Mother stepped out of the room, her figure graceful as always, but her hand was tightly wrapped around her wrist.
Lina.
The snake in human skin. The girl who wrapped herself in fake smiles and syrupy words. The girl who broke my family from the inside out while I stood there, blind and naive.
Now she followed Mother out, looking lost—confused even, as if her little plan had just slipped through her perfectly manicured fingers.
I didn't care.
Not anymore.
The moment they were gone, I turned on my heel and headed straight for the bathroom.
I scrubbed away the blood of my past life with rose-scented soap. Every drop that fell down the drain felt like another layer of regret I was shedding. My skin glowed. My heart raced.
I was no longer the forgotten daughter trying to survive.
I was the reborn daughter, here to thrive.
After dressing in soft cream silk, I made my way to the study.
Father's sanctuary.
There he was, just as I remembered—his tall frame seated behind the mahogany desk, eyes fixed on the heirloom in his hand.
The same one I was wrongly accused of stealing.
He looked… different. Tired. Sad. As if holding that piece of jewelry connected him to a child he no longer understood.
I walked in slowly.
"Father," I said gently, and his eyes snapped to mine.
I smiled and sat before him, then began speaking softly—just like he used to love.
"I read about that heirloom. It's not just gold, is it? It was passed down from Great-grandfather. The crest means strength through truth, and the lion... that was our ancestor's symbol, right?"
His eyes widened just slightly. That look—the flicker of surprise mixed with pride.
In my first life, I tried so hard to make him proud. So hard that I lost myself.
But Lina made me seem loud, clumsy, careless.
Now?
I gave him facts. History. Heart.
"I always wanted to be the child you were proud of," I whispered. "I know I failed before, but I—"
"You didn't fail," he said quietly.
And that was all I needed.
We talked.
About my upcoming birthday.
About the heirloom's secrets.
About school and how terrible I was at sports but still insisted on joining track because I thought it would make him laugh.
He did laugh this time.
And I laughed too. Because I was finally feeling everything I'd lost.
Then, the door creaked open.
Mother entered with a soft smile, the tension from earlier gone.
I stood, walked over, and without thinking, laid my head on her lap like I used to when I was little.
She stroked my hair with gentle fingers. Father chuckled as he sipped his tea.
Warmth. Peace. Safety.
This… was my family.
And I would burn the world to protect it.
I would rip the masks off every green tea bitch, every fake cousin, every vulture in silk who whispered poison into their ears.
No one will steal them from me this time.
Just as Mother's fingers brushed through my hair—so soft, so lovingly—I heard it.
That voice.
Venomous. Plastic. Disgustingly sweet.
"I—I'm sorry, Uncle," Lina whimpered from the doorway. "I forgot she took it. I admit my mistake. I thought maybe she had returned it already. Please… don't be angry at me."
My stomach turned.
The act again.
Always the fragile one. Always the misunderstood little dove flapping its wings in a storm she created.
I could feel Mother's hand pause.
Father set down his cup, his expression unreadable.
I sat up slowly from Mother's lap and turned to face her—Lina, standing there in her pale blue dress like a sad porcelain doll, lips quivering with crocodile guilt.
She was expecting silence.
She was expecting the old me.
The awkward, defensive me.
The me who'd lash out, cry, and look exactly like the ungrateful child she painted me to be.
Instead—
I smiled.
Sweet. Gentle. Lethal.
"Never mind," I said in the softest, most delicate tone. "Daddy's not angry at you, right?"
I looked at him, my eyes wide and shimmering with innocence.
"You know he can't stay angry at you for long."
Father blinked. Mother tilted her head. They both looked slightly confused.
But Lina?
Her entire soul shook.
Because I had never defended her before.
And she knew—this wasn't kindness.
This was war, dressed in a baby pink ribbon.
She opened her mouth, probably to launch another round of twisted guilt and subtle slander. But I saw the way her throat bobbed.
She swallowed her words.
Good girl.
With a quick bow and a weak smile, she stepped back, quietly leaving the room like a dog with its tail between its legs.
I turned back to my parents, reaching for Mother's hand and resting my head gently against her shoulder.
We said nothing for a while.
Because some victories don't need applause.
Some battles are won with silence.
And I had just made my first move.
One down.
More snakes to slay.