From Sneers to Cheers: Anthea’s Ascent

Oakley twisted his face. He couldn’t believe he once thought Anthea was attractive. Apart from her looks, it seemed she didn’t have a single redeeming quality. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

To call Anthea a ‘poor rich girl‘ would be a compliment she didn’t deserve.

Her reputation at the Morris family was notorious for all the wrong reasons!

“I’ve heard the stories about the Morris family’s spoiled heiress, but I never imagined she was your cousin…” Oakley finally managed to say after a moment of disbelief.

Watching the shift of Oakley’s expressions, Stella continued, “Honestly, I was just as surprised! Poor Aunt Carole had such high hopes with Rebecca, who was not only top of her class but sharp as a whip, too. There was a light at the end of the tunnel with her. But Anthea? My mom’s worried sick about Aunt Carole. Raising a daughter like that is just a heartache.”

Stella heaved a heavy sigh, pretending to be worried about Carole.

Rebecca was a star, bound for an Ivy League future, destined to make something of herself.

But Anthea? She could hardly spell her name, let alone dream of university. Expecting her to amount to anything was like waiting for pigs to fly. Anthea’s future was as clear as day. Living her life as nothing more than an underachiever in some dingy basement apartment.

“Are you saying Rebecca is the real heiress of the Morris family?” Oakley asked. looking for

clarification.

“Yes,” Stella nodded. “A true heiress through and through. Despite living in that basement with my aunt, Rebecca never fell behind. She’s nothing like Anthea who, despite being spoon–fed with a silver spoon, amounts to nothing more than a jerk.”

Oakley nodded, impressed. Rebecca did indeed seem remarkable.

Just then, Stella seemed to remember something and quickly said, “Oh, shoot me that screenshot of your friends list, will you? I need to post it on my socials.”

“Sure,” Oakley replied, pulling out his smartphone to log into GlobalGigaNet and send the

screenshot to Stella.

As soon as Stella posted it online, her social feed exploded. Even the most reclusive of her

contacts couldn’t resist commenting.

“Holy smokes! Is that the real Phoenix–YC?”

“Riding on the coattails of greatness!”

“For real? Or just a lookalike account?”

“Reposting for a touch of luck!”

Stella was bombarded with private messages too, everyone eager to get a piece of Phoenix–YC

through her.

Looking up at Oakley, she mused, “Imagine if you could befriend Phoenix.”

“Don’t even start,” Oakley replied, rolling his eyes. “That’s Phoenix YC we’re talking about. Not someone you just add willy–nilly. I’ve heard even Dr. Varn couldn’t swing an invite.”

Stella deflated her hopes immediately.

Dr. Varn? The man was a legend, a titan in the scientific research!

Downstairs in the living room,

Hancock, the patriarch of the Lyons family, had returned home.

At fifty–three, Hancock looked remarkably younger, probably thanks to his job, which seemed to keep him in his early forties.

Gemma and Felton were flanking him on either side like attentive butlers rather than elders of the family.

One held Hancock’s blazer while the other offered him slippers.

They were more like servants in the Lyons family than the head of the family.