Tilda stared at her reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at her looked younger—five years younger. Softer, rounder, but still showing traces of the woman she'd become. "I... came back to life?" she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice. The date glowing on her phone read: October 23, 2030. Five years before the fire that took her life. And only two weeks after the Jensons had brought her home. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "So this is the universe's idea of a joke? Giving me a second chance just to remind me how stupid I used to be?" Whatever the reason, she wasn't wasting it. She wasn't here to earn anyone's love this time. She wasn't going to twist herself inside out trying to fit someone else's mold.She had a second shot at life—and this time, she'd live for herself. No one else. Her eyes swept around the bedroom. Familiar, yet strangely distant. She changed out of her pajamas, pulled on a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. Her short hair framed her face in a sharper, more confident way. She glanced at her reflection again. When she'd first come here, she'd arrived with nothing but a suitcase and a fragile hope—hope that she'd finally found her real family. Hope that she wouldn't be alone anymore. So she'd moved into this house. A place called home that had never felt like one. On the outside, it looked perfect—grand, polished, picture-book beautiful. On the inside, it had chewed her up and spit her out. Just as she was getting lost in the memory— Bang! Bang!A hard pounding rattled the door. Tilda shoved the sorrow down, her eyes going cold. She opened the door, expression blank. "Tilda! Mom and Dad want you downstairs." Wade Jenson stood there—tall, athletic, dressed head to toe in designer clothes, glaring at her like she was dirt. Her biological brother. Seventh in the Jenson lineup. They both went to Orica University—Wade was a junior, Tilda a sophomore. Kyla, the youngest, had just started her freshman year. "I heard you," Tilda said flatly. Wade blinked, thrown off. This wasn't the Tilda he remembered. The old her had been stiff, nervous, desperate to please everyone. Always too eager to help, too scared to speak up. No pride. No backbone. He'd always found that version of her annoying. Even when he found out she was their long-lost sister, he hadn't cared. He already had a sister—Kyla. Sweet, gentle Kyla, the one he'd grown up with, the one he'd always protected. He didn't need another one showing up out of nowhere, no matter whose blood ran in her veins. With a sharp snort, he said, "You know what you did. Get downstairs and get ready for your lecture." Then he walked off. "What I did?" Tilda let out a low, cold laugh. Of course she knew what today was. Perfect. Hands in her pockets, she headed downstairs. The first thing she heard was soft sobbing from the living room. Kyla sat curled between Russell and Blair Jenson, both of them murmuring comfort, stroking her back. From the outside, anyone would think Kyla was the biological daughter and Tilda the adopted one. Their places had completely switched.The pain stabbing through Tilda's chest was sharp—but familiar. She'd wanted this closeness her whole life. Wanted it so badly she'd hidden her real self, buried her strength, lived small just to fit in. She'd given up everything for a few crumbs of affection. Even now, even after being reborn, it hurt to admit it. But she'd already decided—never again. She stood there silently, watching her "family" with cool detachment. They looked like actors in some emotional family drama. She wasn't part of the scene anymore. Just an audience member. If it had been a good performance, maybe she'd have clapped. But there was nothing left to feel. Wade came down the stairs, spotted her expression, and immediately snapped. "Aren't you gonna ask why Kyla's crying?!” "It's not my fault she's crying. Why should I ask?" Tilda's tone was calm, almost bored."You brat!" She didn't even flinch. Didn't act guilty. Just stood there like none of this had anything to do with her. That only made Wade angrier. He was one second away from hitting her. He couldn't stand her—this cold, indifferent stranger. He refused to believe she was his sister. Kyla was the only sister that mattered. Tilda? She shouldn't even exist. If she'd just stayed gone—if she'd just died—then Kyla wouldn't be upset right now. The hatred in Wade's glare said it all. Tilda felt it. Understood it perfectly. He wanted her gone—not just from the house, but from this world. The old Tilda would've shattered under that look. Her heart would've cracked open, asking herself over and over what she'd done wrong. She'd spent nineteen years starving for love, surviving on scraps of hope.And when the Jensons finally found her? Even with Kyla already there, she hadn't been jealous. She'd loved her like a real sister—put Kyla first, cared about her feelings, never fought her about anything. Whenever people compared them, Tilda always stepped back. Always gave in. She gave up everything for one thing—family. She never asked to be loved like Kyla was. She just wanted to be seen. She'd lowered herself to nothing for their approval. She'd literally given her life for a chance to belong. But it was never enough. To the Jensons, Kyla was everything. Tilda was just a shadow. Maybe they really did wish she'd never been found. Maybe her death would've made life easier. They'd only brought her home because not doing so would've made them feel guilty. This way, they could ease their conscience.Now, none of it mattered. The tension between her and Wade finally drew Russell's attention. "Blair, stay with Kyla," he told his wife quietly. Then he stood, face dark with anger, and walked toward Tilda. "Tilda, you'd better apologize—now." His voice hit like a hammer in the silence. Wade crossed his arms, waiting to enjoy the show. The old Tilda would've panicked, apologized through tears, desperate for forgiveness. But this Tilda? She met her father's fury with steady, unflinching eyes. "And why exactly should I apologize?" Her calm voice cut through the air like glass. Compared to his explosive anger, her composure was quiet—but powerful.For the first time, it was clear who really had the upper hand.