My Sister Asked for a Miu Miu Dress,I Landed Her in the Hospital

The day my sister finished her SATs, she clung to me, nagging me to buy her a Miu Miu slip dress. So I grabbed her by the hair and put her in the hospital.

It was because, in my last life, my heart had ached for the ten brutal years she'd spent buried in textbooks, so I'd gritted my teeth and blown more than half a month's salary on that dress.

But the very next day, I became the criminal who had lured my own sister into selling her body, the one who'd driven her to jump off a building.

The investigators threw down a stack of screenshots, every one of them an intimate video of her in that slip dress, posted from an account registered under my ID card.

I fought to clear myself, but every payment record on my sister's phone, every transaction from her clients, was linked to an account tied to my bank card!

Even my ever-attentive boyfriend turned on me, claiming I'd been forcing my sister to sell herself the whole time.

My mother sobbed until she nearly fainted, clutching my sister's corpse, jabbing a finger at me and screaming:

"You animal! You'd sell your own sister for money? I should never have given birth to you!"

My father snatched up a rolling pin and broke my leg with it, pointing at the front door and ordering me out.

I had no way to defend myself. I was thrown into prison, where my furious cellmates beat me to death.

When I opened my eyes again, my sister was burrowing into my arms, shoving the product page for that dress at me.

"Sis, I just want this one dress. Buy it for me, please!"

I gripped the phone, the Miu Miu logo on the screen stabbing at my eyes until they ached.

My sister, Olivia Harding, was still squirming against me, dragging out the last syllable, soft and long.

"Sis, all my classmates have one, I'm the only one who doesn't. You're the best."

In my last life, it was that one line, "You're the best," that emptied my wallet without a fight.

And not just that. I'd pulled all-nighters for months tutoring her in math for the SATs. For that delicate stomach of hers, I'd come home from work every day and spend three hours simmering a special diet to settle it.

And what did I get in return?

A shattered shinbone. Cold fists and feet in a prison cell. An injustice I never managed to clear, all the way to my death.

I looked at Olivia's innocent, pure face, so much like my mother's, and my stomach heaved.

"Crack!"

I lost my grip, and the phone hit the floor, the screen splintering instantly.

Olivia froze.

I didn't give her time to react. I seized a fistful of her freshly dyed, light-brown hair and slammed her head hard into the wall.

Another dull thud.

It soothed me far more than the sound of the phone shattering.

"Ahh!"

Olivia screamed, collapsing to the floor with her arms over her head, blood seeping out between her fingers.

My mother came rushing out of the kitchen, the spatula slipping from her hand to the floor.

"Amanda Harding! Have you lost your mind?!"

She threw herself down and gathered Olivia up, the look she gave me full of shock.

My father bolted out of the study too, jabbing a finger in my face, his lips trembling with rage.

"You, you little monster! She's your own sister!"

My own sister?

I laughed.

In my last life, this was exactly how they'd been. One cradling Olivia's corpse and cursing me as an animal, the other breaking my leg and ordering me out.

I ignored their roaring, calmly picked up the smashed phone, and dialed 911.

"Hello, I'd like to report an incident. I just hit my sister. She's bleeding."

The dispatcher on the other end clearly went still.

I kept going. "The address is Goldwater Residences, Building 3, Unit 1, Apartment 1202. I think there's something wrong with me mentally. I'm requesting an involuntary psychiatric hold and police involvement."

With that, I hung up. Under my parents' shock-frozen stares, I walked to the entryway and fished my father's car keys out of his coat pocket.

"Before the ambulance and the police get here, I'll take her to the hospital myself."

I hauled the limp Olivia up, ignoring her wails and struggling, and dragged her toward the door.

The hospital corridor was a blinding white, and the smell of disinfectant crawled up into my nose.

Olivia had been wheeled into the ER, her head wrapped in gauze, still crying in broken little hitches.

My parents stood guard at the door. My father didn't say a word, but I could feel the anger he was holding back.

My mother just glared at me, like she wanted to tear me apart and swallow me whole.

The police arrived quickly. After getting the basics and taking a look at Olivia's injuries, they brought me to the hospital's security office to take my statement.

"Why did you hit your sister?" the young officer asked.

"She wanted a very expensive dress. I wouldn't buy it for her, so we started arguing." I answered without flinching.

"You argued, so you put your hands on her? And this hard?"

I lowered my eyes, letting just the right amount of fragility creep into my voice.

"Work's been really stressful lately. My emotions have been all over the place. I couldn't control myself."

