The live comments told me to suck up to the real heiress, Vivian. But when I tried, everything backfired. It began when the nanny brought Vivian home. Glowing text only I could see warned me: "If Claire keeps antagonizing her, she’ll end up alone. "Terrified, I vowed to be the perfect sister. The comments said she loved milk, so I gave her a glass—not knowing she was allergic. She nearly died. My parents, who’d adored me for 18 years, slapped me, their disappointment crushing. Later, comments warned thugs were attacking Vivian. I saved her, but my birth mother—the nanny—framed me with fake evidence. My parents disowned me, sending me back to the slums. The thugs killed me. But I’m back. This time, I’ll get justice. “Hello, sister. My name is Vivian.” The girl standing before me was dressed in worn, cheap clothes, peeking out from behind my parents with a shy, tentative smile. My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I was too stunned. Then, the comments flooded my vision again, a shimmering, silent cascade of text. “Look at Vivian, what a sweetheart. After all those years of poverty, she’s not bitter at all. She just wants to get along with her new sister.” “Just wait. Once Vivian gets a real education, her talent will explode. She’s going to take the family company to new heights.” “Too bad the fake one, Claire, is such an idiot. Vivian actually wanted to like her at first. Claire could have just coasted, living the good life in Vivian’s shadow. But no, she had to get jealous and ruin everything. Serves her right for getting thrown back into the gutter.” The words were a brutal confirmation. I was reborn. In my first life, when Vivian had shown up with a DNA test proving a twenty-year-old hospital mix-up, I had been horrified by these prophetic comments. They foretold my downfall, a self-fulfilling prophecy of jealousy and ruin. So I did everything I could to change my fate. The comments whispered that Vivian craved milk, a luxury she could never afford. My heart went out to her. I warmed a glass myself and brought it to her room. The result was catastrophic. Anaphylactic shock. A frantic rush to the ER. Our nanny, Martha—my biological mother—fell to her knees, her voice choked with sobs. “Claire, you are my daughter, but I raised Vivian for eighteen years! I love her! Don't hate her for this. If you have to hate someone, hate me! Just leave my baby alone!” When Vivian woke up, she shrank into my parents’ arms, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m allergic to milk. Claire, why did you make me drink it? Is it about the press conference tomorrow? I won’t go, I promise! I don’t want to take your place! I just want to be with Mom and Dad.” My mother’s disappointment was a physical blow. She slapped me, hard. My father wouldn't even look at me. The next day, he announced to the world that the Ashtons had found their true daughter. After that, I never offered Vivian food again. Then, one day, the comments went wild. “Oh no! Vivian is being cornered by those thugs from the slums! If they get their hands on her, she’ll be scarred for life!” I couldn’t just stand by. I ran out of the house and pulled her from the middle of the jeering circle of boys. But when the police arrived, Vivian’s eyes were red-rimmed as she turned on me. “Claire, why? Why did you hire them to ruin me? What did I ever do to you?” At first, my parents refused to believe it. But then Martha arrived, phone in hand. She showed them videos of me supposedly tormenting Vivian in secret. She showed them chat logs of me contacting the thugs. She slapped me so hard my head rang. “You stole her life! The least you could do is be grateful, but instead, you do this? You’re a monster!” The police found a video on my phone—a video of the thugs manhandling Vivian. It sealed my fate. I had no defense. My parents abandoned me. With nowhere else to go, I ended up back in the slums, where the thugs I’d supposedly hired found me and made me pay for a crime I didn’t commit. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand. I had followed the comments’ advice. I had tried to be good. Why did everyone turn on me? This time, things will be different. This time, I’ll uncover the truth and avenge the girl who died so senselessly. I met Vivian’s hopeful gaze and offered a small, cool smile. I didn’t rush to embrace her like I did last time. My voice was even, betraying nothing. “Welcome to the family, Vivian.