Ethan knelt in front of Vivien with 999 roses, the same bouquet he had once given me in another life. I stood a few feet away, watching him offer my future to the girl who had stolen my place in the Sullivan family. Neither of them apologized. Vivien just laughed and told me she had a system that gave her a slightly higher score than mine on every exam.
“As long as I’m here, Natalie, you’ll never get ahead of me. ”
A gas explosion killed all three of us in that first life. When we woke up reborn, Grandpa Sullivan welcomed me back as his biological granddaughter. He made one promise: whichever girl became the SAT champion would inherit the Sullivan Group.
I knew then I had two enemies. Vivien had her supernatural cheat. Ethan had his talent for choosing the winning side. What they didn’t know was that I had something better.
Memory. On our first practice exam, I scored 1550. Vivien scored 810. Ethan arrived with his roses, paused in front of me, then turned and knelt before her.
“Will you date me with marriage as the goal? ”
That was how I knew they had both returned too. Vivien accepted the flowers and told everyone she had hidden her intelligence to protect my fragile pride. Everyone laughed at the idea.
On the second practice test, I scored 1550 again. Vivien scored 1560. The laughter stopped. Students surrounded her, praising the genius who had pretended to be average.
I watched the numbers instead of their faces. On the third practice day, I pretended to be sick and skipped the exam. Vivien’s score dropped back into the 800s. That confirmed it: her system didn’t improve her ability.
It copied my result and added just enough to put her ahead. When I returned, Ethan accused me of threatening Vivien into performing badly. “You skipped the test because you couldn’t bear to lose. ”
Vivien lowered her eyes.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have shown off. ”
I went back to my workbook. The next day, I learned the state mathematics competition offered guaranteed Yale admission to the top three.
If I won, I could avoid the SAT entirely and leave Vivien with nothing to steal. At dawn, I stepped outside with my admission ticket. A motorcycle struck me. I woke in a junkyard.
Ethan sat on the motorcycle while Vivien emptied my backpack onto the dirt. She held my competition ticket against my face. “It’s 5:00 in the afternoon. You missed the competition.
The SAT is your only road left. ”
“Then I won’t take it,” I said. Ethan’s chin lifted. “Your adoptive mother is still being treated at Whitmore Medical Center.
Refuse the exam and she may have an accident. ”
I looked at Vivien. The woman they were threatening was her biological mother. Vivien shrugged.
“That poor loser doesn’t deserve to be my mother. I’m a Sullivan. ”
They rode away, leaving me in the dirt. I couldn’t escape the SAT without risking my mother.
Deliberately failing would destroy my own future. So I chose the only path left. I would score perfectly. I had taken the same SAT in my previous life and spent months afterward reviewing every question.
Now I practiced until I could reconstruct the test from memory. My later practice scores stayed above 1550. The system kept placing Vivien a little higher, and each stolen result made her study less. She celebrated her eighteenth birthday, spent her days with Ethan, and treated Yale as already hers.
The night before the SAT, I found a positive pregnancy test in her room. I said nothing. I entered the exam hall rested and clear-headed. When classmates asked how I had done, I gave them three words: “Better than ever.
”
Before the scores were released, Ethan brought his mother to propose to Vivien. Mrs. Whitmore objected to marrying her son to a fake Aerys until Ethan promised Vivien would enter Yale and inherit the Sullivan family. On their engagement day, Grandpa Sullivan invited relatives, business partners, school officials, and the press.
“Whichever granddaughter scores higher will be trained as the Sullivan Group’s heir,” he announced. Vivien thanked me in a whisper. “All that studying made you the perfect stepping stone. ”
Our result pages were initially blank, indicating both scores were under state review.
Then my phone began ringing. Yale called first. Other top universities followed, each offering better terms than the last. A reporter asked if I had become the national champion.
Firecrackers sounded outside. Our principal entered with teachers and officials. Vivien stepped forward to accept their congratulations. Uniformed officers moved to either side of her.
“Vivien Sullivan, you are suspected of SAT cheating. Come with us. ”
“Impossible! ” she screamed.
“You can’t arrest me just because my score is high. ”
Ethan blocked their path. “What evidence do you have? Did Natalie report her?
