I'm Not Crazy, So Why Should I Pretend to Be a Fragile Real Heiress?

Guys, who else gets it? I suddenly discovered I’d become the wicked, ill-fated real heiress in a fake-and-real-heiress story. Even crazier, the fake heiress was an ill-fated extra too. The whole family was full of doomed extras, there to provide the laughs in a melodramatic novel. The fake heiress had a crush on the blond punk who bought her spicy snack strips, and insisted on chasing after love in a cesspit. The eldest brother was a lovesick fool who adored his first love and ended up raising another man’s child for her. The second brother was an idiot who found a stand-in for his unattainable first love, only to discover in the end that both the original and the stand-in wanted him dead. As for me, well, I’m the wicked real heiress. Come home and start fights? No way! I’ve got money, looks, and secret identities, so how am I the wicked supporting character? Am I crazy? Why would I act like some helpless heiress? The first thing I did after returning was get the fake heiress’s brain back in shape. As for my lovesick eldest brother and idiotic second brother, if they weren’t thinking straight, it was because they hadn’t been hit enough. A few more beatings would knock some sense into them. The Lin parents: Our daughter thinks about cutting ties with us every day, but then she keeps saving her brothers and sister. Boo-hoo…