In my last life, the System let my parents swap my SAT scores with my twin's.

I was always top of my class—until I magically bombed with a 640.

Amelia Everton? Scored a perfect 1520, like she'd earned it.

The internet went nuts. Everyone called me a fraud.

My parents played innocent on TV, said I'd been cheating for years. Every college ghosted me.

Then they kicked me out. I froze to death alone.

Not this time. I'm taking it all back—every last thing they stole.

I died on Christmas Eve, in the middle of a packed street.

Snow kept falling, slow and steady, until it buried me.

Just minutes before, I was outside in rags, watching my "family" laugh through their holiday dinner.

That was when I heard it—the truth.

I wasn't their daughter.

I never looked like Amelia Everton, but Mom always said we were fraternal twins. I believed her.

Turns out, they pulled me from an orphanage because the System told them to—just so they could steal my future when the SATs hit.

I was always top of my class. But thanks to them, I tanked. Amelia came out shining, ranked first in the city.

Prestigious universities and local reporters wouldn't stop calling.

I was supposed to be the school's pride. But the second my score tanked, it blew up online.

Every feed was flooded with people calling me a fraud.

My parents doubled down, told reporters I'd been cheating for years. Said I got caught senior year.

Colleges dropped me instantly.

Then they said I'd shamed the family and threw me out.

All that... over the SATs.

My whole life had been a setup—just to boost someone else.

And I wasn't ready to let that be the end.

***

When I opened my eyes, I was back—senior year. The same year they made me help Amelia cheat.

Across the table, they smiled, sliding over a rare cut of meat like it was some big reward.

"Evelyn, now that you're in senior year, just help your sister during exams, okay?" Mom beamed. "You know her grades aren't great. Just feed her a few answers—help her save face."

Last time, I was so thrown by their sudden "kindness" that I agreed on the spot.

I actually thought if I helped, maybe they'd love me back.

Every time Amelia's scores came in glowing and they tossed me a fake compliment, I clung to it for days—like it meant something.

Meanwhile, Amelia got showered in praise just for breathing.

It never occurred to me that helping her cheat would be the start of my downfall.

I was clueless then, walking straight into the trap.

Now, I looked down at the fat meat in my plate—stuff I'd never even liked—and caught the edge in their eyes.

I dropped to my knees. "Mom, it's not that I don't want to help Amelia. I just... I really can't."

Silence.

Amelia didn't even look up. "Dad, Mom, she just doesn't want to help me."

Their heads snapped to me, eyes full of suspicion. That was how it always went. If Amelia said it, it had to be true.

"Evelyn Everton! Can't you be a little more considerate? You won't even do us this small favor? We raised you for nothing. You've really let us down."

It had been the same last time. One look like that, and I'd cave—every time.

Their "small favor" meant risking everything just to feed Amelia answers for a whole year.

Once, a teacher even caught me. I took the fall to protect her. That lie? It became their biggest piece of "proof" when they told the world I was a cheater.

I kept my face soft, eyes downcast—but inside, I was done playing nice.

"Dad, Mom, Amelia... It's not what you think. I've been dizzy a lot. Short of breath. Even had a nosebleed in class. My teacher said I should take a year off to rest."

Back then, I survived on scraps while Amelia got the good stuff. I scrubbed their clothes in freezing water, handled all the chores, studied until my body broke down.

No sleep, no food, no care—just endless tutoring and pressure.

Of course I collapsed. Of course I died that night.

I'd tried to speak up before.

They never listened.

But this time, I was done sacrificing myself. That fear—freezing to death, alone—still clung to me. Nothing mattered more than staying alive.

I started coughing, hard, until tears blurred my vision. Then I pulled out a blood-streaked tissue, hand shaking.

Their eyes widened—shock, annoyance, a flicker of panic. But not one drop of actual concern.

Mom's voice cut through, low and tense. "System, what's happening? Why is her health crashing? Should we take her to the hospital?"

The reply came in that weird robotic tone: "Unusual. Her vitals are low, but not dangerously so. No big deal—as long as she makes it to the SATs. Take her in for a checkup, just in case."

But Mom hadn't moved her lips. Only she and that creepy voice had said anything—Dad and Amelia just stared, freaked out.

So Mom could talk to the System.

And I could hear it.

Lucky me.

She gave the tiniest nod, then slapped on a fake worried look, helped me up, and promised a hospital trip tomorrow.

Step one: done.

I wasn't actually sick.

Just red ink. Classic fake-out.

***

Money changes everything. Instead of curling up in a freezing kitchen with cramps and cheap painkillers like last time, I got a full hospital checkup.

The doctor said I was seriously undernourished. No more heavy lifting, eat on time, take supplements, rest—or I'd crash within a year.

After that, I had the first real meal of my life. Stuff I used to only dream about was plated perfectly in front of me. They even told me to eat more.

I nearly cried with every bite.

But the anger just kept building.

That fire in my chest? It snapped me out of it and shoved me straight into step two.

"Mom, the doctor said no heavy work for me... so who's handling the chores now?"

I added, all soft and shaky, "I really want to help out, but my body's just not holding up. If I push it, I might have to take medical leave like the teacher warned... and it's such an important year. I don't even know if I'll do okay on the SATs..."

Last time, I couldn't live in the dorms. Had to come home daily just to cook for them. I even packed balanced meals for Amelia while I ate leftovers. Still, I studied like crazy—because it was the only shot I had.

I let a few tears slip, lifted my pale face, and hit them with the saddest look I could pull off.

Mom jumped in fast. "Don't worry about the house. We'll handle it. Just focus on getting better and studying. Starting now, you'll stay at school. I'll make you something nice on the weekends."

I gave her a small, guilty nod.

Inside? I was laughing.

They weren't helping me—they just wanted to dump me at school. Like a couple of weekend meals could buy off my future?

No chance. Everything you stole from me last time—I'd take it back. One piece at a time.

***

Mom, Dad, and Amelia pushed me to get back to school so I wouldn't fall behind.

I played along, kept my head down, and went back to studying.

A month flew by. First round of senior practice exams—I let Amelia crash on her own. She pulled a 580.

I dropped mine on purpose, landing at 1390. Easy. With two lifetimes of grinding, faking scores was second nature.

When I walked in that night, the house felt thick with tension. They were on the couch, watching me like I'd committed a crime.

Their eyes said it all: if I wasn't number one, I was nothing.

Mom shot me a side-eye. Dad twirled a belt in his hand. Amelia popped grapes like she was front row at a show.

No surprise there—the belt was always next. Upset them even a little, or let Amelia whisper something nasty, and I'd get anything from skipped meals to a beating.

But this time, I dropped to my knees before it even started.

"Dad, Mom, I swear I've been trying. The cafeteria food's gross—I've been eating and throwing up all month. I'm sick all the time, falling asleep in class. Now with the cold, I even caught a cold. That's why my score tanked."

Only then did they seem to notice my pale face and the flimsy layer I had on. Their confusion was almost funny—like, 'We've ignored her for years and she was fine, so what's wrong now?'

My eyes stung. "How about I take the leave my teacher suggested? I can come home, help around, and Amelia can shine this year."

Silence. They knew Amelia's grades would humiliate them.

They waved me off, told me to rest. They needed to think.

Later that night, I crept out for water and caught Dad muttering in the living room. "Should we let Evelyn move back home?"

Mom snapped, "What? Move her back? Then I'd have to cook for her! She can't even wash dishes, so I'd be stuck doing her laundry too. Ugh, just seeing her face annoys me!"