After spending some time with me, my parents finally carried my fake sister away.
I was left alone in this large, quiet room, a faint smile curling on my lips.
In this life, I would not become brain-damaged from a head injury, nor the pitiful, disabled eldest daughter of the Evans family.
As for my fake sister… from today onward, she would become my most useful pawn.
The next morning, I overheard my parents talking—Martha had resigned suddenly, saying she needed to return home to care for her daughter.
The news filled me with delight.
If only Martha could stay quiet and never bring my real sister back, then the Evans family’s only heir would be me—forever.
But I couldn’t let my guard down.
From that day on, I took it upon myself to become my fake sister’s guardian angel.
If she choked on her milk, I would pat her back.
If her diaper was soiled, I would change it.
Every bit of pocket money my parents gave me, I spent on toys for her.
Though Allison, still an infant, understood nothing, my parents showered me with endless praise:
“Our Lydia is such a sweet and caring little angel.”
Of course, I knew what I was doing.
By taking the initiative and acting like the perfect sister, my parents began to pity me.
“Lydia, you don’t have to push yourself to be mature,” my mother said tenderly. “You’re just a child, too.”
“You don’t owe your sister anything,” my father added. “We just want you to be happy.”
Their words made my heart bloom with triumph.
I had succeeded in planting the right image—an obedient, gentle daughter worthy of love and protection.
From then on, I no longer needed to take care of my fake sister myself. I just had to play the part with words sweet as honey.
“I’m so lucky to have such a lovely younger sister,” I would say.
“Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll grow up and make lots of money. I’ll protect you from bad people.”
Everyone in the Evans household adored me.
They said I had the calm, graceful temperament of a true eldest daughter.
And as I grew, I inherited my parents’ best traits—fair skin, bright eyes, and delicate features.
Instead of losing favor to my fake sister, I actually received far more affection than my real one ever did in my previous life.
When Allison turned three, people began to whisper behind our backs.
“Why are the Evans sisters so different?” they said quietly. “They share the same parents, but Lydia is fair and delicate, while Allison’s skin is darker, and her nose is flat…”
Though only the servants dared to speak aloud, the words still reached Allison’s ears—and jealousy took root in her heart.
One day, after my mother praised my big, bright eyes, Allison suddenly lost control.
“You hate me!” she screamed. “You all like my sister more!”
She snatched a pillow and hurled it straight at my face.
“I’m prettier than she is! You’re not allowed to like her!”
My mother’s face darkened. She pulled Allison over and smacked her lightly.
“How dare you talk to your sister that way? You don’t even know how kind she’s been to you!”
My father, upset, hurried to lift me up in his arms.
“Lydia, your sister bullied you again. Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
I lowered my head, putting on a wounded yet gentle expression.
“I’m the older sister,” I said softly. “It’s my duty to let her have her way.”
My parents’ hearts melted instantly.
They praised me endlessly—how generous I was, how mature and graceful for my age. They even said I was destined to accomplish great things.
Meanwhile, Allison’s face twisted with envy.
The more she was scolded, the more she resented me. Her jealousy made her cruel and reckless.
She began to act out—pouring water on me, pulling my hair until I fell, screaming and kicking whenever she didn’t get her way.
And when her tantrums peaked, she would shout, “All of my parents’ money will be mine! I won’t give you a single coin!”
Her arrogance and spite mirrored my real sister’s perfectly.
Watching her, I almost laughed.
History was repeating itself—but this time, I was the one in control.
