I was reborn on the day my sister and I were adopted. She eagerly chose to go home with the wealthiest couple in the city, ready to live out her lifelong fantasy of becoming a billionaire’s daughter. Of course, I supported her choice. After all, in my previous life, I was the one who became the wealthy heiress. And only I knew the darkness and decay hidden beneath the glamorous façade of that life. So, Peyton Monroe, are you ready for what’s coming? My sister and I were sent to an orphanage when we were six years old. We spent two years there before being placed with prospective adoptive families. The couple who came to adopt me looked plain and ordinary, while the couple taking my sister were dressed to impress—polished, glamorous, and full of charm. She thought she’d won the jackpot, that she’d been chosen by a wealthy, powerful family. What she didn’t know was that her new parents were nothing more than shallow influencers, obsessed with fame and appearances. They adopted her purely for the attention, with no intention of truly being parents. My adoptive parents, on the other hand, turned out to be the richest couple in Larkspur City, traveling incognito to avoid drawing attention. They brought me home, changed my name, and spent millions on my education, hiring the best piano instructors to teach me. It was around that time that my sister’s attitude toward me started to change. She envied me for leaving the orphanage and becoming a billionaire’s daughter. She envied me for gaining fame as a piano prodigy at just thirteen, for winning international awards at fifteen, and for standing on the world’s grandest stages at eighteen during my global tours. She used to say, over and over: “The Sinclairs wanted me, not you. You stole my life.” She told herself this lie so many times that she eventually believed it. She conveniently forgot that she had turned down the Sinclairs because she thought they looked too ordinary. She chose her fate. But the seed of jealousy planted in her heart grew, until it fully consumed her when I turned twenty. That’s when she killed me. It was the night of my national tour’s finale. I had just stepped out of the airport when a truck veered off course and slammed into me. The truck didn’t stop. It kept going, running over me again and again until I died. My soul floated above, watching my crushed body and the twisted, hate-filled expression on my sister’s face as she sat in the driver’s seat of the truck. “You deserve this,” she hissed. “You stole my life. You deserve to die.” In that moment, I felt a bitter mix of emotions. She had never reflected on her own choices, never taken responsibility for her life. Even after killing her own sister, she refused to admit that her misfortune was the result of her own decisions and constant blame-shifting. Meanwhile, I, who had fought tooth and nail to survive under the control of my psychotic adoptive parents, became the victim of her jealousy and incompetence. Yes, the Sinclairs—the wealthiest couple in Larkspur City—were controlling maniacs. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we were adopted.
My sister, Peyton, had already pushed past me and was standing in front of the Sinclairs, eagerly answering their questions. “I love music… Yes, we couldn’t afford lessons before… My sister has long, pretty fingers, but she’s completely tone-deaf.” The Sinclairs’ interest in me immediately disappeared. In my previous life, Peyton had been unimpressed with the Sinclairs’ plain clothing and had shoved me forward when they started asking questions. I had stood there awkwardly, letting them inspect my hands as they praised my “beautiful fingers.” I didn’t understand what they meant at the time. I only kept glancing at Peyton, who was chattering away with the influencer couple, completely ignoring me. I hadn’t wanted to be separated from her. But she couldn’t wait to leave me behind. This time, I made my choice. I turned my back on the Sinclairs and avoided the influencer couple altogether. Without sparing Peyton a glance, I walked over to the White family, who were preparing to leave. The Whites had originally been the ones slated to adopt one of us. Childless and longing for a family, they had spent months preparing for parenthood, learning how to provide a loving home. But when the Sinclairs showed up, their application was pushed aside. In my last life, I remembered the Whites’ disappointed expressions as they left the orphanage empty-handed. I also remembered seeing them later, in the audience at one of my piano concerts, holding flowers and clapping enthusiastically as I took the stage. “When we went to the orphanage, we’d already prepared a room for a child. Even though things didn’t work out, we were so happy to see you thriving,” they told me once. Their support had been one of my greatest motivations to keep moving forward. This time, I wasn’t going to let them leave without me. “Auntie, I love the flowers you’re holding,” I said, flashing my most genuine smile as I looked up at the younger, hopeful faces of the Whites. Their eyes sparkled with surprise and joy. Unsurprisingly, I was the one they brought home. As I left the orphanage with the Whites, I saw Peyton one last time. She was holding hands with the Sinclairs, practically skipping as they led her to a waiting taxi. The smile on her face was one of pure excitement, even brighter than the smug grin she’d worn in my last life when she mocked me for being adopted by “commoners.” At that moment, I realized something: She had also been reborn. But what she didn’t know was that her smile wouldn’t last. She’d stop smiling very soon. 2 Just like in my previous life, the day after the Sinclairs brought me home, they hosted an extravagant party to introduce