”
The officer opened the official result sheet. “No report was necessary. Vivien’s SAT score is 1610. ” He paused.
“The maximum possible score is 1600. ”
For three full seconds, no one moved. The champagne glasses stayed lifted. Vivien’s smile froze on her face, still shaped for victory, only now it looked like it belonged on a corpse.
“Impossible! ” Vivien screamed. “Check it again. ”
The officer’s face didn’t change.
“The score came directly from the official result system. It triggered automatic fraud review because it exceeded the possible maximum. ”
Ethan stepped in front of her. “Natalie reported her.
She hacked the results. She set Vivien up because she couldn’t stand losing. ”
I looked at him. “Report what?
Mathematics. ”
A nervous laugh broke out near the back. “If the exam maximum is 1600 and Vivien scored 1610, I don’t need to accuse her. Arithmetic already testified.
”
The screen behind us changed. The testing board had reviewed both candidates’ scoring history. My name appeared first. Natalie, practice exam 1: 1550.
Vivien, practice exam 1: 810. The room murmured. Next line. Natalie, practice exam 2: 1550.
Vivien, practice exam 2: 1560. The murmurs grew louder. Third practice day. Natalie absent.
Vivien: 820. Then the later practice scores. Every time I took the exam, Vivien’s score floated just above mine. Every time I skipped, she fell back into the mud she had always pretended was a throne.
“So she wasn’t secretly smart,” a boy from our class breathed. “Her scores only rose when Natalie took the exam. She was hiding Natalie’s. ”
Vivien turned toward them.
“Shut up! ”
Genius sounded different under pressure. I folded my hands calmly. “A genius improves.
A parasite refreshes after I submit. ”
The hall went quiet. Vivien’s face twitched. I knew that look.
The system was talking to her. In my first life, I had seen that same empty stare when she laughed in a room full of gas, bragging about the thing tied to her soul. Back then I was too angry and broken to understand the rules. This time, I had studied her cheating tool like it was just another exam.
Vivien’s eyes darted rapidly. Her lips moved without sound. I couldn’t hear the system, but her panic translated beautifully. She must have been screaming at it to fix the score, reduce it, erase it, make the miracle neat again.
Too late. The official review had already caught the impossible number. I raised my glass of water and took a sip. “You called me your stepping stone.
Congratulations. You stepped high enough to hit the ceiling. ”
Ethan’s face tightened. “Enough.
Vivien is pregnant. Are you really going to drag a pregnant woman away over some system error? ”
The room froze again. Mrs.
Whitmore slowly turned her head. “Ethan. ” He stiffened. Vivien’s hand flew to her stomach, panic and calculation fighting behind her tears.
“A baby is not a scholarship,” I said. “Vivien, try studying something besides shortcuts. ”
Mrs. Whitmore’s face hardened until the diamonds at her ears looked warmer than her eyes.
She had arrived to inspect a future daughter-in-law, not to become the mother of a son tied to academic fraud and a pregnancy announced like a smoke bomb. Ethan stepped toward me. “You did this because you couldn’t stand that I chose Vivien. ”
I looked at the mountain of roses behind him.
“Ethan, you arrived with 999 roses and still managed to look cheap. Once those roses were mine. This time, you knelt faster than the bouquet could wilt. Don’t call that love.
That was ambition with petals. ”
For one second, Ethan forgot the room. His eyes flickered with the ugly recognition of someone who had also returned and thought he was the only one holding a second chance. Vivien’s head snapped toward him.
So did Mrs. Whitmore’s, though she clearly read it as guilt, not rebirth. I smiled. That was the problem with reborn villains.
Their faces confessed before their mouths could. Ethan lunged and grabbed for my wrist. I twisted free and shoved his hand down so sharply he stumbled into the edge of the stage. “Careful.
Last time you used a vehicle. Don’t embarrass yourself fighting on foot. ”
The officer looked up. “A vehicle?
”
I lifted my phone. “Since everyone is enjoying mathematics, let’s move to transportation. ”
The screen changed again. CCTV near my street.
A motorcycle idling in the gray dawn. Ethan wearing a helmet. Another clip from a traffic camera. The motorcycle swerving toward me.
