Too Lazy to Be Your Rival

My single greatest ambition in this life has always been profoundly simple: to eat entirely horizontal. To that end, back when I lived in that cramped, drafty house on the outskirts of town, I rigged a makeshift hammock basket directly above my headboard. Jalapeño beef jerky on the left, sour cream potato chips on the right, and an extra-long bendy straw permanently submerged in a two-liter bottle of soda resting on my nightstand. My foster parents spent eighteen years screaming that I was an indolent, useless waste of space. Right up until the day a chauffeured town car pulled into our gravel driveway, and a couple draped in bespoke cashmere stepped out holding an authenticated DNA report. They told me I had been switched in the maternity ward eighteen years ago. That I was, by blood and birthright, their daughter. A legitimate heiress to old money. I didn't even bother sitting up from the battered sofa. I simply blinked and asked, "Does your place have a private chef? How many meals a day do they make?" My biological mother’s eyes flooded with tears at my casual indifference. She pressed a manicured hand to her chest. "We have a house manager, maids, and a full culinary staff. As many meals as your heart desires, sweetheart. Anything you want, whenever you want it." I launched myself off that threadbare couch and threw my arms around her so fast she nearly lost her footing, wailing with a dramatic grief that outdid her own ten to one. God only knew how many years I had dreamed of a family like this. My foster parents were crying too—though purely out of sheer, unadulterated relief. They pumped my biological father’s hand with frantic gratitude, practically shoving my duffel bag into his trunk. "Look, mister, the girl eats like a bottomless pit and sleeps eighteen hours a day. Whatever you do, please, for the love of God, don't return her." Before our sedan had even turned off their street, a moving truck was already backing into their driveway, and by sundown, both of their phone numbers were disconnected. On the smooth ride toward the Hastings estate, my new mother watched me with cautious, tentative tenderness. "Faye, darling... there’s something you should know. We have another daughter at home. Alyssa. She’s the girl who was mistakenly sent home with us back then..." I paused mid-chew on the gourmet artisanal dried fruit she’d handed me. "Does she eat a lot?" Mother blinked, thrown off. "No. Hardly anything at all. She watches her figure." A wave of profound peace washed over me. I sank into the supple leather seats. As long as she wasn't angling to steal the food off my plate, she could be the grand duchess of the universe for all I cared. … The second I crossed the threshold into the Hastings mansion, Alyssa was already putting on a masterclass in tearful theatrics. "Faye... you’re finally home!" she wept, tears trailing down her impeccably contoured cheeks like dew on porcelain. "It’s all my fault. I’ve stolen your life, your rightful place, while you suffered in squalor. Now that you're back, I’ll pack my things. I’ll leave right now!" She reached dramatically for a designer overnight bag placed conspicuously by the marble entryway. Mother’s face crumpled with distress. She rushed forward, wrapping Alyssa in a fierce embrace. "Alyssa, stop talking nonsense! You were an infant. How could any of this possibly be your fault?" Father surged forward as well, his voice choked with emotion. "No matter who came back, you are our precious girl. You’re not going anywhere!" My new brother, Mason, glared at me with pure venom burning in his gaze. "This is on you! The second you set foot in this house, you make Alyssa cry!" I, meanwhile, was chewing. Crunch, crunch, swallow. "Huh?" I hadn't caught a single word of the monologue. The Hastings dining table—a sprawling slab of polished walnut—was currently weighed down by an extravagant, tiered silver fruit platter, and my attention had locked onto it with laser precision. By the time their family soap opera wrapped up, I had already demolished three massive, dripping white peaches. I wiped my chin with the back of my sleeve and patted my round, satisfied belly. "Man," I murmured, smacking my lips. "Those are incredible. Got any more in the back?" Alyssa’s sorrow instantly curdled into subtle contempt. "Sister, we understand you grew up in the backwoods without proper manners, but now that you’re under this roof, you really ought to learn basic dining etiquette. Otherwise, people will laugh at us." My parents’ faces darkened into rigid masks of disapproval. Mason let out a sneer. "I refuse to acknowledge a sister this embarrassing. You act like a stray dog that hasn't seen food in a decade." "Zzzzz..." A faint, rhythmical snore drifted from the sofa. The plush velvet was ridiculously soft, sinking beneath my weight like a cloud. I