their newly adopted daughter. She was now mingling effortlessly with the upper-class elites she had once dreamed of joining. Her smile was radiant, and she basked in the endless compliments from the guests. She adored the attention. This was the life she had fantasized about countless times. Draped in a luxurious princess gown, she played the part perfectly, as if she had been born into this world of wealth and grandeur. But what she didn’t see coming was what lay beyond the glitter and lights. That night, after the last guest had left, the kind and gentle mother, Evelyn Sinclair, brought her upstairs to the piano room. “Jenna, do you know what my life’s greatest dream is?” Evelyn’s tone was warm, but her gaze was distant and commanding, just as it had been in my previous life. “My greatest passion is playing the piano,” she continued, smiling down at my sister. “But due to an accident, I never achieved my dream of winning an international award. It’s my one regret in life. Can you help Mommy fulfill her dream?” Evelyn’s shadow loomed over her, swallowing her whole. My sister tilted her head, sensing something was off, but the achievements from my previous life were burned into her memory. She was desperate for that kind of glory. She smiled confidently and nodded. “Of course, Mom. Not only will I win international awards, but I’ll also do world tours. After all, I’m your daughter!” Evelyn’s smile widened as she gently stroked her hair. “I knew you were my good girl… my perfect daughter.” Her unfocused gaze lingered on my sister. But her words? They seemed meant for someone else entirely. No one knew that beneath the Sinclair mansion, deep in the basement, there was a girl who had gone completely mad. Meeting Again The next time I saw my sister was years later, in high school. By then, I had fully adjusted to my new life with the Whites. I had friends, a routine, and a peaceful existence. I had almost forgotten the suffocating days of being forced to play piano endlessly. That is, until the day my sister transferred into my class. I froze when I saw her. “What’s wrong? You don’t look happy to see me,” she said smugly, approaching me during the break. I instinctively stepped back, putting some distance between us. She didn’t seem to care. Instead, she looked me over from head to toe, clicking her tongue in mockery. “Look at you—so pathetic. Don’t try to act like you’re related to me. Stay far away from me. I don’t want to be associated with someone like you. Got it?” Her condescending tone didn’t bother me. My gaze dropped briefly to the faint red marks peeking out from under her sleeves before I looked away. “Got it. Don’t bother me, either.” To me, studying was a dream come true—something I had been denied in my previous life. Back then, Evelyn Sinclair would stroke my face with a loving smile and say, “Our baby only needs to play piano. We can afford to support you for life. You don’t need to be like those poor kids who study just to survive. You’ll always be Mommy’s precious girl. Let’s skip school, okay?” Her words, delivered with a sweet smile, were impossible to refuse. And so, my right to an education was stripped away. This time, I didn’t know what my sister had done to earn the right to attend school, but I cherished every moment I had there. I consistently ranked in the top three of my class and threw myself into extracurricular activities. In my previous life, my sister had envied my success, blinded by the reputation I built. She never understood that my achievements came at the cost of loneliness and suffocating control. But in this life, my new parents noticed my social struggles early on and proactively took me to therapy. I made progress. I became the class representative for cultural events, earned the trust and admiration of my peers, and formed genuine friendships. My sister, however, couldn’t stand any of it. By her second day in our class, news of her identity as the Sinclair family’s heiress had spread. For an entire semester, she was the center of attention, surrounded by admirers, constantly flaunting her status in front of me, hoping to provoke a reaction. She wanted to see jealousy on my face—the same envy she had felt in our previous life. But she never got what she wanted. When she showed off her luxury pen set, I focused on solving math problems. When she flaunted her new diamond hair clip, I was busy winning first place in a speech competition. When I topped the grade rankings, she bought the entire class expensive desserts, ensuring everyone fawned over her for a day. While she reveled in the shallow praise money could buy, I quietly cherished the freedom of living life on my own terms. The Talent Show We finally had to interact during the school’s annual talent show. The event was a big deal, emphasizing the school’s commitment to well-rounded education. Months of preparation went into it every year. My sister often bragged in class that she had a piano teacher who charged millions per hour and that she had performed in over a dozen recitals. She claimed that she only attended school because her parents didn’t want her to feel lonely at home. I didn’t believe a word of it. But based on popular opinion, I let her take the role of piano soloist for the show. I was curious. In my previous life, Evelyn Sinclair had forbidden me from attending school and poured all her efforts into perfecting my piano skills. What had changed this time? My sister eagerly accepted the role, confident in her abilities. She practiced constantly, surrounded by admirers. Even the school’s piano teacher couldn’t stop praising her. But to my ears, every missed note told a different story. It became clear to me that this version of the Sinclairs was hiding something far more intriguing.