My body hitting the pavement. Then the junkyard, a grainy recovered recording. Vivien holding my state mathematics competition admission ticket against my face. “It’s 5 in the afternoon.
You missed the competition. The SAT is your only road left. ”
Ethan’s voice followed. “Your adoptive mother is still being treated at Whitmore Medical Center.
Refuse the exam and she may have an accident. ”
The hall went cold. Grandpa Sullivan’s face became something I had never seen before. It was the look of a man realizing someone had set fire to his bloodline and called it strategy.
“That recording is fake,” Vivien said. I nodded. “Wonderful. Then the traffic footage, GPS data, torn admission ticket, medical report, and dirt samples must have formed a study group.
”
The press shutters began again. Click, click, click. Every sound was a nail sealing something shut. Ethan’s mother raised her hand, and the family aid stepped forward.
“Ethan, what exactly did you drag our family into? ”
Ethan turned toward her, suddenly the obedient son again. “Mom, Vivien and I love each other. Natalie is twisting—”
“You love the inheritance you thought she would carry.
” His face went blank. “You brought me to propose to a fake Aerys under investigation. You threatened a patient at Whitmore Medical Center. You attacked a young woman before a competition.
And now you expect me to protect your romance? ”
Vivien’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Whitmore, I’m carrying Ethan’s child.
”
Mrs. Whitmore did not soften. “The child will be handled responsibly. You will not become my daughter-in-law through scandal, fraud, or a hospital threat.
”
Ethan looked trapped between the two women he had tried to use for different futures. Vivien saw it too. Her tears stopped. “You promised marriage.
”
He snapped. “You promised Yale and the Sullivan inheritance. ”
I smiled. “There it is.
Romance sponsored by fraud. ”
Vivien staggered back as if the laughter physically wounded her. “You ruined me! ”
“No.
I just stopped being useful. ”
She screamed. “I was supposed to be above you! ”
“Above me?
Vivien, you needed a system to reach my shadow. ”
Her pupils shrank. The invisible god she had worshiped was failing her. I imagined the messages pouring through her mind: target no longer eligible, host exceeded maximum boundary, fraud loop exposed, score boosting authority revoked, debt collection initiated.
Vivien’s fingers dug into her stomach and she forced another sob. “You’re all hurting my baby. ”
“No one is attacking a child,” I said. “We are refusing to let you use one as a scholarship, contract, and smoke bomb.
”
Grandpa tapped his cane once. The whole room turned. His gaze was on me. “Natalie, did you plan the 1610?
”
I did not blink. “I planned the ceiling. Vivien chose to jump. ”
He walked closer.
I lowered my voice enough that the front rows could still hear. “I didn’t come back to win a family by exam score. I came back to stop a thief from inheriting the house she burned. ”
His eyes changed.
For a moment, I saw regret. Real regret. “I should have recognized blood without making you compete for it. ”
“Blood is not the prize.
Respect is. ”
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the decision was made. “Vivien will be removed from all Sullivan inheritance consideration pending full investigation.
Natalie is my biological granddaughter. She is the legitimate candidate for succession training. This family will cooperate with the authorities. ”
Vivien let out a sound that was half sob, half animal.
“No, Grandpa, you can’t. I lived as your granddaughter for years. Doesn’t that count for anything? ”
I looked at her.
“It counts. It counts as fraud with family photos. ”
The officers moved closer. Vivien backed into Ethan.
He did not hold her. That was when she understood he had never loved the girl. He loved the ladder he thought she was carrying. Yale withdrew before noon.
The representative who had called my phone earlier sent one message that could have been carved in stone: “We congratulate Natalie on her verified result. We are aware of the ongoing review regarding the other candidate. ”
The other candidate had been reduced from fake Aerys to footnote faster than a system could glitch. The school canceled her awards.
Her name was removed from the top student display. Teachers who had called her a miracle suddenly developed memory loss. By afternoon, Vivien was escorted away for questioning about the cheating anomaly, false academic records, and her link to the math competition sabotage. Ethan was questioned separately about the motorcycle attack, the junkyard, and the threat at Whitmore Medical Center.
