Back in the womb, I smirked to myself and activated the Heart-Voice Skill, directing it straight through the wall to the delivery room next door.

[Hey, sis, you reincarnated before me. So, why aren't you out yet?]

[Oh, wait, now I get it! Age before beauty, right? Guess that means I should go first!]

And just like that, chaos erupted.

"AHHH! Doctor, it hurts so bad! That damn thing is kicking me. Get it out, now!"

There she was, right on cue.

My sister completely lost control. She started kicking and thrashing like a raccoon on Red Bull inside that actress's belly, screaming, crying, and having a full-blown meltdown.

One moment, she was crying for her mom, and the next, she was cussing out the baby like it had ruined her whole life.

Meanwhile, I took a deep, full breath while surrounded by amniotic fluid, rolled my neck slightly, and cheerfully thought:

[Hang tight, Daddy and Mommy. Your baby girl's on the way!]

With a confident push, I braced myself with both hands and feet and propelled myself toward the light, landing softly on the delivery bed. I wailed loudly, as if starring in a film about perfect newborns.

The whole room froze.

The billionaire, the doctors, the nurses, and everyone stood there with their mouths open, staring as if I'd just done a magic trick.

Even my sweet, soft-hearted mom was still catching up to what had just happened.

"She's… already out?" someone stammered. "I've never seen a delivery go this smoothly! Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. You've got an angel baby!"

Mom gathered me into her arms, laughing and crying all at once. "Leon, look at her! The moment I held her, she stopped crying. She's even smiling at me!"

My billionaire father's eyes filled with tears. He pulled both of us into a protective hug, his voice thick with emotion.

"She didn't want you to suffer. That's our little girl, so thoughtful already."

At that moment, he named me: Lucy Pearl Gardner, Heaven's precious pearl.

And because my dad never did anything halfway, he immediately announced the launch of a charitable foundation in my name and transferred 5% of the Gardner Group's shares to it.

"This is your reward, my precious daughter," he said, like he'd been waiting years for this exact moment.

Inside, I was doing mental cartwheels.

Meanwhile, my sister was losing her mind in the delivery room next door.

She was so furious, she nearly made Vivian black out from the pain. In the end, they couldn't take it anymore and went with an emergency C-section.

Word traveled fast.

It didn't take long for the entire hospital to buzz with gossip about the "miracle baby" born naturally and peacefully, and the "debt collector" who had to be cut out while screaming in agony.

As for Vivian? She didn't even bother looking at her newborn. Just waved her off like yesterday's trash and had a nurse carry her away.

Meanwhile, I was tucked in right next to my mom, cozy and snug, placed there personally by my tycoon dad himself.

I was beginning to drift off, wrapped in warmth and smelling my mom's perfume, when a shadow crossed over me.

A pale, strikingly handsome face appeared above mine.

Amber eyes, sharp jawline, expression cold and unreadable.

Oh, I knew that face...

Even from this angle, I recognized him immediately. That was the obsessive older stepbrother—the one who ruined my sister's life during our last encounter.

I remembered everything.

Ever since my sister was born, she hated him. She despised how he was always around and called him a leech, a freeloader riding on the Gardner name. She even mocked him to his face and behind his back, but he wasn't just anyone.

He was the grandson of my grandfather's best friend. After Grandpa passed, my dad took him in and raised him like blood.

And my sister? She relentlessly tormented him, humiliated him at school, socially isolated him, and wore him down until only steel and silence remained.

Eventually, he changed.

He became cold, calculating, and dangerous.

But he also became brilliant.

Straight out of college, Dad handed him the entire Gardner Group and named him CEO.

My sister, who was spoiled and accustomed to having everything handed to her, finally realized what was slipping away from her.

So what did she do? She panicked and made the worst move possible. She hired some men to kidnap him or maybe something even worse.

It backfired, of course.

She ended up disfigured, paralyzed, and ruined.

In truth, she never comprehended the most important rule when it comes to yanderes.

You don't fight him.

You win him over.

And this time, that was precisely what I planned to do.

[Wow! Big bro is gorgeous. I already like him!]

I looked up at him, channeling all the innocence I had as a baby, and reached out with both tiny hands, almost pleading for a hug.

Immediately, something shifted on his face. His stern expression softened slightly. Those icy amber eyes flickered with surprise and a gentler emotion.

"Hic… ahh… hug…"I spoke my very first word.

Gasps erupted on either side of me.

"Did our little girl just call for her brother?" Mom whispered, eyes shining.

"Lance, I think your sister already likes you," Dad chuckled, clearly thrilled. "Go on, give her a hug."

Lance stood there, frozen and still, struggling to process everything. Before he could voice any objections, someone gently placed me in his arms.

At first, he held me awkwardly, stiff and unsure. However, his hands were careful and almost reverent, as if he were afraid I might break.

And his eyes, which had always been empty and guarded, were beginning to shift just the tiniest bit.

[Wow… he's so handsome. And he's my brother? His eyes are gorgeous, but why do they look so sad? Don't worry, big bro. With me here, you'll never be lonely again.]

