After my mother remarried, my younger brother, Jon, discovered from Dad’s old box of belongings that Grandpa’s family came from a prestigious military background, one that held power in the Old Guard Social Circle. Jon immediately clung to the idea of becoming part of that elite world, choosing to go with Grandpa. But Grandpa had other ideas. Instead of introducing Jon to the elite circles, he had him working on the farm, tending sheep, writing, carving, and studying hard with no chance to show his face in public circles. Meanwhile, I stayed with our stepfather, Dan, at the Rivers Family Estate and became his right-hand man, eventually making my way into high society. By the time Jon returned home after graduating high school, he learned that Savannah “Sunny” Charleston and I were heading abroad to study together—and that we’d be engaged upon returning. Jon went into a rage and killed me, and in some twist of fate, we both found ourselves back at the moment when we had to choose: go with Grandpa or stay with Mom. This time, Jon hid behind Mom, insisting, “I’m not going back with Grandpa; my dad is here.” I quickly gripped Grandpa Sam’s coat. I’d had enough of the life of servitude and catering to someone else’s every whim.
When Dad passed away, he left behind two sons: my brother, Jonathan “Jon” Rivers, and me, Lucas “Luke” Rivers. Mom quickly remarried, throwing her energy into her new husband, Dan Thompson, and the unborn child she was carrying. That was when Grandpa Sam, whom we had never met, showed up and said he wanted to take both Jon and me. Mom’s face twisted with anger. “When I married your son, you didn’t contribute a penny. I’ve never even met you until now, and now you want to take both kids?” “These are my son’s children too,” he replied. “I know you’ve remarried, but I can’t bear to see them left entirely to you. If you insist, maybe I could take one of them off your hands. Let them choose for themselves.” Before he could finish, Jon had already taken Dan’s hand, eager to help him sit, calling him “Dad” with this sweet look in his eye and volunteering to make tea. With a voice as soft as silk, he promised Dan would be his only dad from now on. Mom looked completely stunned. When she was first talking about remarrying, Jon had been firmly against it. She was overwhelmed, caught between the son of her late husband and her new love. Now Jon was going out of his way to be nice to Dan, even promising to change his last name to match Dan’s. She’d always favored Jon, so his offer to stay was an easy choice. With Jon firmly holding Dan’s hand, he looked at me and said loudly, “Make sure you follow Grandpa closely, brother.” When I finished packing, ready to leave with Grandpa, Jon mocked me openly. “This time, you can get down in the dirt and dig. Time for you to see what real hardship is like.”
I knew exactly why he was so smug. In the last life, he had found Dad’s medal—a heavy-duty Distinguished Service Medal—along with a letter from Dad in a box of his belongings. The letter explained that Dad’s family came from a distinguished military background. Jon was determined to live a privileged life without feeling like a second-class member of Dan’s family. So when given a choice, he clung to Grandpa’s arm, demanding to go with him. His vision of an elite lifestyle crumbled when he saw where Grandpa actually lived: a modest little town with a small, self-built house surrounded by woods. Grandpa’s income came from farming and collecting herbs, entirely dependent on what he could sell to buyers from town. When the season wasn’t good, money was tight. Grandpa had Jon on a strict schedule, with no room for coddling. At the crack of dawn, Jon had to be up, eat, and walk or catch a bus to public school. After school, Grandpa would make him finish every bit of homework and then supervise his exercise. Weekends meant going up into the woods to forage for herbs—no leisure time, no entertainment. Jon would go on to describe his life there as unbearable misery. He wanted a housekeeper, servants, a mansion with gilded walls, and a school with a private driver. He wanted to attend a prep school and make