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face before it was gone. My parents, however, looked relieved. They didn’t say a word about me acknowledging my birth mother. They just asked us to get along. Later that evening, after dinner, I was in my room when the comments appeared, right on schedule. “Vivian looks thirsty. Someone should get her a cold glass of milk. She’d be so happy.” I ignored them, calmly peeling a piece of fruit. The text began to scroll faster, more insistently. “If Claire just brought her some milk, it would be a great bonding moment. But the fake heiress isn't that smart.” I remained perfectly still. A soft knock came at my door. It was Vivian, looking pitiful. “Claire? I’m so thirsty. Do you know where I could get a drink?” I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the mini-fridge in my suite. “Help yourself. Anything you want. Treat this as your home.” Vivian waved her hands frantically, her eyes darting toward me. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Everything is so… high-tech. I don’t know how to work any of it. Could you just grab something for me? I’m not picky.” Martha, who was polishing the floor nearby, chimed in with a smile. “Claire, be a dear. Vivian’s new here, help her out a little.” Seeing their united front, this transparent little play they were staging, I decided not to refuse. I rose and went to the kitchen. Just like last time, I knocked on Vivian’s door and handed her a bottle filled with a white liquid. Her eyes lit up as she eagerly took it from me. Twenty minutes later, a loud thud echoed from her room, followed by Martha’s bloodcurdling scream. “Help! Somebody help my Vivian!” My parents burst out of their room, and I followed them into the hall. Vivian was lying motionless on the floor, her skin flushed and covered in a terrifying constellation of red welts. “Call an ambulance!” Martha shrieked. But I was prepared. In my last life, the delay in getting to the hospital had nearly killed her. This time, I’d already called our family doctor. He was waiting just outside. Soon, Vivian was revived and conscious. The first person she saw was me. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. “Claire, you knew I was allergic to milk! Why did you force me to drink it? Do you hate me this much?” she cried. “I just want to be part of the family! I’m not a threat to you! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Martha jumped in to corroborate her story. “Vivian can eat anything, but not milk. Just a drop and she gets sick like this. I told you that this afternoon, Claire! Why would you deliberately give it to her?” My father’s brow furrowed, but he looked to me first. “Claire? Is this true?” My mother stayed silent, but her eyes were encouraging, pleading with me to explain. My own eyes stung with tears. Thank God. They still believed in me. This time, I wouldn’t let them down. I shook my head and stared directly at Vivian. “Are you absolutely certain your only allergy is milk?” Vivian nodded without a second’s hesitation. “Yes.” “Good.” A cold smirk touched my lips. I stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. “How dare you hit my daughter!” Martha shrieked, lunging at me. My mother’s voice was ice. “Martha. You are a housekeeper in this home. Remember your place.” Martha froze, her mouth snapping shut. Vivian cradled her cheek, her jaw clenched as she glared at me with defiant, tear-filled eyes. With everyone watching, I calmly walked into her room and retrieved the bottle. “Vivian,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt, “next time you plant evidence, make sure you know what it is.” I unscrewed the cap and slowly poured the remaining liquid over her head. “This is soy milk. It just happens to be in a milk bottle. If you had taken even a single sip, you wouldn’t be so confident in your little performance right now.” The color drained from Vivian’s face. I let out a cold laugh. “If you’re only allergic to milk, why did soy milk give you a full-body rash? Are you really allergic, or are you just trying to frame me?” My father took the bottle from my hand, sniffed it, and his expression hardened. He looked at Vivian, his disappointment palpable. “Vivian, we brought you into our home to make up for the years we lost, not for you to play these twisted games with your sister.” “If you are this unhappy here,” he added, his voice dangerously low, “you are free to leave with Martha.” Panic seized Vivian. Ignoring the soy milk dripping down her face, she scrambled toward him, her voice breaking. “No! Dad, Mom, please don’t send me away! I don’t know what happened!” I crossed my arms, ready to watch her squirm her way out of this. But it was Martha who stepped forward. “It was my fault!” she declared, her face flushed with feigned shame. “Before dinner, I saw some milk pudding in the fridge. I forgot about her allergy and gave her a bite to try. That must be what caused the reaction! It’s not Vivian’s fault, it’s mine! I’m so sorry!” Vivian let out a small, almost inaudible sigh of relief and quickly nodded. “Yes… I think I remember that. I’m so sorry, Claire. It seems I misunderstood.” I gave Vivian a long, knowing look. “Well, what a