Mrs. Whitmore left without looking at either of them: “Do not come home until my lawyers call you. ”
The 999 roses ended in trash bags outside the hall. At least they wilted honestly.
I did not stay for the cleanup. I went to Whitmore Medical Center. My adoptive mother was awake when I entered. Thin, pale, still too weak, but her eyes found mine immediately.
“Natalie. ”
The second she reached for me, all the coldness I had worn that day cracked. I walked to her bed and knelt. “I won.
”
Her hand touched my hair first, not the trophy envelope, not the phone buzzing with university calls. “Are you hurt? ”
That question destroyed me. Not “Are you first?
” Not “Did you beat her? ” Not “Will you inherit? ” Just “Are you hurt? ” I pressed my face into her blanket and cried like the girl from my first life, the one who had died smelling gas and betrayal and thinking she had no one left.
Her fingers stroked my hair slowly. “I may not have given birth to you, but I never needed blood to know my daughter. ”
I cried harder. For years, I thought being returned to the Sullivan family meant returning to the life stolen from me.
I thought the word biological was supposed to heal something. But the woman in that hospital bed had fed me when I was sick, washed my uniform when she could barely stand, saved coins for my books, and kept my certificates in plastic sleeves like they were gold. Vivien had looked at that woman and seen poverty. I looked at her and saw home.
I arranged for her transfer to a safer medical team. That evening, Grandpa Sullivan made one phone call. Whitmore Medical Center became suddenly eager to cooperate, probably because threatening a patient for exam coercion looked poor under press lighting. Ethan’s access was revoked.
Vivien’s biological relationship to my mother was recorded properly in the case file. Not because Vivien deserved the title, but because truth deserved clean paperwork. When my mother slept, I sat beside her and read every university offer. Yale, Princeton, Harvard, MIT.
Columbia also called. That name made my fingers pause. In my last life, Vivien’s false cheating report had stolen Columbia from me. The acceptance letter had burned under my father’s hand while Vivien watched with damp eyes and dry satisfaction.
This time, Columbia requested the full file for correction and reconsideration. I smiled. Some ashes took two lifetimes to cool. The next day, I returned to school, not for class, for closure.
Vivien’s locker was half open. Someone had torn down the sticky notes praising her. A cheating investigation notice sat outside the principal’s office. Ethan was absent.
Cowards love drama until it requires attendance. I passed Vivien in the hallway while she collected her books under a disciplinary monitor’s gaze. Her face looked smaller without borrowed light. She hissed.
“You ruined me. ”
I stopped. “No. I just stopped being useful.
”
“I had nothing. I had to survive. ”
“You had my mother. ” Her face flinched.
“You had a woman who would have loved you without diamonds, tests, or Grandpa’s surname. You threw her away because poverty offended you. ”
Vivien’s eyes reddened. The hallway went silent.
Several students heard. Good. I wanted witnesses for ugliness too. “And yet,” I said softly, “she raised the daughter who scored 1600 without supernatural charity.
What did the Sullivan family raise you into? ”
Her mouth trembled. No answer. I walked past her.
Behind me, she slid to the floor, not fainting, not injured, just collapsing under the weight of ordinary. Without the system, without Ethan, without the Sullivan name, Vivien was exactly what she had always feared: a girl who had to earn things. The final Sullivan meeting happened one week later. Grandpa invited relatives, business partners, school officials, legal representatives, and the press.
Mrs. Whitmore, Ethan, Vivien, and me. My adoptive mother watched by video from her hospital room. She had insisted on fixing her hair first.
“You are about to become heir. I cannot embarrass you. ”
“You raised me. Nothing about you embarrasses me.
”
Her eyes shone through the screen. The hall was the same one where Vivien had prepared to accept her fake crown. This time the flowers were white. The press had doubled.
No one laughed. Ethan stood near the back with Mrs. Whitmore’s aid beside him like a leash in human form. Vivien sat alone, no perfect posture, no sweet smile, one hand resting on her stomach like she was checking whether the shield was still there.
Grandpa Sullivan stood before everyone. “After investigation and verification, Vivien is removed from the Sullivan household registry and all inheritance consideration. Her academic results have been invalidated. Her conduct has brought disgrace to this family and harm to our true granddaughter.