friends with the sons of CEOs. Meanwhile, I had everything he wanted and then some. While he wore handmade, out-of-style clothes Grandpa had tailored at a local shop, I was out shopping with Dan’s black card, getting the latest designer suits and watches delivered straight to our door. When Jon was battling acne and drinking bitter herbal concoctions, Dan was arranging for my braces, a personal trainer, and a whole team to help me sculpt a perfect physique. In his eyes, I became the “lost son” everyone saw as the next Rivers heir, while he faded into the background. When I was barely sixteen, alliances with other wealthy families were already being considered. Standing by Dan’s side, I gained a polished reputation as his heir and his public face. Jon was smitten with Sunny Charleston and pestered Mom relentlessly to arrange an introduction. But she refused, so he finally asked, “I’m a Rivers too—why can’t I?” With an icy tone, Dan shot him down. “Look at you—following your grandpa around in the dirt. You don’t know the first thing about finance, fine wines, or golf. What makes you think you belong here?” Grandpa hauled Jon back to Willow Creek and forbade him from returning until after college applications. When Jon asked about the medal he’d found, Grandpa just shrugged and said he picked it up from a junkyard, telling him to focus on his studies. When Jon was taking his college entrance exams, I was performing solo piano for my debut. Dan, with his background in music, had trained me well; my hands moved with expert grace over the keys, and when I finished, the crowd applauded, and the crystal lights sparkled in my eyes. Rumor spread: “The Rivers have Luke; the Old Guard has Sunny.” But after Jon’s college results were in, he returned home proudly, only to hear about my engagement to Sunny Charleston, the girl he had liked. When Dan and Mr. Charleston discussed our study abroad plans, Jon introduced himself to Mr. Charleston, who smiled politely. But as Jon walked away, Mr. Charleston sighed, “So, I’ve heard your ex-wife brought two sons here. Well, one of them’s wasted his life; the other—Luke—is refined and accomplished. I could smell the stench of poverty on that first one as he walked past.” Jon lost it. He stormed into my room, choking me, shouting, “Die! Just die!” I swung an object at his head in self-defense. In the end, we both died that night—at just eighteen—only to return to the crossroads of fate once more. This time, he chose Dan without hesitation, telling me, “This round, you’re the one who’s going to waste away with that old man. You’ll be nothing but a bumpkin now.”
Grandpa’s place was humble, to say the least. Mom didn’t even feel responsible for providing my child support payments to Grandpa. She only showed up during school breaks when she brought Jon home, going through the motions. She’d always thought Grandpa’s life would be wealthier and more prestigious than Dan’s, or at least rich enough to maintain the lifestyle we had at the Rivers Estate. Grandpa set up a small room just for me, with only the essentials and a plain writing desk with a few pencils and paper. We walked around the land, the summer heat cracking the soil. Grandma watered the plants, saying, “You chose this path; you can’t turn back now.” Grandpa didn’t think I’d last after the luxury of the Rivers Estate. In the last life, Jon had called Mom and asked to come home shortly after moving in, but she had refused. He quickly learned that in reality, Grandpa’s household was nothing like the high-society circles in Old Bridge. I picked up a watering can and helped Grandpa. “I don’t regret it, Grandpa. I like this life. It feels real.” Grandpa just looked at me, as if taken aback. Finally, he murmured, “You’re nothing like your dad.” I asked, “What was my dad like when he was young?” The only image I had of Dad was one of worry etched into his face. But Grandpa’s expression darkened, and he changed the subject. “If you’re going to live with me, you follow my rules. I’m strict, and I don’t like nonsense. Go rest now.” That night, listening to the frogs and crickets outside my window, I drifted off to sleep.