had passed out cold before he could finish his sentence. Father stared down at me, his lip curling with disgust. "Look at her. Utterly undisciplined." Mother pinched the bridge of her nose. "A young lady... sleeping like an unkempt vagrant in the parlor." I just kept snoring, completely dead to the world. Eventually, the house staff had to physically carry me upstairs to a guest room. I don't know how long I was out, but by the time the Hastings family had finished their lavish multi-course dinner, they finally remembered the existence of their biological daughter. Alyssa came to wake me, wearing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, Faye, I’m so sorry! You just arrived, and in the excitement, we completely forgot about you. We’ve all eaten, but... do you think you could make do with the leftovers?" Mother stepped into the doorway, her voice cool and rigid. "Sleeping through dinner is inappropriate. In this household, we eat together. If you miss the schedule again, you won't eat at all." Father barely glanced up from his tablet. "Just have the kitchen warm up whatever's on the counter." Downstairs, the private chef sighed and reached to relight the commercial range, but I darted forward and grabbed his arm. My eyes were practically on fire as I stared down at the kitchen island. Leftovers? "This" was what they called scraps? Glazed duck breast, pan-seared sea bass, truffle mashed potatoes, whole roasted squab. It looked like an upscale tasting menu. Were the Hastingses secretly cats? They’d barely grazed the edges of each platter. I spun around, double-checking with the family. "You guys are totally done with this? For real?" When they gave stiff, reluctant nods, I grabbed a fork and attacked the feast with terrifying efficiency. I swept every single dish clean, scraping the porcelain until not a speck of sauce remained. Finally, I leaned back in the high-backed dining chair and let out a rich, soul-deep burp. "Absolute perfection." Alyssa rushed to seize the moral high ground, turning to our parents with wide, horrified eyes. "Mom, Dad, look at her! She ate like she’s been starved in a cellar for eighteen years. If she acts like this outside, she’ll ruin our reputation!" I let out another tiny hiccup. "I mean, I’ve literally never had food this good. It’s insane." To Alyssa’s utter shock, Mother didn't yell. In fact, her eyes welled with tears. "Dear God..." Mother whispered, her voice trembling. "Just how hungry was she out there to eat like that?" Father’s jaw tightened, an undercurrent of heavy guilt settling across his features. "It’s my fault. If I had tracked her down sooner, my own flesh and blood wouldn't have spent her life scraping by on empty pockets." Watching their pity shift toward me, Alyssa’s expression pinched with rage. She opened her mouth to launch another jab, but stopped when she saw me gaping into a jaw-cracking yawn. It’s a biological constant for me: fill the tank, shut down the engine. Mother immediately waved over the head maid. "Go prepare a proper suite for Faye right now. She needs to rest." Alyssa’s eyes flashed, and she instantly swooped in, grabbing my arm with practiced sweetness. "Sister is still unfamiliar with the layout. Let me show her to her room!" The second the door clicked shut behind us, Alyssa’s smile vanished like smoke. She dropped my arm as if touching raw sewage. "Here’s your room," she whispered, her voice dripping with venom as she leaned close to my ear. "Do you know what this place used to be? It’s the old staff quarters off the service hall. Leftover furniture, drafty windows, nothing new. We didn't prepare a single damn thing for you." My eyes went wide, my mouth forming a perfect 'O' of sheer, unadulterated awe. I threw myself face-first onto the king-sized mattress, bouncing twice. "Holy crap... this bed is like a giant marshmallow! I am in heaven!" Alyssa froze, entirely derailed by my reaction. A pulse of fury flushed her neck red. "Did you even hear me? It’s an old guest room! We threw you in the servant wing with used furniture! You don't belong here!" "Zzzzz..." The mattress was simply too magnificent. Within ten seconds, I was out. Furious at being ignored, Alyssa took a calculated step backward, hooked her foot around an ornate antique pedestal, and shoved a tall porcelain vase onto the hardwood floor. "SMASH." Ceramic shards exploded across the room. By the time our parents and Mason sprinted up the stairs, Alyssa was already huddled on the floor, clutching her bruised arm and sobbing hysterically. "Mom! Dad! Faye was jealous that my room was bigger... she picked up the vase and hurled it straight at me! I couldn't get out of the way in time!" Father took one look at the shattered vase—a prize from his private antique collection—and his face went livid. "Jealousy? Violence? Inexcusable! You act like a feral child!" Mother