Reborn, He Follows Dad into Poverty

After Dad went bankrupt, Mom was demanding a divorce.

I didn’t fight or argue, just watched coldly as my younger brother Asher pushed me aside and ran to Dad:

“Don’t be sad, Dad. I’m here for you!”

In my past life, after Mom and Dad split up, Asher went with our wealthy mother while I stayed with our bankrupt father.

But Mom remarried a real loser who not only squandered all her money but kicked her out too.

Asher suffered right along with her.

Meanwhile, Dad built a successful business and got rich again.

Consumed by jealousy over my good fortune, Asher caused my death in a car crash.

When I opened my eyes again, we’d both gone back to the day the divorce was finalized.

This time, Asher gave me a provocative smile and quickly announced, “I love Dad, and I want to go with him.”

He had no idea I was smiling even wider inside. I was so done with running and hiding all the time!

Asher looped his arm through Dad’s, pouting playfully.

“Dad, please let me stay with you! I love you more than anyone, and I’m not scared of hard times.”

Coming from Asher—who’d been spoiled rotten and totally self-centered his whole life—those words actually moved Dad.

He didn’t even notice Mom’s furious expression beside them.

“No way! Asher will suffer if he stays with you. The court will side with me for custody,” Mom stepped forward to object.

So Asher would suffer with Dad, but I was just some afterthought? Disposable?

In the courtroom, they fought tooth and nail over Asher’s custody, with lawyers throwing around all kinds of documents. I might as well have been invisible—a ghost in the room, completely ignored.

In the end, maybe it was Asher’s own firm declaration to the judge that made the difference.

Mom reluctantly settled on me, like an afterthought.

I got into my stepfather Mr. Waylon’s sleek luxury car with Mom.

Asher skipped along, holding Dad’s hand.

Before we left, he shot me a smug, challenging look.

I didn’t care one bit.

After all, Mom was loaded now, and Dad’s situation was a total disaster.

In my past life, he dragged me from one hideout to another every day just to avoid creditors.

I couldn’t focus on school at all.

The business failure and Mom leaving hit him really hard.

He completely checked out, drowning himself in cheap booze in our run-down apartment, ignoring everything.

Even though I was a straight-A student, I couldn’t afford tuition and had to take care of him, forcing me to drop out early and get a job.

Asher, though? He had it way easier than me.

He was good-looking and knew how to charm our parents. They both spoiled him rotten.

Plus, being the younger one, they always used that old line: I was the big sister, so I had to be responsible and always put my little brother first.

Even after the divorce, both parents only wanted him.

But this time, he ultimately chose Dad, giving Dad a moment of petty triumph in front of Mom.

Sitting in the car, Mom immediately started complaining.

“You’re always so quiet and withdrawn. Now that we’re moving in with Mr. Waylon, you need to learn to be more flexible, more clever.”

Whatever. The car pulled into an upscale neighborhood with mansions.

I knew Mr. Waylon was rich in my past life, but I hadn’t realized he was this loaded.

Mr. Waylon enrolled me in the city’s most prestigious private school.

I had a private driver taking me to and from school every day.

To make up for the education I’d lost in my past life, I hit the books hard.

I excelled, maintaining a perfect GPA.

Mom, who’d always ignored me before, suddenly couldn’t wait to attend parent-teacher conferences.

When she went, other parents would envy her, and teachers would praise her for having such an outstanding kid.

And since Mr. Waylon had no kids of his own, I was living pretty comfortably here.

I also started thinking about studying abroad.

“You’re too young to go overseas. Don’t think good grades mean you can actually take care of yourself.”

Before Mr. Waylon could even say anything, my own mother was already shooting down the idea.

Later, I learned that real hatred doesn’t need a reason.

Not even between a mother and her child.