"Officer, can I request a psychiatric evaluation?"

"I'm scared something might actually be wrong with me, that I'll hurt my family again."

The way the officer looked at me shifted, the scrutiny softening into something closer to sympathy.

As we were talking, the door to the security office swung open.

My boyfriend, Gerard Gilbert, rushed in, his face all anxious worry.

"Mandy, your mom and dad told me what happened. Are you okay?"

He went around the officer and reached for my hand. I twisted away.

In my last life, it was him. He'd shown up with a stack of intimate photos of the two of us, and told the police, with all the heartbroken sincerity he could muster, that my private life was a mess, that I'd been thinking about pimping out my sister for money long before any of this.

Beneath that tender, devoted shell of his was nothing but calculation that couldn't stand the light of day.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I was worried about you." His brows knit together as he turned to the officer.

"Officer, there's definitely been a misunderstanding here. Mandy adores her sister. She'd never lay a hand on her for no reason."

He played the part so well.

The disgust in my chest was enough to make me sick, but on the surface I still had to perform that old dependence and fragility, my fingertips trembling just slightly.

My mother had followed in too, crying as she pleaded with the officer.

"Officer, my younger daughter just doesn't know any better. Her sister's been under so much pressure with school and work. We won't press charges. We'd like to drop the case."

I watched the two of them play their little duet with cold eyes.

They wanted to file this away as a "family dispute," to slap an "emotionally unstable" label on me, so they'd have an easier time smearing me down the road.

I didn't wait for the officer to speak. I stood up.

"No. I want this filed as a formal case. I need legal protection and medical intervention."

Everyone froze.

Gerard recovered first. He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"Mandy, haven't you made enough of a scene? Do you really have to blow this up?"

I looked at him, and a sudden catch came into my voice.

"Gerard, my old ID card is missing. It must have fallen out on the way to the hospital. Can you go report it lost for me first?"

For a split second, Gerard's expression went stiff.

Of course he knew where my ID was.

"Okay. I'll go right now." He composed himself quickly and gently stroked my hair.

"Don't be afraid. I've got you."

I watched his back as he turned and walked away, my eyes rimmed red, but the smile at the corner of my mouth turning colder and colder.

I spent the whole night in the hospital's observation room.

The police took my suggestion and kept me under their protection until my psychiatric evaluation was finished.

Early the next morning, the preliminary results of my evaluation came back.

Acute stress disorder, brought on by a prolonged high-pressure environment.

Not quite an illness, but more than enough to serve as my reason for losing control.

My parents came to pick me up, exhaustion and impatience written across their faces.

"Amanda, you've had your fun. Now come home with us." My father's voice was hard.

My mother didn't say a word, but those eyes, full of disgust, said everything.

I didn't move.

"Where's Olivia? How is she?"

"Mild concussion. She's already home resting." My mother's voice was cold. "Satisfied?"

I nodded.

"Good."

I followed them out of the hospital. Gerard's car was parked right out front.

He pulled the door open for me, his eyes brimming with concern.

"Mandy, get in. I made you some soup to help you recover."

I slid into the seat, and he handed me a beautifully wrapped box.

"Didn't your phone break? I bought you a new one, and I got your SIM replaced too." He smiled, gentle as ever. "The passcode is your birthday."

I opened the box. Inside lay the latest model.

Exactly the same one he'd so thoughtfully given me in my last life.

I lifted my head and gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Gerard. You're so good to me. You're all I have now."

A flicker of smugness crossed his eyes and was gone.

Back home, the air inside was so stifling it was hard to breathe.

Olivia lay on the couch, gauze taped to her forehead. The moment she saw me, she shrank behind my mother like she'd seen a ghost.

My mother instantly wrapped her up like a hen guarding her chick, glaring at me.

I ignored them and walked straight into my own room, closing the door.

I held the new phone and drew the curtains shut.

In my past life, it wasn't until I was in prison, just before I died, that I remembered how this phone always ran abnormally hot and drained its battery far too fast.

There were even several times when I was in the shower and the screen, left outside, would light up on its own.

I didn't go hunting for cameras. Instead, I pulled out an old secondhand phone and downloaded a local network sniffer tool.

Then I threw myself onto the bed and, facing the new phone, launched into a half-hour-long "complete breakdown," sobbing my heart out.

I cried the whole time while keeping my eyes locked on the screen of the secondhand phone.

Sure enough, a hidden data stream was uploading like mad.

I traced the IP address by capturing packets across the local network.