Right before the talent show, my sister, Peyton, came to find me. That day, she walked through the campus like a swan among ducks, surrounded by classmates who had been charmed by her money and fawned over her status as the Sinclair family’s heiress. When she saw me walking with my desk mate, it seemed she had conveniently forgotten her previous command to “stay away from me.” The first thing out of her mouth was: “Are you jealous of me?” I looked at her, confused. She wasted no time listing all the supposed ways we were different. “Your dad is just some low-level office worker. Your mom runs a tiny flower shop. Your family’s entire annual income couldn’t even cover one hour of my piano lessons. That bike you ride home? It wouldn’t even pay for a single scratch on my Maybach. And now, just because you got first place on one test, you think you’re too good to even speak to me? If it’s not jealousy, then what is it?” It wasn’t jealousy. It was disgust. It was loathing. It was contempt. I looked at Peyton quietly, my gaze lingering on the dark circles under her eyes, barely concealed by the layers of foundation she’d applied. Then, it hit me. I knew why she was here. Her piano skills weren’t as good in this life as they were in my last. She was at the bottom of the class academically, far from the shining star she thought she’d be. Even the thing she prided herself on most—her wealth—didn’t seem to impress me. And that’s why she was unraveling. In the sea of adoration she had come to expect, I was the one person who didn’t care. That drove her mad. My desk mate, Gwen, couldn’t stand it any longer. She stepped in front of me protectively, facing Peyton head-on. But Peyton shoved her to the ground. “Gwen, right?” Peyton said, her tone dripping with disdain. She tilted her chin up and smirked. “I know you’re at the bottom of the class, too. Why waste your time sucking up to someone like Eliza? She’ll only step all over your pride. Why not hang out with me instead? Here, take this.” With that, Peyton casually slipped off her Bulgari watch—a five-figure accessory—and tossed it onto Gwen’s lap. She didn’t just want to humiliate me. She wanted to take everything and everyone away from me. But Gwen wasn’t having it. Furious, she scrambled to her feet, her eyes blazing like a little lion cub. She picked up the watch between two fingers, like it was trash, and flung it aside. “My pride isn’t made of glass,” Gwen shot back. “It doesn’t shatter that easily, unlike yours. And what’s this supposed to mean, huh? You think we’re at the bottom of the class together, so you can buy me off? Or are you trying to say I’m not worth anything without your pity?” She grabbed my arm and started pulling me away, glancing over her shoulder at Peyton with a look of pure contempt. “If you’ve got the guts, take first place yourself. Eliza’s talented, kind, and smarter than you’ll ever be. So stop whining about sour grapes just because you’re a failure.” Her words hit Peyton like a slap in the face. And that’s when Peyton snapped. She lunged forward, grabbing Gwen by the collar and yanking her necklace out from under her shirt. For a moment, she froze, staring at the delicate red bunny pendant shimmering in the sunlight. Then, she slapped Gwen hard across the face. “You thief!” Peyton shrieked. “You stole my necklace, you filthy little thief!” The slap was loud and sharp, echoing across the courtyard. Everyone nearby froze, stunned by the scene. Even those who had admired Peyton’s wealth and status were shocked—none of them had expected this kind of behavior. It took Gwen a moment to process what had just happened. Then, without hesitation, she slapped Peyton back. Twice. “Are you insane? Go get your head checked. Your family’s so rich, they can’t afford a doctor to fix whatever’s broken in there?” The little bunny pendant swayed on Gwen’s chest, catching the light with a soft red glow. Peyton’s eyes filled with tears of rage. She reached out, trying to grab the necklace again. “You trash!” she screamed. “That necklace is worth three million dollars! You stole it! I’ll have you arrested—I’ll have you thrown in jail for life!” Her accusations were ridiculous. Gwen’s pendant wasn’t worth millions. It was a birthday gift from her dad when she turned twelve—something she cherished and kept hidden under her shirt most of the time. Peyton was grasping at straws, trying to turn the situation to her advantage. I’d had enough. I grabbed Peyton’s wrist before she could touch Gwen again. “Peyton, that’s enough. Whatever issues you have with me, leave them here. Don’t drag anyone else into it.” I wasn’t the same person I had been in my last life. No longer powerless, no longer unable to protect myself or those I cared about. Thanks to my adoptive mother, I’d been taking taekwondo lessons for years. My grip was strong, and Peyton quickly realized she couldn’t break free. She stopped struggling, glaring at me with her flushed, tear-streaked face. “Oh, and you,” she spat. “You’re the one behind this, aren’t you? You won’t get away with this—you’re both going to pay!” Her outburst drew a crowd, and someone called over the patrolling teachers. The teachers handed us over to the principal, who immediately summoned all three sets of parents. It was going to be a long day.