”
Vivien sobbed. “Grandpa! ” But he did not look at her. “Natalie is my biological granddaughter.
Her SAT result of 1600 has been verified. She is the national champion. She will receive training as heir to Sullivan Group, effective immediately. ”
Cameras flashed.
Relatives applauded, some sincerely, some because power had changed seats and they were trying not to be late. I stepped forward. “I’ll inherit the Sullivan Group. ” The room quieted.
“But I won’t inherit the family’s habit of rewarding whoever performs best in public while hurting people in private. ”
Grandpa’s gaze rested on me. I continued. “First, the Sullivan Group will establish a scholarship fund for students harmed by academic fraud and identity manipulation.
Second, my adoptive mother’s medical safety will be handled by an independent team away from Whitmore influence. Third, the false Columbia plagiarism report must be publicly corrected. Fourth, all records Vivien falsified must be removed. Fifth, we will cooperate fully against Ethan and Vivien regarding the motorcycle attack, admission ticket sabotage, and hospital threat.
And last, no one uses me as a symbol while ignoring what happened. ”
A ripple moved through the hall. Grandpa studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded.
“Agreed. ”
Vivien shot to her feet. “Grandpa, I lived as your granddaughter for years. You loved me.
Doesn’t that count for anything? ”
He finally looked at her, something tired moving across his face. “It counts as my failure. ”
That hit her harder than anger.
I answered too. “It counts as fraud with family photos. ”
Vivien’s face crumpled. Ethan moved toward her, maybe out of habit, maybe calculation.
Mrs. Whitmore’s aid stopped him with one hand. Vivien turned on him suddenly. “Say something.
You promised. ”
Ethan’s face went red. “You promised Yale and the Sullivan inheritance. ”
Vivien snapped.
“He hit her with the motorcycle! I only wanted the ticket! ”
Ethan grabbed her arm. “You told me she had to miss the competition!
”
A police officer stepped forward. I smiled. “Excellent. Confession looks good when it travels in pairs.
”
Officials collected them before the press could finish inhaling. Vivien did not scream this time. She walked like her bones were hollow, hearing a voice no one else could hear. Maybe the system was speaking its last lines: host score invalid, host status invalid, host advantage invalid, target Natalie unreachable, ceiling exceeded, system termination beginning.
Vivien suddenly clutched her head. “No! No! Fix it!
Bind to her again! Copy her again! ”
Every camera caught the words. My classmates might have called it a breakdown.
Lawyers might call it guilt. Doctors might call it stress. I called it a failed miracle eating its host. She looked at me with bloodshot eyes.
“I was supposed to be above you. ”
“You were for 10 points. Then gravity noticed. ”
Her scream followed me out of the hall.
The system disappeared with her borrowed genius. Left behind was an ordinary girl facing extraordinary consequences. Her score was revoked. Her school record marked permanently.
Yale vanished. The Sullivan surname no longer protected her. The pregnancy did not save the engagement. Mrs.
Whitmore made it clear the child would be handled responsibly, but Vivien would not become a daughter-in-law through coercion. Social circles dropped her. She became famous for one number: 1610. Not genius.
Proof. A joke whispered in every academic forum: how do you cheat so badly you beat the maximum? Ethan’s fall was less elegant. Motorcycle attack.
Abandonment in a junkyard. Threatening a hospital patient. Coercion tied to the SAT miss. Whitmore removed him from family business discussions before legal review finished.
Vivien blamed him. He blamed her. Every version made him smaller. By the end of the month, Ethan was formally named in the criminal investigation and in our civil claim.
The Whitmore family did not protect him. Mrs. Whitmore protected the family name by letting him fall alone. He tried to see me two weeks later.
Of course, he brought roses. Not 999 this time. Only a sad bouquet from some expensive florist that looked embarrassed to be involved. I was leaving the hospital after visiting my mother.
She had moved to a better room with sunlight and nurses who smiled without fear of Whitmore complaints. Ethan stood near the entrance with the flowers held too tightly. “Natalie, in our first life, I did love you. ”
I looked at the roses.