In the end, the readout showed the receiving end was right next door. My own mother's room.

I clenched my teeth hard, a chill running through my whole body.

Early the next morning, I went to the hospital for a blood draw and a hair analysis.

In the months before everything went wrong in my past life, I'd often blacked out and felt constantly drowsy. Back then I'd assumed it was just exhaustion from working too much.

Looking back now, someone had probably been tampering with my food and drink.

The rush results came back that afternoon.

My hair tested positive for residue of long-term use of neurological sedatives.

Lab report in hand, I went to an internet caf and hacked into the surveillance network in my family's living room.

I pulled up the footage from those nights I'd blacked out.

On the screen, my mother took out an old ID card of mine and sat down at the computer.

She held up my phone, aimed it at my face as I lay passed out on the couch, gently pried my eyes open, and completed the facial recognition scan.

That was how she'd bound the overseas accounts that posted the private videos and the bank cards that collected the payments.

The cold shot up from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head.

Coming out of the internet caf, I dialed Adrian Dickerson.

Adrian was the man my grandfather had left for me. He acted only on instructions.

"Adrian, lend me some people. There's something I need to look into."

I deliberately created a hidden file on my own computer desktop, named "Mental Breakdown Cry for Help."

It was filled with the ravings of someone desperate to strike back.

I knew my mother's surveillance was certain to see it.

The moment they panicked, they would use that overseas IP to stir up public opinion, sealing their own crimes beyond any doubt.

At the same time, I forged an offshore insurance policy in Grandfather's name, valued at a staggering fifty million.

I sent it to Gerard's computer as an encrypted email.

The moment he clicked it open, the trojan tucked inside would slip in instantly.

That night, I sat in front of my computer myself, watching the data the trojan fed back to me.

It took no effort at all to pull every transaction screenshot between Olivia, Gerard, and my mother over the past few days.

A week later came Olivia's college send-off party.

Gerard and Olivia had anonymously planted rumors online, leaking that the elder daughter of a certain wealthy family had been abusing her younger sister for years.

A few blurry photos of Olivia covered in bruises even made the rounds on social media.

The smear war didn't just fester online. It reached all the way to my company.

I'd barely stepped into the office when my boss slammed a termination letter onto my desk, his face dark.

"Amanda, a woman as vicious as you is a disgrace to this company! Pack your things and get out!"

The coworkers around me shoved their phones right up in my face, recording.

"Acted so high and mighty all this time, and she's nothing but a whore who forced her own little sister to sell her body."

"Harms her own sister. Disgusting. Just go die already."

I didn't argue. I watched their ugly little performance with cold eyes, then turned and walked out of the company.

Things at home were worse.

Every day the front door got splashed with red paint, the glaring word "DIE" smeared across it.

In the middle of the night, came the thunderous "bang, bang, bang" of someone pounding on the door.

A pack of young girls in face masks were holding selfie sticks, livestreaming.

"Drop a like, everybody. Today we're camping out at this evil woman's door. Every time she comes out, we beat her!"

Soon the internet and power were cut off.

I was trapped in a pitch-black room. Outside were the rabid mob; inside the door were my own family.

"Bang! "

My mother and Gerard kicked my bedroom door open, several people in white coats behind them.

In Gerard's hand was a "severe schizophrenia" evaluation, written up by a doctor they'd paid off.

"Mandy, you're far too sick. You need to be committed."

Gerard sneered as he directed the burly men to take out the restraint straps.

My mother watched coldly from the side, the way you'd watch a dying dog.

"Just sign this 'Guardianship Agreement for the Property of a Mentally Ill Person.'"

Gerard tossed a stack of papers and a pen down in front of me.

"Once this blows over, I'll handle everything. Otherwise, you'll spend the rest of your life in a psychiatric ward."

Under the weight of their menacing stares, I pretended to tremble with despair as I took the pen.

What they didn't know was that it was a special fading pen. The writing would vanish in two hours.

I signed my mother's name as the guardian.

Watching the elation they couldn't hold back in their eyes, I lowered my lashes.

I obediently changed into the gown and let them escort me away, off to this grand college send-off party.

The party was set at the most luxurious place in the city, The Summit Hotel, in The Sky Garden on the top floor.

In my last life, this was the very place where Olivia, in front of all the relatives and friends, threw herself off the edge.

My parents forced me to attend.

The wound on Olivia's head had already healed, but she'd deliberately left a square of gauze taped to her temple, making her look pitiful and fragile.

