In my previous life, by the end of that life, I felt utterly empty and drained in every way possible—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn't even have the strength to want anything anymore. Not even to live.
But this time around? It was my sister walking that same path. The same one that broke me.
At first, everything seemed picture-perfect for her. The media crowned her the 'Internet's Little Angel,' and she soaked up the spotlight like it was made just for her.
Meanwhile, I lived like royalty in the Gardner household. A proper little princess, doted on and spoiled absolutely rotten.
Whenever my hopelessly in love parents got too caught up in their dramatic, PDA-heavy love sessions, I'd quietly slip away to spend time with my true favorite: my obsessive, emotionally reformed foster brother.
Lance never minded. If anything, he seemed to look forward to it. He genuinely enjoyed how clingy I was, how I followed him like a shadow.
Back in our old life, he was invisible in this house and treated like a ghost. A polite, cold, unwanted ghost. But now? Now he had someone. He had me.
And I had him.
Unlike my sister, I never tried to isolate him. I didn't treat him like some lurking threat. No, I made sure everyone knew I adored him.
I followed him around nonstop, chirping things like, "My brother is so smart," and "My brother's the best!" like a broken record.
Honestly, I embarrassed him sometimes, but he never stopped me.
On stormy nights, I would sneak into his room, hugging a pillow to my chest and looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.
"Can I sleep with you tonight? Please?"
At first, he tried to keep a straight face and play the role of responsible big brother.
But the combo of baby talk and crocodile tears was always too much.
"Fine," he'd mutter with a sigh. "Just stay on your side and behave, got it?"
And just like that, I was curled up in his bed.
He'd gently pat my back until I drifted off, and each time, something warm and solid would settle in my heart. Safe. Steady.
In the old timeline, he had a tough life. He was raised in someone else's home, never truly accepted, and always had to tread carefully.
My sister treated him poorly.
She bullied him constantly, made him an outcast at school, and even plotted to have him kidnapped—maybe even killed—once she saw him as competition.
So yeah, no wonder Lance cracked. No wonder he became cold, twisted, and dangerous.
But this time, I did things differently. I softened him instead of hardening him. I reached for him, not to control, but to care.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending. I really did get attached.
We were a team now.
[My big bro is the best. I'll grow up and protect him.]
That thought came from the deepest part of me.
Lance paused, then let out a soft, rare laugh. "Silly girl. I'm the big brother. I'm supposed to protect you."
Time flew after that.
By the time I was fifteen, I was surpassing grown adults in almost everything. Music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—you name it. I was mastering it. And of course, I kept my Heart-Voice Skill polished and ready, using it behind the scenes to quietly help the family.
I gave my billionaire dad a few nudges at just the right moments.
Thanks to those "little coincidences," he made some killer investments.
The Gardner fortune multiplied.
As for my sweet, clueless mom? I steered her away from a disaster that nearly shattered us in the last life.
She had a so-called best friend who once tried to drug Dad and seduce him. It almost worked. Their marriage nearly imploded.
And who was watching it all unfold, as if it were a soap opera?
My sister. She didn't lift a finger to stop it. She just let everything crash and burn.
Not this time.
Not with me in the picture.
This version of our family only grew stronger, tighter, happier.
One night, Dad looked at Lance and me and smiled so wide it softened every line on his face.
"With you two in the Gardner family, I can finally relax."
I clung to Lance's arm, pouting dramatically. "I just want my big brother to spoil me forever. I'll always be his little princess!"
The look in his eyes when I said that? It was fiercely tender all at once. That moment ignited a fire in him. From then on, he pushed himself harder, took on more responsibility, and quietly built up his strength as if preparing for war, because he had a promise to keep.
He swore he'd protect me for life.
Then came the headlines.
I started noticing Freya appearing in entertainment news, receiving praise and admiration. The media called her the rising goddess of the screen. Vivian named her Freya Lennox, which was nothing surprising, and the press couldn't stop praising her looks and potential.
And then, finally, I saw her again in person.
It was at my eighteenth birthday party.
She walked in with Vivian at her side, wearing a designer gown, with her hair and makeup flawless. She had all the right moves—the grace, the poise, the smile—but her eyes were empty and devoid of life.
Still, when Freya spotted me stepping out in a simple, elegant dress, her whole demeanor changed. Her spine straightened, her chin lifted, and she strutted over like she'd just claimed victory on a battlefield.
"Pearl," she sneered, her voice full of fake sweetness, "looks like you've been living a pretty pathetic life these last few years, huh? I heard the Gardners don't even care about you anymore. Everyone says all their attention is on that freak, Lance. And you? You're just some worthless reject they keep around out of pity."
I was about to respond, but before I could open my mouth, a cold voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Who are you calling a freak?"
Freya's smug expression vanished.
She turned and froze, face draining of color.
And I knew exactly why.
Because Lance was standing behind me, tall, terrifying, and completely unamused.
The same Lance who, in our past life, had dismantled her piece by piece. The one who broke her body, crushed her spirit, and left her in a wheelchair.
She never recovered from that.
And clearly, she hadn't forgotten a single second of it.
