Reborn And Remade: Ruining My Toxic Family

Audrina POV:

"Audrina, couldn't you just obediently hand your design achievements over to me? Why did you have to fight and snatch them back?" my stepsister Elizabeth had sighed, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I originally didn't want to lay a hand on my own family, but you were just too willful. I had no choice but to ruin your face and destroy your reputation so you would finally stay at home and behave."

"Elizabeth, you are far too kind," my half brother Caleb had spat, kicking my bruised body while I was down. "A useless piece of trash like her only exists to disgust people."

"I regret ever giving birth to you. I should have strangled you the moment you were born instead of letting you taint our Morgan family's perfect image," my biological mother, Susan, had hissed, her eyes filled with nothing but pure hatred.

These three sentences, dripping with venom, had been the terrifying soundtrack of my agonizing death in my "last life." My own so called "good family" had mercilessly disfigured my face, framed me as a scandalous thief to ruin my future, and finally left me to die.

Even though I was Susan's biological daughter and possessed far more design talent than Elizabeth, Susan always turned a blind eye when they endlessly bullied me. She favored her stepdaughter and her spoiled son, treating me like disposable trash just to secure her wealthy lifestyle. That was the ultimate betrayal.

The deepest scar, however, was not from their daily cruelty, but from a horrific car crash in my past life. When a severe storm hit, our car was completely crushed by the unforgiving forces of nature. Mike, the driver, died on impact, his body mangled beyond recognition. In a split second of pure instinct, a foolish daughter's instinct, I threw myself over Susan, shielding her fragile body with my own. I paid the ultimate price. I was left critically injured, fighting for my life in the ICU for a grueling month. The constant, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor became my personal torture. My right wrist was severely crushed, the bones ground into a fine powder. The extensive nerve damage made it impossible to perform any fine movements. It took me years of agonizing, tear filled practice just to hold a pen and complete a design again.

And Susan? My biological mother walked away from that twisted metal wreckage without a single scratch. Yet, during my entire month in the sterile, cold ICU, she never shed a single tear for my ruined future. She never once held my healthy left hand to offer comfort. She only complained to the nurses about the inconvenience my expensive medical bills caused her.

But now, my eyes snapped open. I gasped, the bone deep chill of death fading, replaced by the humid, oppressive August air of Flint. I looked down at my trembling hands. My skin was flawless. I was breathing. I was alive. The suffocating despair was instantly replaced by a sharp, thrilling realization. I had been reborn.

I stood under the peeling paint of my grandmother's porch. My father was in prison, and my mother had abandoned me years ago. It was just me and Grandma Eleanor. But a few days ago, illness took her away, leaving my legal guardianship in the manicured, ruthless hands of my biological mother, Susan Price.

A black Mercedes S Class purred to a stop at the end of the street, the tires crunching loudly against the cheap gravel. The door opened and a woman in a flawless Chanel suit emerged. Susan. She held a delicate black umbrella, her expensive heels picking their way around muddy puddles with a disdain that was practically an art form.

"Look at this place. It is worse than our basement," she muttered, her eyes scanning my grandmother's porch with thinly veiled disgust. She then looked at my faded T-shirt and washed out jeans, her perfectly drawn eyebrows knitted together. "You look incredibly shabby, Audrina. Is that really all you have to wear?"

Her tone held no warmth of a reunion, only deep, unfiltered impatience.

"Why are you not at school at this hour? I went all the way to your school first and completely wasted my time!" Susan scolded, glaring at me as if I were a stain on her perfect life. "You are so undisciplined. You should really learn from your stepsister, Elizabeth. She is so gentle, kind, and excellent. And your half brother Caleb, he is brave and lively. You are absolutely nothing compared to them."

I lifted my head and met her furious gaze directly, a cold, mocking smirk slowly curving my lips. I felt no sorrow, only a chilling emptiness. Gentle and kind? The same Elizabeth who stole my design portfolio and spread vicious rumors that I slept with multiple old men for money? Brave and lively? I completely agreed. If using weapons against me and violently stabbing a classmate with a fruit knife was "brave," then sure. If Susan had not used the Morgan fortune to forcefully bury that bloody incident, her precious Caleb would be rotting in a juvenile detention center right now.

I watched her look so immensely proud of her two little monsters. Let these demons rejoice for a little longer, I thought. Because once the demon hunter arrives, their smiles will be wiped away forever.

"Elizabeth is always so dedicated to her studies, unlike you." Susan continued to ramble on, constantly using her two "perfect" children to trample on my dignity.

"I had a high fever for three days. I just recovered today," I interrupted her bluntly, my voice icy and devoid of any daughterly affection.

Susan's boastful words caught in her throat. She froze for a second, but then quickly scoffed to save face. "So what? Elizabeth still insists on going to school even when she has a severe cold! You just had a little fever and you skipped three whole days of classes? How pathetic."

Finding it boring to continue this one sided argument, she waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever. Hurry up and pack your things," she commanded arrogantly. "I do not want to spend another second in this miserable dump."

I did not argue. I turned and walked inside, slowly and deliberately packing my few belongings. I took a massive amount of time to pack a very small amount of things, folding each faded shirt with exaggerated care.

I kept glancing at the rusted clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. I had to try my hardest to stall for time. I was waiting for the severe weather to brew. This time, I would not let her drag me to my death.