My gaze was icy as I watched Chandler laughing maniacally in front of the funeral altar.
Chandler, let’s see how you’ll reach the top in this life—without me.
I grabbed my mother’s arm just as she was about to step out of the car.
Before coming here, I had already convinced my parents to adopt Chandler today.
Mom looked at me in confusion.
"Mom, I don’t want you to adopt Chandler anymore," I said coldly.
My parents exchanged glances, their eyes filled with doubt.
But I couldn’t possibly tell them about my rebirth.
So I hugged Mom’s arm and pouted, "I just don’t like Chandler anymore. He’s arrogant and full of himself. I refuse to let him be my brother!"
I shook her arm playfully, and soon, their hesitation faded.
They had watched Chandler grow up, and they knew he was prideful.
With that, they stayed in the car.
Just as we were about to leave, a loud argument erupted from the crowd.
"I’m his uncle, but you’re his aunt! Why should I be the one to take him in?"
"I’m a woman! I already have two kids at home, and my son is about to take his college entrance exams. How can I possibly take care of him?"
"Oh, so you can’t handle it, but I can? Who here doesn’t have kids? Besides, his father helped you out plenty when he was alive—have you no shame?"
"How dare you! When did I ever take his money? After their deaths, I was the one who arranged this funeral! I’ve done more than enough!"
Curious, I leaned toward the window and saw Chandler standing in the middle of the crowd, head bowed, humiliation written all over his face.
The argument was hard to hear clearly from inside the car, so I stepped out to get a better look.
But the moment I appeared, Chandler’s head snapped up.
He glared at me with undisguised disdain.
"Stop arguing! None of you are worthy of taking me in," he sneered.
"You think I want to live with any of you? Let me make this clear—even without you, I, Chandler Finch, will thrive!"
"Oh, and one more thing—I’ll become a tycoon in the future. Mark my words."
The crowd stared at him in pity, assuming grief had driven him mad.
But Chandler ignored them.
He shoved through the crowd and marched straight toward me—then tried to climb into our car.
I blocked him.
"What are you doing? Took you long enough," he snapped, as if I were some servant.
I smiled sweetly. "Who are you? And why do you think you can just waltz into my family’s car?"
Chandler froze, then quickly recovered.
"Didn’t you always beg me to be your brother?" he scoffed. "Sure, you’re not pretty, and your grades are mediocre, but I suppose you’ll do."
He softened his tone, as if placating a child. "Fine, I shouldn’t have refused to let you copy my homework yesterday. I’ll let you cheat off me later, okay?"
Again, he tried to enter the car.
Again, I stopped him.
Twice rejected, Chandler’s face darkened with anger.
But this time, I didn’t rush to soothe him.
Crossing my arms, I said coldly, "Who do you think you are? Why should my family adopt you?"
Chandler stiffened as if struck.
Before he could respond, my parents stepped out of the car.
"Chandler, we’re sorry for your loss, but you can’t just impose on us," Dad said firmly.
