I caught my twin sister having an affair with a married man in our bedroom, using tutoring as their cover.
My scream caught my parents’ attention.
In the panicked rush that followed, my mother packed our lives and moved us out.
My sister, Mia, coldly cut all ties and sailed into an elite university.
But her betrayal was just beginning. At a party, she teamed up with that same man. They poisoned my drink and sold me to a deranged butcher on a remote farm.
There, I met my end under relentless torture.
When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day I caught my sister cheating. This time, I closed the door gently and walked away.
I stood outside the door, holding my breath, my body rigid.
Suddenly, my limbs felt weak, and a terrible headache pulsed through me.
I instinctively touched my arms and legs.
They were still there.
But they were supposed to be…
“You try to run, I’ll beat you to death.”
Deep in the woods, chained up, there was no escape.
The bull-like killer glowered, his eyes promising pain. He hoisted my body onto the meat hook, then set about punching and kicking me with savage, measured force.
Then, he branded me with a searing red-hot iron, the sizzle echoing in the air.
He smashed a hammer against my joints, collarbone, and ribs.
My charred skin hung loosely over my shattered bones.
Years of constant beatings had left my bones as brittle as rotten firewood.
To prevent my escape, he even pierced my feet with long nails.
Later, he cut a slice of meat from my body every day.
The killer’s knife skills were precise; with each swift cut, the slices were as thin as a cicada’s wing.
Even my fingernails were neatly shaved off.
My soul left my body, and the crescent moon hung lonely in the sky, a mix of mockery and pity.
“Lainey! What are you doing? Get down here and do your chores! Always slacking off. I regret wasting all that money to save you!”
A woman’s roar snapped me out of my thoughts.
I realized I had reborn.
Looking at Mia, flushed and panting slightly in the bedroom, how could I possibly bear to ruin her fun?
“Is your sister’s laundry done?”
“Are your dad’s shoes polished?”
“Are my clothes ironed?!”
The woman speaking was Brenda, the woman I’d called Mom for over a decade in my previous life.
I whispered, “No, none of it.”
“Look at your sister, she’s tutoring on a holiday. What about you?”
Brenda was already at the stairwell.
It was exactly like this in my last life.
Seeing the scene inside, I screamed, and they were caught red-handed in their panic.
Brenda went ballistic, moving the entire family out that very night.
Mia cried, vowing never to contact the married man again and promising to focus on her studies.
Later, she even thanked me in front of Mom and Dad for “pulling her back from the brink.”
After that, she went back to being the good girl in everyone’s eyes, smoothly getting into a top-tier university, as if nothing had happened.
After her graduation party, she took me out to karaoke. After a glass of orange juice, Mia sneered, “Do you know? You ruined my love life.”
Dazed, the married man’s figure swayed before my eyes.
Mia and the married man exchanged a knowing nod and a chilling smile. I became the hotpot meat and handmade sausage on their dinner table…
And her? She continued her affair with the married man in college, spreading rumors that I had run off with some random guy.
Brenda would tell anyone who’d listen that I brought it all on myself, that it was my fate.
Thinking of all this, I clenched my fists and carefully slipped away.
Leaving Mia and the married man to continue their “tutoring session.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming right down.”
Mia, at seventeen or eighteen, certainly had endless energy.
I finished all the chores, and they were still at it.
“With Mia’s drive, I bet she’ll get into an Ivy League school,” Brenda beamed, her face alight with pride.
Richard looked up from his newspaper, a look of satisfaction on his face.
Then he saw me, just finished with chores, and his expression turned to disgust. “You good-for-nothing idiot, no one will even hire you to clean when you’re older.”
In our house, grades decided everything.
Richard was the valedictorian of his county, and Brenda was a straight-A student too.
Unfortunately, I was the one with bad grades, a typical underachiever.
Even more unfortunately, Mia inherited their genes and was also a typical academic overachiever.
All suffering stems from comparison.
But when the object of comparison is another child, that suffering turns into mockery and bottomless favoritism.
When Mia made a mistake, Brenda and Richard would always say, “It’s fine, it’s fine, as long as her grades are good.”
When an elderly neighbor fell, I helped her to the hospital. When the neighbor wanted to send a commendation to the school, thinking it might boost grades, they said it was Mia who took the elderly woman to the hospital.
“With your grades, even an extra 100 points wouldn’t help. Your sister is different.”
Mia wanted to take harp lessons, and they’d say, “Mia has such refined tastes, a true lady.”
I wanted to take hip-hop dance classes, and they’d say, “You’re too young to be learning such bad things, not even wearing your pants properly, what kind of dancing is that? It’s practically hooliganism!”
In my previous life, I always argued back, always did the opposite.
I just had bad grades, but I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Why was it that only Mia, with her good grades, could rightfully and naturally enjoy all their favoritism?
Yes, those who are favored always feel entitled.
This time, before they could even open their mouths, I spoke up. “Mom, from now on, let me do all the chores around the house. Sister needs to get into a top university; we can’t let anything distract her.”
Brenda, who was about to continue scolding me, just pursed her lips when she heard this, coldly tossing out, “Everyone has their own destiny. Good luck to you. Sigh, if only we had just Mia.”
In my previous life, every time she said that, I’d snap back, “Then don’t have me!”
But now, I didn’t want to say a single word.
In my current position, angering her would do me no good.
I knew, having a second chance, I wouldn’t let myself be a pawn again.
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