clutched her heart, declaring that I needed strict behavioral correction, while Mason ground his teeth, swearing he would throw me out into the street himself. The elderly butler stepped forward quietly from the doorway, clearing his throat. "Sir, Madam... if I may. Miss Faye appears to have been asleep for quite some time. Her breathing indicates deep REM sleep. Given the timeline, it is physically impossible for her to have thrown anything within the last twenty minutes." From the depths of the duvet, a soft, rhythmic snore rose into the tense silence. Alyssa’s face went from pale to mottled red, words dying in her throat. For the next three days, my life was pure, unadulterated bliss. Eat until full, sleep until rested, repeat. On the fourth morning, Mother was heading out to a charity luncheon when Alyssa came barreling through the front doors in hysterical tears, holding up the shredded remnants of a designer cocktail dress. "Mom! I was cornered outside my rehearsal today by a bunch of thugs!" Alyssa wept, trembling dramatically. "They told me that if I didn't surrender my place as the Hastings daughter, they’d ruin me. They shredded my dress right in the alley! You have to do something, Mom, or I can't live under this roof anymore!" Father slammed his hand onto the breakfast table with a thunderous crack. "Outrageous! Absolutely barbaric!" Mason rubbed Alyssa’s back, his eyes burning with righteous fury. "Don't cry, Lyssa. I’ll make sure she pays for this." He marched down the hall, bellowing my name. "Hiding like a coward won't save you! Get out here and apologize to Alyssa!" When no answer came, he kicked my door open—only to recoil instantly in disgust. The room was pristine except for the wastebasket, which was piled high with empty chip bags, beef jerky wrappers, and a small mountain of apple cores. I poked my head out from beneath the duvet, blinking groggily against the daylight. "Hey, Mason... since you’re already standing there, mind taking out the trash?" Mother arrived at the door, her voice sharp as she snapped at the head maid. "How does the housekeeping staff allow this room to collect so much garbage?" The maid wrung her hands nervously. "Ma'am, Miss Faye keeps the door latched from the inside. Whenever we knock, she simply says she’s too tired to get up." I rubbed my eyes, not wanting the staff to take the blame. "Yeah, Mom, it’s true. I’m just perpetually exhausted. I physically can't drag myself out of bed. It’s on me." Mother’s expression tightened into suspicion. "How long has she been in this bed?" The maid wiped sweat from her brow. "Since she arrived three days ago, Ma'am. Aside from walking to the kitchen for food, she hasn't set foot outside the house once." Mother turned slowly, staring at the ripped fabric in Alyssa’s hands. "Alyssa... your sister hasn't left this estate in seventy-two hours. Are you telling me she was out on the street tearing your clothes?" Alyssa’s face burned scarlet. "Well... she didn't do it personally, but she must have hired people online!" The maid spoke up again, quietly. "Miss Faye hasn't unlocked her door to receive mail, and there is no landline or computer in this room." Alyssa’s mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish, completely mute. Mother’s gaze turned frigid. "Enough. Next time, verify your accusations before making a scene." The following afternoon, thoroughly rattled by my lethargy, Mother dragged me to an upscale private medical clinic. "Please run every test imaginable. There must be something wrong with her." After four hours of blood panels, scans, and consultations, the lead physician handed over a formal diagnosis: Severe Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. An actual medical excuse! I could have hugged the doctor. From that moment on, my sloth was backed by clinical authority. Racked with guilt over having neglected me into a chronic illness, my parents bent over backward to compensate. Father announced that next week, the family would host a grand debutante welcome gala to officially introduce me to high society as the true Hastings heiress. I originally planned to fake a fever and stay in bed. That was until I overheard the head chef talking about the catering contract: a three-star Michelin tasting team, flown-in French pastries, and an unlimited raw bar. I RSVP'd immediately. When we arrived at the grand ballroom of the St. Regis, I bypassed the networking circles entirely and made a beeline for the culinary stations, slipping into a state of zen-like gluttony. Dessert plate in my left hand, silver fork in my right, my gaze was locked onto the freshly shucked oysters on crushed ice, terrified someone else might take the last half-dozen. Alyssa materialized beside the pastry tower, dripping in diamonds and malice. "Well, well. If it isn't our grand heiress," she hissed under her