2
I was reborn.
I woke up on the exact day Willow Marsh transferred to our high school.
To my astonishment, while my memories were intact, the crippling illness that had plagued me was comple- tely gone. I was back in the prime of my life, healthy and whole.
I watched Willow at the front of the classroom, her face a canvas of “no–makeup” makeup, and a slow, cold
smile spread across my face.
Willow, in my last life, you destroyed my family and left me with nothing. In this life, you’d better pray I leave
enough of you to bury.
The teacher assigned Willow the empty seat next to mine.
I greeted her with a polite smile. Her eyes immediately darted to the new Van Cleef & Arpels necklace arou-
nd my neck, and a flicker of raw envy crossed her face.
I caught it, my smile widening almost imperceptibly.
I attended Northwood Preparatory, one of the most elite private schools in the city. Every student here was either old money or new royalty. A single necklace was nothing. But Willow came from nothing, and her hea- it was a cramped, jealous thing. To her, my necklace was a deliberate taunt.
2016
2016
Chapter 1
During the mid–morning break, our homeroom teacher announced that midterms were only three days away. The moment he left, the classroom erupted into a flurry of study groups.
Just like last time, Willow turned to me. “Can I borrow your class notes?”
I took my time before answering, my voice smooth as silk. “No.”
Tears instantly welled in her eyes.
“Is it because I’m poor?” she sniffled, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “You look down on me, don ‘t you? That’s why you won’t share your notes.”
“I’m from a poor family. I can’t afford a $600–an–hour tutor like you people. It’s not my fault my grades aren’t good enough.”
“You rich kids are so smart. Can’t you just take pity on me and let me see your notes?”
In my past life, this act worked like a charm. My classmates had turned on me, calling me a selfish, arrogant bully.
This time, with everyone’s minds clear, the reaction was… different.
“Are you insane?” a girl named Penelope Yates snapped from a few desks over. “Stop trying to guilt–trip Lilli- an!”
“Just because I have money means I have to be your personal charity? Just because you’re poor means you‘ re entitled to her stuff?”
“Helping you is a favor, not a damn obligation. Don’t push your luck, you freeloader.”
I shot Penelope a grateful, approving glance. Encouraged, she let loose, tearing into Willow with renewed vigor. Willow just stood there, stunned into silence, having clearly never been on the receiving end of such a verbal beatdown.
Penelope didn’t let up until the bell rang for the next class.
I calmly took out my textbook, ignoring Willow as she finally broke down into pathetic, gulping sobs.
Our literature teacher, a stern, no–nonsense man, walked in and saw her crying, assuming we had bullied her. But the student in front of me quickly and bluntly recounted the entire incident.
The teacher’s face hardened. He told Willow to stop crying or get out.
She immediately fell silent.
The children of the elite value one thing above all: self–interest. The Vances had just become the majority shareholder in Penelope’s family company.
During lunch, I ordered boba tea for the entire class. Except for Willow.
“Oh, sorry, Willow,” I said with a saccharine smile. “You hadn’t transferred yet when I placed the order. So
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Chapter 1
there isn’t one for you.”
She bit her lip, tears threatening again, but before she could launch into another performance, Penelope cut
her off with a syrupy voice.
“It’s just boba tea. Surely Willow can afford that. She wouldn’t start a fight with Lillian over a few dollars,
would she?”
A ripple of knowing laughter went through the classroom. Willow’s face went white, and she sank into her
seat without another word.
In a world with common sense, Willow was actually kind of a joke. Her cheap act might fool normal people, but to the kids who grew up in these circles, she was a clown. We were experts at spotting her brand of pat- hetic acting–her pathetic acting reminded us of our fathers‘ latest mistresses.
