, then put the phone facedown on the table.

He’s planning to set me up.

I let out a slow breath, pushing away the fear. My phone buzzed again, but I let it ring. This time, I wasn’t going to let anyone write my story but me.