5
Gwen’s dad arrived shortly after.
The smug, overbearing Simon Sinclair, who had just been threatening us to kneel, instantly went silent the moment he saw him.
His entire demeanor shifted in an instant–it was like watching a stage actor switch masks in a split second. He began profusely apologizing to Gwen’s father while holding Peyton firmly by the arm.
At first, Peyton looked indignant, her face full of grievance.
But when Simon, clearly fed up, slapped her across the face, she finally understood.
Gwen’s dad wasn’t just any parent. He was the son and heir of the influential Goodwin family from the capital–a family leagues above the
Sinclairs.
I had already figured that out long before Peyton did.
I’d seen Gwen’s dad at a business summit in my previous life What I hadn’t known though was that my seemingly low–key desk mate–quiet
M
田
I’d seen Gwen’s dad at a business sur
my previous life. What I hadnt known, though, was that my seemingly low–key desk mate–quiet, unassuming Gwen–was actually the daughter of such a powerful man.
7
“See what happens when you mess around?”
Gwen winked at me dramatically, then threw herself into her father’s arms, tears streaming down her face as she began her performance.
She told him everything:
How Peyton had called her necklace a fake.
How Peyton had slapped her.
How Peyton mocked her for never having owned anything nice.
Gwen’s father, who had a reputation for spoiling his daughter, was livid.
He immediately motioned for his assistant to produce the original receipt from the auction where he had purchased the necklace.
Without hesitation, he pressed charges against Peyton for defamation and assault, demanding she be sent to the local detention center.
Peyton went pale, the tears in her eyes freezing in place.
In her last life, Peyton had dropped out of high school and spent her adult years scraping by at the very bottom of society. She even wound up as a criminal, eventually becoming a murderer.
She had been to a detention center before–and the thought of going back terrified her.
If she ended up there again, it would leave a permanent stain on her record, marking her for life.
This wasn’t how her “rebirth” was supposed to go. She couldn’t let this happen.
Panicked, she threw herself at Gwen’s father, her tone softening into pitiful pleading.
“I–I’m so sorry, Mr. Goodwin! It was all a misunderstanding! Gwen must’ve taken my joke the wrong way. You wouldn’t take something so small so seriously, right?
And Gwen hit me too, so maybe we can just let this go…”
“Absolutely not!” Gwen snapped, cutting her off.
She crossed her arms, her patience clearly at its limit.
“Who told you it was okay to ‘joke‘ with me? Did you think your little joke was funny? If my dad hadn’t shown up, would I have had to kneel to you because of your so–called joke?
Well, news flash: the monarchy’s been dead for centuries. Go to the detention center, where you’ll find people just like you!”
Peyton’s face twisted, but she had no reply.
When she turned to me, her voice was trembling.
“Sister, I..”
The word sent a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t call me that!” I snapped. “You can eat whatever you want, but you can’t go around calling people things they’re not.
The last time you called me ‘sister, I ended up dead under a truck. I’m not about to relive that!”
The word “sister” coming from her mouth was nothing but a bad omen. Whoever wanted it could have it–not me.
Like mundective mother had hoon standing muddatlu naarhy Douton’s warde must’va trianorod comathing in har hasauca Lenu tha
M
Lily, my adoptive mother, had been standing quietly nearby. Peyton’s words must’ve triggered something in her, because I saw the disappointment flash across her face.
After all, Peyton had once been one of the children she had considered adopting.
But now, hearing Peyton openly slander her biological sister, Lily couldn’t stay silent.
She worked with Gwen’s father to ensure Peyton was sent to the detention center.
The Aftermath
With Peyton out of the picture, her much–anticipated piano solo at the talent show was canceled, leaving a gap in our class’s performance lineup.
Our class held several rounds of auditions for a replacement, but none of the other piano players were skilled enough to pull off a solo performance.
As the cultural committee representative, I was just about to propose canceling the act entirely when Gwen stepped in.
She pushed me forward, all smiles.
“Come on, Eliza. Stop hiding your talent. Your piano skills are amazing–how can you not step up for the class?”
Everyone turned to look at me, shocked.
They hadn’t known I could play the piano..
I was equally surprised. How did Gwen know?
I glanced at her, and she grinned back at me, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised. Remember when my dad invited you to our house? I overheard you playing then. You’re way better than Peyton!”
With my secret out, I had no excuse to refuse.
And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
In truth, I had touched a piano only once since my rebirth–at Gwen’s
hous
For years, I believed I hated pianos.
The very sight of one used to fill me with dread. After my rebirth, I couldn’t
look
It wasn’t until my adoptive parents brought in a therapist to help me work throat
without flinching.
Eventually, I worked up the courage to sit down at one.
picture of a piano without feeling suffocated.
my trauma that I could finally listen to piano music again
That day at Gwen’s house, I had been alone in the music room. The piano was just sitting there, waiting.
I couldn’t resist.
For the first time in this life, I let myself play.
And I realized something surprising:
I didn’t hate the piano.
What I hated was the pain and fear attached to it–the shadow of Evelyn Sinclair, her rage–filled screams, and the sting of the whip.
But in that quiet, safe space, I remembered what it felt like to lose myself in the music.
<
“Go for it, Eliza!” Gwen cheered from the audience, her voice loud and exaggerated.
“You’re amazing!”
I rolled my eyes at her dramatic encouragement, but the rest of my classmates were watching me with such genuine hope and kindness that I couldn’t say no.
I sat down at the piano and let my fingers rest lightly on the keys.
At first, I was shaking.
I felt like I was back under Evelyn’s shadow, my every move dictated by her harsh words.
My hands trembled, and my notes were hesitant.
But then my gaze shifted, landing on the faces of my classmates and friends–people from this life.
Their support grounded me, and slowly, the music began to flow.
I stopped worrying about rules and techniques.
Instead, I poured all my emotions into the keys, tearing apart the person I had been in my past life and rebuilding someone new in this one.
By the time I finished, I was no longer the Eliza bound by Evelyn Sinclair.
I was Eliza White, free and whole.
The applause was thunderous.
Unsurprisingly, I was chosen to perform the piano solo at the talent show.
Under the spotlight on stage, I spotted my adoptive parents sitting in the audience, holding flowers and smiling proudly.
No, not “the White family.”
They were my parents.
I ran into their arms after the show.
“Mom, Dad, how did I do?”
“You were wonderful,” they said, beaming. “Our Eliza is a genius!”
I wasn’t a genius.
I was just someone who had once been forced to sacrifice everything for the piano. Someone who had spent half her life playing, not out of love, but out of obligation.
But that night, I finally made peace with the piano.
And with myself.