breath. "I thought you were too sick to attend?" I sidestepped her neatly, reaching for a raspberry mille-feuille behind her shoulder. "Excuse me, trying to reach the cream puffs." Alyssa’s jaw clenched. "I see right through this act, Faye. You play dumb to get attention. If you had an ounce of shame, you’d walk out of this party right now and tell Dad you don't belong here!" I kept chewing, eyes scanning the horizon for the next tray of appetizers. Seeing that words weren't baiting me, Alyssa waited until my back was turned, leaned hard into my elbow, and threw herself backward onto the polished marble floor. "THUD." The ballroom went dead silent. Conversations froze mid-sentence, and every pair of eyes swung directly toward us. Before anyone could speak, Alyssa was already clutching her elbow, tears spilling gracefully down her cheeks. "Faye... even if you resent me, did you really have to shove me to the ground? I only wanted to say hello..." Father, Mother, and Mason parted the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea, their faces dark with fury as they saw Alyssa sprawled across the floor. Mason reached her first, shooting daggers at me. "Faye! What the hell is wrong with you? Alyssa came over to welcome you, and you assault her in front of our guests? Are you completely unhinged?" Mother’s voice dropped into a pained whisper. "Faye, in front of the entire city... do you have no sense of decorum?" I slowly swallowed the mouthful of custard I’d been working on, turning to look at the circle of accusers with genuine bewilderment. "Shove who? I didn't have time." I lifted my empty dessert plate, pointing at the display. "I’ve been speed-running the pastry station for twenty minutes straight. When would I have had time to push her?" Alyssa sniffled with tragic dignity. "You shoved me because I was standing between you and the food! You wanted to humiliate me publicly!" I tilted my head, gesturing casually toward her position on the floor. "Hey, Alyssa... did you notice you fell toward the east pillar, while the pastries are due west? We were walking in opposite directions." A low murmur rippled through the surrounding high-society guests. "Wait, she’s right. That angle makes no sense." "The girl didn't even drop her fork, but Alyssa went flying across two yards of empty floor?" "Honestly, it looked like a total flop. She’s making a scene on purpose." Alyssa’s sobs hitched in her throat, her face alternating between ghostly white and furious crimson. Mother quickly stepped in, hauling Alyssa to her feet and ushering her away before the whispering escalated. I assumed that would be the end of her theatrics for the night. I was wrong. As the gala drew to a close, Alyssa blocked the exit of the private VIP parlor. As soon as a sizable crowd of influential board members and family friends gathered, she shoved back her silk sleeves to reveal a terrifying, angry red rash covering her forearms. A collective gasp echoed through the foyer. Alyssa pointed a trembling finger straight at my chest. "At the raw bar earlier... Faye handed me a piece of seafood sushi. She swore it was vegetarian! She knows I have a life-threatening shellfish allergy, and she deliberately poisoned me!" The room erupted into shocked whispers. An intentional allergic trigger wasn't petty sibling rivalry; it was attempted assault. Father’s face turned an apocalyptic shade of purple. "Faye! This ends now! We explicitly told you about Alyssa’s condition the day you arrived! How could you be so malicious?" Mother looked at me as if looking at a stranger, her eyes brimming with grief. "I thought you were merely lazy and uncouth... I never imagined your heart was this dark. I am profoundly disappointed in you." Mason stepped forward, fists clenched, looking ready to physically drag me out of the building. "Get over here and get on your knees! Apologize to Alyssa right now, or I swear to God you’ll regret it!" Faced with the family's united condemnation, I finally set down my dessert fork. I smoothed down my dress, patted my comfortably distended stomach, and let out a soft, delicate burp. I met Alyssa’s venomous gaze with pure, unvarnished honesty. "I gave you seafood sushi?" "Yes! You did!" Alyssa shrieked, doubling down. "You handed it to me directly! You wanted to ruin me!" I tilted my head, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. "Are you hallucinating?" I gestured toward the devastated buffet line behind me. "Those ten platters of salmon sashimi, sweet shrimp, and raw oysters? I ate every single bite myself. I literally licked the lemon juice off the silver tray. There wasn't a single scrap left over." I pointed toward the corner, where the head sushi chef was standing, looking thoroughly traumatized. "Ask him. I was begging him on my knees to slice more tuna. You honestly think I’d give a piece of food to "you"?"