The moment those thoughts reached him, Lance went utterly still. He had spent his entire life relying on no one—always polite, distant, and entirely numb to the loneliness that accompanied being unwanted.

No one had ever truly seen him, let alone spoken to the part of him he didn't dare show until now.

For the first time, someone reached into that cold, quiet space within him and ignited a spark.

His amber eyes gradually softened; the edges were no longer sharp, but instead tentative and curious.

Gently, almost as if he feared I might shatter, he laid me back in the crib. Then, without saying a word, he reached up and unclasped the ivory pendant from around his neck. The metal was still warm from his skin. He carefully fastened it around mine.

"This was the only thing my mother ever left me," he whispered. "Now… it'll protect you."

My chest ached with warmth. I knew exactly how much that pendant meant to him. That was the only thing connecting him to his mom, and he just gave it to me, no big deal.

Across the room, the billionaire and his wife—who are now my parents—watched us with tears in their eyes, holding each other as if they had just witnessed something sacred. It was the kind of moment you spend your whole life hoping to experience.

From that day on, Lance came to visit me at the postpartum center every single day.

And bit by bit, the frost on his face started to thaw.

Whenever I reached out with my tiny fingers to grab his hand, he'd freeze and quickly turn his head away. But the soft blush climbing up the tips of his ears always gave him away.

It wasn't long before he was mixing my formula and feeding me himself, holding the bottle with stiff hands as if I were made of glass.

From day one, I refused breast milk and only drank formula.

[Mom carried me for nine whole months. She deserves to rest now. I want to be a thoughtful baby.]

I even stuck to a perfect schedule, sleeping by 10 p.m. like clockwork, and waking up by 7 a.m. If I ever got hungry during the night, I pressed the nurse call button instead of crying or waking up Mom.

Unsurprisingly, I became the darling of the center.

And once I realized how much everyone loved a smart, polite baby, I started showing off just a little.

First, I started with 'Mommy' and 'Daddy.' Then I leveled up, calling the nurses 'Miss' and the other moms 'Ma'am.' The whole postpartum center lit up with excitement.

"Pearl's a genius baby!"

"She's talking already? She's barely a month old!"

While I was busy stealing hearts, my sister—on the opposite side of the center—was beginning to attract some attention as well. Her features had started to sharpen, and her skin was as fair and delicate as porcelain. People began commenting that she looked like a doll straight out of a luxury boutique.

And that was all it took for Vivian, my sister's new mom, to discover her motherly instincts suddenly. She cradled my sister like she was priceless fine silverware, softly singing lullabies as she rocked her in her arms. And then, to everyone's surprise, my sister started humming along.

That sent the whole center into a frenzy.

"No way! Two prodigy babies under one roof?"

"One's talking, the other's harmonizing? What are the odds?!"

During group events or check-ups, my sister would parade around as if she owned the place, chin held high and full of pride.

She made sure to shoot me a look every time, the kind that said:

[Watch yourself, sis. This time, I'm winning.]

Finally, after our one-month stay ended, Vivian couldn't get out of there fast enough. She practically ran out with my sister in her arms.

I knew exactly where she was headed.

She was about to visit her so-called sugar daddy — the man who had been financing her entire lifestyle.

Just like in our last life.

She thought now that she had "his child," she had finally locked down her place. But she was in for a brutal wake-up call.

The man took one look at them, slammed the door in her face, and tossed a wad of cash at her like she was a problem he was tired of fixing.

He was married, and his wife came from a powerful political family, so he wasn't about to jeopardize that.

He looked her dead in the eyes and said coldly, "Take the money and keep your mouth shut. Or I have ten thousand ways to make you and that kid disappear."

She took the money but never let go of the humiliation. She held onto that rage, letting it fester inside her. Eventually, she directed every ounce of that twisted energy into raising her daughter as a perfect, obedient weapon.

She smothered her, controlled her, and drilled her like she was some soulless machine.

She only lets me sleep four hours a day. The rest of my time was consumed with work: studying, dancing, acting, singing, and rehearsing like a show pony. She kept polishing until my shine dulled.

The exhaustion chipped away at me, day after day.

Once, I twisted my ankle so badly during a dance rehearsal that I nearly ended up with permanent damage.

And what did she do?

While I lay on the hospital bed, she opened a livestream.

She exploited my pain and injury for sympathy, using it as a means to garner new sponsors and roles. She milked it dry to feed her own rising fame.

By the time I turned eighteen, she looked me straight in the eye and told me it was time to "repay her" for raising me. She taught me how to please the industry's powerful men. How to survive in a world built on favors, deals, and fake smiles.

Eventually, she reached her goal.

She became a film queen.

And I became a superstar.

The country's hottest actress.

But the cost?

My body. My dignity. My tears.

So when Freya, my sister, who had literally kicked me into that woman's womb, showed up years later in a wheelchair, dragging me toward my death like some tragic villain in a drama…

She had no idea what kind of hell I had already clawed my way out of.