coincidence,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “You’d better be more careful next time, little sister. Wouldn’t want you to have another ‘allergic reaction’ and blame it on me again.” Vivian’s face was a mask of fury, but she could only nod meekly. I didn’t press the issue further. Instead, I shot a meaningful glance at my mother. With two decades of history between us, and with Vivian so clearly in the wrong, I knew whose side she would take. She walked over to Martha, her expression grim. “Martha, I allowed you to stay on as staff out of respect for your relationship with both girls. You are Claire’s birth mother and Vivian’s foster mother.” She paused. “But after this, it’s clear your presence here is… complicated. You’re getting older, and this role is awkward for everyone. Perhaps it’s for the best…” Trapped by her own lie, Martha had no choice but to swallow her pride. She nodded, forcing a painful smile. “You’re right. I’ll leave in the morning. I know the girls will be fine here with you.” She didn’t wait until morning. She packed her bags and was gone before midnight. Because Martha had taken all the blame, my parents couldn’t bring themselves to punish Vivian, but the incident planted a seed of doubt. Their attitude toward her became cooler, more distant. Without Martha’s help, Vivian scrambled to repair her relationship with our parents, but she failed at every turn. Even the comments faded away, only appearing sporadically to spout the same tired warnings about how I’d regret crossing her. I ignored them completely. A month passed. Then, the comments returned with a vengeance, scrolling frantically across my vision. “This is bad! Vivian was on her way to visit her foster mom and got cornered by those thugs again!” “They’re jealous she’s an heiress now. They’re threatening to ruin her! If they succeed, Vivian will be traumatized for life!” I sat in my room, unmoved. “If Claire goes to help her now, Vivian will be grateful forever. When she takes over the company, she’ll repay Claire tenfold. But Claire isn’t smart enough to see that.” I didn’t even twitch. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Vivian, her voice a hysterical sob. “Claire, help me! I’m at the Sunnyside Apartments, Building A! Please, you have to save me!” The line went dead. I rolled my eyes. In a situation this dire, she doesn’t call 911? She calls me? But I knew if I didn’t go, I’d be accused of leaving her to die. By the time I arrived, the entire complex was swarming with police. Vivian, her clothes artfully torn, was curled in my mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. The moment she saw me, her wails grew louder. A female officer was patting her shoulder. Finally, Vivian choked out her story. “Claire said she wanted to visit Mom… she asked me to come with her. I waited at the entrance, but she never showed up. Then… then those men grabbed me.” She took a shuddering breath. “They said Claire paid them… paid them to destroy me, so I’d be too shamed to stay in the family. If a police patrol hadn't come by… I don’t know what would have happened.” Nosy neighbors had gathered, and they started pointing at me. “We watched Vivian grow up! She’s a sweet, polite girl!” one woman shouted. “You’ve been living her life of luxury for eighteen years, you ungrateful witch! Have you no shame?” I fixed my gaze on Vivian. “That’s a nice story. Do you have any proof?” I asked, my voice cold. “You already tried to frame me with the allergy stunt. Are you trying the same trick again?” My parents’ faces tightened. They remembered. They didn’t immediately condemn me, their expressions thoughtful. Just then, the police brought over several of the thugs in handcuffs. “We have a confession!” the female officer announced. The lead thug’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, you’re Claire Ashton, right? We did what you asked! We roughed up Vivian for you! You said you’d get us out if we got caught! You gotta keep your word!” I shook my head firmly. “I don’t know you. Why are you helping Vivian lie about me?” An older woman in the crowd scoffed. “The evidence is right there! Those boys are local troublemakers, they’ve always had it in for Vivian! Why would they help her frame you?” My mother’s face was pale, her voice trembling. “Claire, please, explain this. I don’t believe you would do this.” The female officer, Officer Davis, approached me, dangling a pair of handcuffs. “I have no patience for spoiled rich girls like you. Let’s go. You can think about what you’ve done down at the station.” From behind the crowd, Vivian shot me a triumphant smirk. I, however, remained completely calm. I turned to her, my voice clear and steady. “Who says I don’t have evidence? In fact, Vivian, haven’t you noticed that we’re missing someone?”
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