Chapter 4: The Birthday Divide

Bethany refused to live in the toxic house. She wouldn’t even consider the guest room—those were for “lesser people,” she screeched.

She threatened to run away, to move in with her boyfriend in SoHo. Mrs. Thompson tried to bribe her with the master bedroom, and Zachary sent her five-figure Venmo transfers before she finally calmed down.

Late that night, I overheard Mrs. Thompson and Zachary laying into Mr. Thompson behind the cracked study door. Mrs. Thompson raged, her voice stripped of its country club polish. “And you have the nerve to call yourself a daughter slave? Is this how you treat our daughter? You’re just a liar!”

Mr. Thompson protested, “You think I don’t love Bethany? But the system’s mission—if I don’t let them switch, the affection value keeps dropping. I can’t die over something so small!”

Mrs. Thompson snapped, “I said from the start, ignore that damn system. Bethany doesn’t like Rachel, we shouldn’t bring her back. What good ever comes from an orphanage kid? You think I don’t know what those places are like? Group homes breed criminals! You wouldn’t listen—now she’s playing you!”

“I heard the binding alert too, I just ignored it. Aren’t I living fine?”

“In the end you’re selfish! Some ghost thing spooks you and suddenly you don’t care about your own daughter! Robert, you don’t deserve Bethany.”

Zachary sneered, “So what if there’s a system? She’s an ugly orphan who can’t even compare to Bethany’s toe. Just throw her some designer bags and she’ll be conquered.”

I rolled my eyes and headed for bed—Bethany’s former suite, with a California king bed that felt like heaven after years of threadbare group home mattresses.

Bethany’s birthday arrived, and the Thompsons threw her a lavish party at the St. Regis. Because I shared her birthday, they hastily bought me a dress and some jewelry, scrambling to add me to the celebration.

Mr. Thompson, desperate to up my affection value, called his personal shopper to snag a Dior couture gown—nothing less than Bethany’s.

Bethany’s fury was volcanic. She screamed at her father, banned him from her party, and even Mrs. Thompson and Zachary joined in to drive him away. Mr. Thompson left cursing, the chandelier rattling in his wake.

Mrs. Thompson had a pink diamond necklace custom-made for Bethany—a dazzling Harry Winston piece that nearly blinded me. She gazed at Bethany like a pageant mom in love with her own creation.

But the system voice blared in her mind: [System Alert: Host, affection value dropping fast. -5, -10, -15… Warning!]

Only then did Mrs. Thompson glance at me, as if noticing a stain on her designer carpet. She plucked off her pearl studs—the kind you see on every PTA president—and handed them to me like a consolation prize. “Rachel, happy birthday.”

She saw me eyeing the necklace and forced a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming back before, so I didn’t have time to prepare a gift.”

“I can tell you’re a sensible child. You won’t blame Mom, right? You’ll understand.”

Last life, I’d have clung to these like a lifeline. Now, all I see is someone else’s leftovers. In my last life, she used this exact trick to guilt me into compliance, and I fell for it.

This time, I tilted my head and said honestly, “What should I do? I don’t like your gift at all.”

Mrs. Thompson froze, her forced smile slipping. I smiled, sharp as broken glass. If they wanted a conquest, they’d have to work for it this time.