Reborn on the Day My Sister and I Were Adopted–This Time, I Let Her Chase Her Dream of Becoming a Billionaire’s Daughter
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?
1
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.
2:47 PM
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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.
2
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.