My adoptive mother, Lily White, was the first to arrive. The moment she saw me, she asked if I was hurt. Then, without hesitation, she went straight to my desk mate, Gwen, pulling out an ice pack to help with the swelling on her face. “Mr. Hughes,” she addressed the teacher firmly, “I heard everything over the phone. I do not believe for a second that my daughter or her desk mate stole anything. Have you conducted a proper investigation? Can you provide evidence that they committed theft? If not, this is defamation, plain and simple.” Lily White may have been a humble florist, but when it came to me, she was fierce and unyielding. Back in elementary school, when I was still struggling with my communication issues, my classmates often bullied me. The moment my mother found out, she marched straight to the school, demanding accountability. By the end of it, not only did the bullies apologize, but their parents did too. Now, seeing Gwen injured, she stood in front of us like a mother hen protecting her chicks. The principal, however, didn’t take her seriously. He smirked condescendingly and said, “Mrs. White, I think you need to understand the situation. The person accusing your daughter is the Sinclair family’s eldest daughter—the heiress to the wealthiest family in Oakridge. This necklace is worth three million dollars. She has no reason to falsely accuse your daughter or her friend. If anything, it’s your responsibility as a parent to teach your child to own up to their mistakes. If you don’t, this incident will be recorded in their permanent files under theft.” “My daughter did not steal anything!” my mother snapped, refusing to back down. “If you want to accuse her, show me the evidence!” Peyton, meanwhile, was lounging nearby, sipping on a fancy bubble tea she’d ordered and looking utterly bored. With a roll of her eyes, she turned toward the door and said, “Lower-class people will always be lower-class. They mess up, refuse to admit it, and just make a scene. Anyway, my dad’s on his way now. You can explain everything to him.” 9 In my previous life, my adoptive father was a pot-bellied man who liked to say that businessmen all looked like him. This time around, he looked sharper, more put-together than I remembered. Back then, he had only adopted me to satisfy Evelyn Sinclair’s controlling tendencies, so he practically ignored my existence. But this life, it was different. He treated Peyton entirely differently. For the sake of a necklace, he personally came to the school, standing by Peyton’s side and shielding her without hesitation. “If these two troublemakers aren’t expelled,” he announced loudly, “the Sinclair family will pull all its funding from this school!” The school leaders paled at the threat, clearly terrified. They wasted no time doubling down on Lily, pressuring her even harder. At the door, a crowd of students watched the scene unfold, their understanding of Peyton’s privileged position deepening with every word her father spoke. Especially when Peyton crossed the line further, demanding that I kneel before her. “Get on your knees!” my adoptive father snapped at me. “When this goes to the police station, you’ll have even more to cry about!” Lily was furious, barely able to get a word in before he cut her off. He coldly listed my parents’ workplaces—the flower shop my mother owned and my father’s small office job. He threatened to shut down the shop and have my father fired, leaving my family with nothing. That’s the power of the wealthy. Just a single sentence, and they can make life impossible for ordinary people. To him, we were nothing but ants. I felt the old bitterness from my past life bubbling up, mixing with the burning anger I felt now. I suddenly remembered the evidence I had nearly exposed in my last life—proof that could have toppled the Sinclair family empire. I had come so close to freeing myself from their control, only to be sabotaged by Peyton at the last moment. In this life, I had planned to stay far away from them, to live a quiet, peaceful life. But now they had pushed me too far. At that moment, my mother’s warm hand rested on mine. “My dear,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “If you didn’t do it, then you didn’t do it. I trust you. We won’t bow down to them.” Gwen, standing beside us, handed Lily her phone back after borrowing it. “It’s fine,” she said. “The necklace was a gift from my dad. And he just texted me—he’s already outside the school.” Among the crowd of students watching from the doorway, some of my dormmates recognized the necklace Gwen was wearing. They knew exactly what had happened and decided to go to Peyton’s desk to search for the box her so-called necklace came in. If the necklace existed, the box should be there too. If not, her story was a complete lie. But before they could move, one of Peyton’s lackeys visibly paled, their expression giving everything away.
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