“No, Ethan. You loved having a backup bride with better grades. ”
Pain crossed his face. “I was greedy.
Rebirth made me greedy. ”
“No. It made you efficient. You chose the same betrayal with better lighting.
”
He stepped closer. “We can start over. ”
“We did start over. ” His breath caught.
“And you still chose a fake Aerys, a motorcycle, and threatening my mother. Honestly, the plot gave you a retake, and you submitted the same garbage. ”
He looked like he might kneel. I raised a hand.
“Don’t. Kneeling is for proposals and apologies with value. You are currently underqualified for both. ”
The flowers trembled.
“Keep the roses. They have more loyalty than you. At least they wilt honestly. ”
I walked away.
He did not follow. Smartest thing he had done in two lifetimes. Vivien tried once too. She came to Whitmore Medical Center wearing sunglasses indoors, which already proved how badly her judgment had collapsed.
Two weeks earlier, she would have arrived with assistance, flowers, and the Sullivan name polished on her tongue. That day, she came alone. Security stopped her at the elevator. “I’m her biological daughter.
You can’t keep me from my own mother. ”
I had changed the visitor list the day my mother transferred rooms. Vivien’s name was not on it. Mine was.
She saw me near the nurse’s station and her face twisted. “You did this? ”
“Yes. She’s my mother.
” I looked her up and down. “Careful. That’s the first honest sentence you’ve ever said about her. It looks uncomfortable.
”
Her eyes reddened, but I had learned her tears were more like perfume than pain. Applied when useful, dabbed behind the ears before performance. “Let me see her. I need to talk to her.
”
“No. ”
“You can’t decide that. ”
“She already did. ”
Vivien’s lips parted.
Behind me, the room door opened. My adoptive mother stood there with one hand on the frame and a nurse hovering nervously behind her. She was weak, but her eyes were clear. “Let her speak, Natalie.
”
I turned immediately. “Mom, you don’t have to. ”
“I know. ” Her fingers touched my wrist, then she stepped forward.
“But some doors should close with the person outside hearing the lock. ”
Vivien stared at her. For a moment, her face changed. Not guilt, not love, maybe shock that the woman she had called worthless could look at her without begging.
“Mom,” Vivien whispered. My mother’s expression did not move. “Don’t call me that because you need shelter. ”
Vivien flinched.
“I was born to you. Doesn’t that mean anything? ”
“It means I carried you once. It does not mean I will let you use me to wound the daughter who stayed.
”
Vivien shook her head. “Natalie stole you from me. ”
“No. You threw me away because I was poor.
Natalie picked up what you dropped and never made me feel cheap for it. ”
The hallway had gone silent. Nurses, patients, families, two guards, everyone pretended not to listen and failed beautifully. Vivien’s voice broke.
“I was scared. I thought if I admitted you were my mother, the Sullivans would send me back. ”
“So you framed Natalie, helped threaten me, and called me a loser. ” My mother’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed calm.
“You did not fear poverty. You hated being loved by someone who had nothing to decorate you with. ”
That sentence took the last color from Vivien’s face. I stepped closer.
“You wanted the Sullivan name so badly. You threw away the only woman who loved you without a surname. ”
Vivien looked at me with pure hatred. “You think you’ve won everything?
”
“No. I think I stopped letting thieves call inventory love. ”
Security moved in when she tried to step forward. She looked past me one last time.
“Please. ”
My mother turned away first. That was the end of Vivien’s last blood claim. The elevator doors closed on her face.
Not dramatic, not violent, just final. Inside the room, my mother sat back down, breathing unevenly. I knelt beside her. “Are you okay?
”
“No. ” She smiled through tears. “But I am not weak for saying no. ”
“No.
” She placed her palm on my cheek. “Neither are you. ”
I stayed with her until she fell asleep. Outside the hospital window, reporters still waited near the entrance.
For once, I did not mind. Let them record Vivien leaving alone. Let them record the daughter who had chosen a surname walking out without either a mother or a family. Some exits deserved an audience.
The hospital tightened security. The Whitmore threat investigation expanded. Ethan’s name appeared on new documents. Vivien’s attempt to approach my mother became another note in her file.