In my previous life, by the end of that life, I felt utterly empty and drained in every way possible—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn't even have the strength to want anything anymore. Not even to live.

But this time around? It was my sister walking that same path. The same one that broke me.

At first, everything seemed picture-perfect for her. The media crowned her the 'Internet's Little Angel,' and she soaked up the spotlight like it was made just for her.

Meanwhile, I lived like royalty in the Gardner household. A proper little princess, doted on and spoiled absolutely rotten.

Whenever my hopelessly in love parents got too caught up in their dramatic, PDA-heavy love sessions, I'd quietly slip away to spend time with my true favorite: my obsessive, emotionally reformed foster brother.

Lance never minded. If anything, he seemed to look forward to it. He genuinely enjoyed how clingy I was, how I followed him like a shadow.

Back in our old life, he was invisible in this house and treated like a ghost. A polite, cold, unwanted ghost. But now? Now he had someone. He had me.

And I had him.

Unlike my sister, I never tried to isolate him. I didn't treat him like some lurking threat. No, I made sure everyone knew I adored him.

I followed him around nonstop, chirping things like, "My brother is so smart," and "My brother's the best!" like a broken record.

Honestly, I embarrassed him sometimes, but he never stopped me.

On stormy nights, I would sneak into his room, hugging a pillow to my chest and looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

"Can I sleep with you tonight? Please?"

At first, he tried to keep a straight face and play the role of responsible big brother.

But the combo of baby talk and crocodile tears was always too much.

"Fine," he'd mutter with a sigh. "Just stay on your side and behave, got it?"

And just like that, I was curled up in his bed.

He'd gently pat my back until I drifted off, and each time, something warm and solid would settle in my heart. Safe. Steady.

In the old timeline, he had a tough life. He was raised in someone else's home, never truly accepted, and always had to tread carefully.

My sister treated him poorly.

She bullied him constantly, made him an outcast at school, and even plotted to have him kidnapped—maybe even killed—once she saw him as competition.

So yeah, no wonder Lance cracked. No wonder he became cold, twisted, and dangerous.

But this time, I did things differently. I softened him instead of hardening him. I reached for him, not to control, but to care.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending. I really did get attached.

We were a team now.

[My big bro is the best. I'll grow up and protect him.]

That thought came from the deepest part of me.

Lance paused, then let out a soft, rare laugh. "Silly girl. I'm the big brother. I'm supposed to protect you."

Time flew after that.

By the time I was fifteen, I was surpassing grown adults in almost everything. Music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—you name it. I was mastering it. And of course, I kept my Heart-Voice Skill polished and ready, using it behind the scenes to quietly help the family.

I gave my billionaire dad a few nudges at just the right moments.

Thanks to those "little coincidences," he made some killer investments.

The Gardner fortune multiplied.

As for my sweet, clueless mom? I steered her away from a disaster that nearly shattered us in the last life.

She had a so-called best friend who once tried to drug Dad and seduce him. It almost worked. Their marriage nearly imploded.

And who was watching it all unfold, as if it were a soap opera?

My sister. She didn't lift a finger to stop it. She just let everything crash and burn.

Not this time.

Not with me in the picture.

This version of our family only grew stronger, tighter, happier.

One night, Dad looked at Lance and me and smiled so wide it softened every line on his face.

"With you two in the Gardner family, I can finally relax."

I clung to Lance's arm, pouting dramatically. "I just want my big brother to spoil me forever. I'll always be his little princess!"

The look in his eyes when I said that? It was fiercely tender all at once. That moment ignited a fire in him. From then on, he pushed himself harder, took on more responsibility, and quietly built up his strength as if preparing for war, because he had a promise to keep.

He swore he'd protect me for life.

Then came the headlines.

I started noticing Freya appearing in entertainment news, receiving praise and admiration. The media called her the rising goddess of the screen. Vivian named her Freya Lennox, which was nothing surprising, and the press couldn't stop praising her looks and potential.

And then, finally, I saw her again in person.

It was at my eighteenth birthday party.

She walked in with Vivian at her side, wearing a designer gown, with her hair and makeup flawless. She had all the right moves—the grace, the poise, the smile—but her eyes were empty and devoid of life.

Still, when Freya spotted me stepping out in a simple, elegant dress, her whole demeanor changed. Her spine straightened, her chin lifted, and she strutted over like she'd just claimed victory on a battlefield.

"Pearl," she sneered, her voice full of fake sweetness, "looks like you've been living a pretty pathetic life these last few years, huh? I heard the Gardners don't even care about you anymore. Everyone says all their attention is on that freak, Lance. And you? You're just some worthless reject they keep around out of pity."

I was about to respond, but before I could open my mouth, a cold voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Who are you calling a freak?"

Freya's smug expression vanished.

She turned and froze, face draining of color.

And I knew exactly why.

Because Lance was standing behind me, tall, terrifying, and completely unamused.

The same Lance who, in our past life, had dismantled her piece by piece. The one who broke her body, crushed her spirit, and left her in a wheelchair.

She never recovered from that.

And clearly, she hadn't forgotten a single second of it.