She wore a pure white dress, like a delicate little flower that couldn't withstand the wind and rain.

She clung to my mother's arm, soaking up everyone's blessings and praise.

My father moved among the guests with a flushed, beaming face, as if he weren't the same man who'd pointed at me days ago and screamed that I was a curse.

I sat alone in a corner, quietly eating.

Gerard came over carrying two glasses of champagne and handed me one.

"Mandy, still angry with me?"

I didn't take it. I only looked at him.

"Gerard, is there something you're keeping from me?"

The smile on his face stiffened for a moment.

"Why would you ask that?"

"It's nothing." I lowered my head and pushed at the steak on my plate with my fork. "Just asking."

He looked relieved as he sat down beside me.

"Mandy, give it a little while, and we'll get married. My parents have already picked out a place for us. They're just waiting for us to give the word."

He said it with such warmth, as if we really were a couple in love.

Halfway through the party, Olivia took the stage as the guest of honor to give her speech.

She thanked her parents, thanked her teachers, and finally, her gaze settled on me.

"There's one more person I have to thank. My sister, Amanda."

Every eye in the room turned to me.

Olivia's voice cracked with tears.

"A while ago, we had a small misunderstanding and things got ugly between us. My sister even lost control and hurt me."

"But I know she didn't mean it. She was just under too much pressure."

She paused, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Mandy, you don't have to worry. I never blamed you, not once. You're the closest person in the world to me."

Her words were airtight, dredging up the fact that I'd hit her while showing off her own forgiveness and generosity.

The guests stared at me with strange eyes, the whispers never stopping.

"So she's the one who put her sister in the hospital."

"Looks so quiet and gentle. Who knew she could be that vicious?"

"How could an older sister treat her own sister like that"

My mother's expression was grim too, and she shot me a hard glare.

I met every gaze without a flicker of expression.

When Olivia finished and stepped down from the stage, she suddenly lost her footing and pitched straight toward where I stood.

On instinct, I tried to move out of the way.

But it was already too late.

Her body swept past me, knocked over a table, and then crashed through the glass railing behind me.

Screams erupted on all sides.

Everyone rushed to the railing.

The Sky Garden was on the hotel's top floor, the sixty-eighth.

A fall from there left no chance of survival.

I stood where I was, staring at the wreckage on the ground, my body cold.

The exact same scene as the last life.

It didn't take long before someone spotted something.

"Her phone! Look at her phone!"

Olivia's phone had landed on the floor, the screen still lit.

On it was a suicide note, just finished, never sent.

The recipient list was everyone in her contacts.

Every word of it bled, accusing me of abusing her, mind and body, for years out of jealousy.

Of even forcing her to go out and earn money to fund my lavish lifestyle.

If she refused, I would beat her.

"I really can't go on anymore. Sister, if there's a next life, I hope we're never sisters again."

"Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. Your daughter has failed you."

The crowd's eyes shifted in an instant, a mix of shock and disgust.

My father's lips trembled with rage, and he suddenly swung his arm at me.

"Animal! You animal!"

My mother had already collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

Gerard charged up to me, gripping my shoulders and shaking them hard.

"Amanda! How could you do this to her! She's your sister!"

His face was full of grief, his bloodshot eyes wide.

His shaking made my head spin, but I suddenly smiled.

Looking at the faces around me, furious, contemptuous, horrified, I spoke each word slowly.

"That's right. I forced her to do it."

I met their stunned eyes and said it again.

"I drove her to her death."

My father raised his hand, ready to give me another slap.

But his wrist was caught by a stronger hand.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit, steady and composed, stood beside me, his face stern.

It was Adrian Dickerson, the most trusted assistant my grandfather had had in his lifetime, and the chief financial officer of our family's company.

Two people in uniform stood behind him, and that uniform belonged to the Financial Regulatory Authority.

My father froze.

"Director Dickerson? Why are you here?"

"I filed the anonymous report." I looked calmly at everyone, my voice landing with weight in the silent Sky Garden.

"I guessed my mother would move the assets out of the trust fund today, so I froze her overseas accounts ahead of time and submitted the evidence."

The official behind Adrian nodded, pulled out a tablet, and turned it toward the crowd.

"Based on the malware packet evidence and the IP address tracing Miss Amanda Harding provided"

Adrian looked at the hotel manager, who had long since gone slack with fright.

"That so-called suicide note from a moment agothe IP address where it was written and sent was not in this hotel."

"Because the real Miss Olivia Harding isn't here at all right now."