Nothing explosive. Just one more door she could not open. That evening, my adoptive mother held my new acceptance letter in both hands. Not burned.
Not stolen. Not delayed. Columbia had corrected the record. Yale’s offer sat beside it.
So did others. My future had become a table full of open doors. “Are you happy now? ” she asked.
I rested my head on her lap like I used to when I was small. “Not because I beat her. Because this time nobody can use my future as her ladder. ”
Her fingers stroked my hair.
“Then go build a life too high for them to climb. ”
I closed my eyes. For a while, I did not think about systems, scores, gas explosions, roses, or inheritance. I thought about plastic certificate sleeves and the hands that held me when I had nothing worth stealing.
Months passed. The Sullivan Scholarship Fund launched under my terms. Students harmed by fraud, pressure, and family manipulation received support. Grandpa Sullivan let me lead the education ethics program as my first public project.
He also gave me business documents thick enough to qualify as punishment. “Grandpa, I beat a supernatural cheating system. Don’t punish me with spreadsheets. ”
“The heir must suffer.
”
“Cruel family tradition. At least this one is honest. ”
The old man laughed. Not warmly at first.
He was still learning. So was I. He apologized again one afternoon when we visited my mother together. “I should not have made you compete for belonging.
”
“No. ” He took the hit without flinching. I respected that. “But you can make sure no one else in this family has to win an exam to be treated like blood.
”
His eyes lowered. “I will. ”
“Good. See growth.
Very age appropriate. ”
My mother nearly choked on her tea. Grandpa coughed into his fist to hide a smile. Vivien’s case continued.
Ethan’s too. I did not attend every hearing. Revenge was satisfying, but I had better things to do than babysit ruins. Sometimes news reached me anyway.
Vivien tried to claim emotional pressure. The system did not return to help her. Ethan tried to reduce his role. The junkyard recording disagreed.
Mrs. Whitmore protected the Whitmore name by cutting him down faster than any enemy could. The pregnancy remained separate from their punishment. The child had done nothing wrong, and I would not become like them by turning innocence into a weapon.
Vivien hated that most. She had hoped motherhood would make her untouchable. Instead, it made everyone say, “Even the baby deserves better than being used as evidence tape. ”
By autumn, I stood at the Sullivan family hall in front of a framed display.
Grandpa had ordered it installed after the corrected records arrived. Natalie, 1600. Vivien, invalid. Beside it was my Columbia correction letter and my Yale offer.
I had not chosen publicly yet. For once, the decision belonged only to me. My adoptive mother stood beside me, her arm through mine. She was still weak, but improving.
Her cheeks had color now. The same woman Vivien had called a poor loser now stood under the Sullivan lights wearing the pearl shawl Grandpa had respectfully offered and she had accepted only after checking whether it was comfortable. Grandpa stood behind us, not claiming me, supporting me. Progress looked strange on old men, but I allowed it.
My mother looked at the score sheet and shook her head. “1,610 points of stupidity can be very educational. ”
I laughed softly. “You’re terrible.
”
“I got it from my real mother. ”
Her eyes reddened. I squeezed her hand. In my first life, I died watching Ethan choose Vivien while she laughed about a system I could not beat.
In this life, I did not beat the system with magic. I beat it with the one thing it never respected: limits. Vivien wanted more than me. So I gave her the most dangerous thing in the world—more than possible.
The gas explosion, the roses, the motorcycle, the junkyard, the threat against my mother, the blank result pages, the 1610, Ethan begging with wilted flowers, Vivien screaming at a system that no longer answered. All of it passed through me like an old fever breaking. I did not feel empty. I felt free.
Vivien called me her stepping stone. Ethan called me replaceable. The system called me a score to steal. They were all wrong.
I was the answer key, the examiner, and the ceiling they broke their necks trying to pass. Vivien lost the name she stole, the genius she faked, the fiancé she used, the system she worshipped, and the future she tried to buy with my life. Ethan lost the bride he betrayed and the lies he chased. Grandpa Sullivan gave me the inheritance, but my mother gave me home.
As for me, I kept my perfect score, my mother, my name, my future, and the one thing neither death nor rebirth could take from me: the right to decide who gets to stand beside me when I win.