The books piled on my desk were like a mountain. Even with two lives’ worth of experience, I hadn’t learned much about basic subjects. Studying at a public school, without the luxury of private tutors, was nothing like socializing at high-end gatherings. I’d fall asleep at the desk, only to hear Grandpa cough, startling me awake. My hand shot up instinctively, “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I’ll get back to work.” Grandpa looked at me in surprise. “You get hit a lot, huh?” I answered honestly, “Yes.” He sighed heavily. “Maybe tonight, get some rest.” I shook my head, determined. “No, if I take breaks, I’ll never catch up with my studies. My handwriting won’t get any better. I know I can do this.” Grandpa watched me for a long while. Then he said, “I’ll go shoo the cicadas away if they’re bothering you.” I could feel Grandpa’s care for me. Though he rarely said much, he would stay up with me to correct my mistakes. And though my clothes weren’t designer, he’d have the neighbor lady, a retired seamstress, take my measurements. Grandpa never said it, but I knew he felt for me, wishing Mom would come visit. But after two lifetimes, I didn’t have any expectations of motherly love, nor did I want her to show up. When she did visit, it was usually just to snap a few photos to add to her social image, acting like she cared. Every time, her gaze spoke volumes of judgment and discomfort. One day, I heard the sound of a violin drifting through the door, and my hands automatically mimicked the rhythm. Grandpa moved in front of me protectively as I looked over his shoulder. Jon stood there, playing his violin with pride, every movement as poised as a showbird, his eyes full of smug satisfaction when he finished. Not far off, Dan and Mom approached hand in hand. Mom’s belly was visibly large now, and her gaze was filled with love as she looked from her stomach to Jon. But when her eyes landed on me, her face turned cold and distant. As they drew closer, she feigned surprise. “Oh, Uncle Sam, I didn’t see you there.” Dan took this moment to show off. “Jon, you played that part well, but it should go more like this. Let me demonstrate. Maybe Luke could listen in too,” he added nonchalantly. Jon clung to Dan’s sleeve. “Dad, let’s go home. Mom says you were her first music mentor. Why don’t you teach me some more?” It was almost comical. Music mentor? It was just two people drawn to each other out of vanity and money. Performing at home wasn’t enough; they needed an audience here. With Mom in the middle, Jon and Dan on either side, she nodded my way. “Luke, stay close to Grandpa now; we’ll be off.” Jon turned to me, grinning as he asked, “Could you walk me out, big brother? I want to spend a minute with you.” I had a hunch about what he’d say. “You saw that medal, didn’t you?” he asked with a sneer. “I’m just giving you a heads-up—it’s a fake. Grandpa’s just a country bumpkin.” He smirked as he delivered the words, delighted in the jab. “Oh, by the way, did you get an invite from the Johnsons?” “Ah, I must’ve forgotten,” he continued, glancing down with a smirk as he fiddled with his expensive watch, just to make sure I’d noticed. “Out here in these sticks, you’re probably already blacklisted from the high society of Old Bridge. Beg me, and I might take you along—though you’ll only embarrass yourself.” I knew he was watching for any sign of anger or regret, but I just looked at him and asked, “When’s the last time you actually enjoyed the taste of a real meal?” That single question made his face harden. He glared. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, you hillbilly.” And with that, he turned and hurried back to the car, looking almost panicked as he left. I walked home slowly. When I arrived, Grandpa was awkwardly holding out a small cake. “It’s your birthday,” he muttered. “I didn’t know how you celebrated it back at the Rivers house, but here’s a cake for you.” It had been so long since I’d celebrated my birthday that the creamy sweetness hit me like a flood of memories. I savored every bite as it melted on my tongue. Music was something you needed talent for, but to make it big, you also had to look the part. Dan believed that if you looked the right way, the world was yours. That was why, from my early teens, I struggled with an image I’d never really wanted. Even the slightest bloating was grounds for punishment. I’d wake up starving in the middle of the night, only to be forced to purge if I was caught rummaging in the fridge. Eventually, my stomach learned the response on its own, and anything I ate past a certain amount would make me sick. For performances, Dan would buy me custom designer suits, and I’d chug protein shakes to bulk up. My body was already running on fumes, and yet he never let up. I once tried telling Mom how bad things had gotten, and her only response was, “Dan does it for your own good.” He was as meticulous in my upbringing as a dollmaker, turning me into a flawless but soulless puppet. When my half-brother was born, Dan dropped all pretense, constantly reminding me, “For Ben’s sake, you need to keep excelling. Otherwise, there’ll be no place for you in this family when Ben’s older.” Mom fully agreed, telling me, “Ben is our future, and you need to marry well so you can be there to support him.” But Dan’s heart was never content. He had plenty of flings on the side, and even with Ben around, he never reined himself in. Mom thought she could use me to bring his focus back to her.
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