Reborn, I Follow Mom Back to Rewrite Fate

In my last life, when my parents divorced, my mother took my sister back to her wealthy family.

I was the one left behind with my gambling-addict father.

But only days after my sister went with them, they tormented her until her mind broke, then threw her out. She died wretchedly on the street.

In the end my mother wasted away and died too.

I forced myself through years of study and made it into college, yet in the end I never escaped my drunkard father's clutches.

Living it all over again, I threw my arms around my mother's legs.

"Mom, take me with you. I'll listen better than sister, I'll be good."

My sister was crying too, pushing me forward toward our mother.

"Mom, my sister's still little. If she stays here with no one to protect her, Dad will beat her for sure. Take her with you."

Dad had a liquor bottle in one hand, and with the other he grabbed my sister by the collar.

"Fine. Olympia Pruitt's clever enough. Maybe she'll fetch a good price someday."

My mother's face was full of worry and heartache. She looked at me, then at my sister, and in the end she gave a helpless nod.

Last time, my mother was back among the wealthy Gilberts for only a few days before they swept her out the door.

This time, I would never let that tragedy repeat.

"Please get in, miss."

A deep, solid voice.

A driver in a suit stood before me, holding the car door open.

"Carla Pruitt, let's go."

My mother took my hand and got in.

There was already someone in the front passenger seat. The driver introduced him. "This is Young Master Jayden, the eldest son's boy. Chairman Gilbert sent him personally to bring the miss and the young miss home."

My mother kept her head down, her hands twisting the fabric over her knees, and answered with a flustered little sound.

"Oh."

I studied the man in the passenger seat.

Cool, refined, expensively dressed. He had supposedly come to fetch us, yet he had stayed in the car from start to finish.

He hadn't gotten out even when Mom and I came out.

He hadn't so much as spared us a glance.

Deep down, he probably just looked down on my mother and me.

Not that I could blame him.

She was the true heiress, the one accidentally swapped at birth.

All these years my mother had lived in hardship, and once she came of age she was so desperate to get away from the family that raised her that she misjudged a man and married my gambling father.

For all these years, wearing herself down to care for the household, there was nothing left in her of a wealthy man's daughter.

No wonder the Gilberts didn't think much of her.

Old Dominic Gilbert had four children in all.

Three sons and one daughter.

The one living in the Gilbert house now had to be the fake heiress who had taken my mother's place.

Layla Gilbert.

As the youngest daughter, she had been doted on since childhood.

Her three older brothers spoiled her without limit.

And the man in front of me had to be the eldest son of my mother's oldest brother, Horace Gilbert. His name was Jayden Gilbert.

Sharp beyond his years from childhood, with a startling gift for business.

Groomed as the Gilbert family's chosen heir.

The second brother, so the story went, had been obsessed with art since boyhood and had no interest in running the company.

Nearly forty and still unmarried.

Which kept Dominic Gilbert running in circles with worry.

The third was a professor at a prestigious university, devoted to research.

That was all I had ever managed to learn about the Gilberts in my last life.

"We're here."

The voice cut off my thoughts.

I pushed the door open and got out.

I had just stepped inside when a soothing voice reached me.

"Layla, don't you worry. Even now that she's back, you're still our sweet little sister."

"That's right. She's been drifting around out there all these years. We've never even laid eyes on her. What kind of sister is that? If the old man hadn't ordered her brought back, we wouldn't have bothered claiming her at all!"

The speakers were my mother's oldest brother, Horace Gilbert, and her third brother, Samuel Gilbert.

And the one sitting on the sofa with her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

That was the fake heiress who had occupied my mother's place for more than thirty years.

"Horace, Samuel, please don't talk like that. My sister has been wandering out there for so many years. She must have suffered so much."

"Now that she's home, I'm the one who should go."

It wasn't until the butler stepped forward that they stopped. "Mr. Horace, Mr. Samuel, the fourth miss is back."

Only then did the three of them fall sullenly quiet.

"Sister."

The fake heiress rushed over and threw her arms around my mother.

"Sister, you're finally home. All these years, Father and our brothers have missed you so much."

Then she suddenly started coughing.

She covered her mouth and looked my mother over, distaste all over her face. "Sister, what on earth are you wearing?"

"Looking like that, you could say she just crawled out of a homeless shelter and no one would argue."

"Anyone who didn't know would think the Gilberts had taken in a beggar."

A couple of mutters came from behind me.

Horace's second son, Bruce Gilbert, and Layla's daughter, Wendy Fox.

"Bruce, Wendy, what nonsense are you talking!"

"This is your aunt and your cousin. Watch your mouths!"

Layla snapped at them, but there was no real weight to it.

Then her gaze swept over Mom and me again, the smugness and condescension in her eyes impossible to hide.

"This must be my sister's child. How old are you? You should be the same age as Wendy this year. Aren't you sweet."

She reached out to take my hand.

I stepped aside.

Her hand hung there in the air.

Awkward.

I drew my mother past her, over to her oldest brother, the man who really ran things.

"Uncle, Mom and I have had a long trip and we're a little tired. Could we go upstairs to rest first?"

Horace looked mildly surprised, then quickly composed himself.

He told a servant to take us up.

"Tch. Putting on airs. She's nothing but a country bumpkin."

"Right? I don't have an aunt or a cousin like that. Aunt Layla is my only aunt."

Behind us, the grating scorn went on.

Feeling my mother start to tremble, I gripped her hand tight.

The room the Gilberts gave my mother and me was at the very back of the second floor.

You could tell they wanted nothing to do with us.

All day my mother sat there uneasy, wringing her hands. "Carla, maybe we should just go home."

"Why would we go home?"

I pressed my hand over hers. "This is your home, Mom."

I couldn't help but feel a quiet frustration at how timid she was.

In my last life, it was exactly because she never dared to fight for what was hers.

That was how she ended up with that miserable fate.

Even if she'd just let the Gilberts see how much she'd suffered.

It never would have come to that.

That evening, dinnertime came.

The whole Gilbert family sat at the table, including Layla's husband.

And her son and daughter.

When my mother and I came down, there was no place left for us at the table.

The family sat together, warm and cozy.

As if the two of us standing off to the side were thin air.

My mother clutched my hand and lowered her head, at a loss, teeth stubbornly worrying her lip.

"Carla, let's just go back upstairs."

"Why should we go upstairs? Didn't you say you were taking me home? Didn't they say you're Grandpa Gilbert's real daughter? Then why isn't there even a seat for us at dinner? Did the Gilberts get the wrong person after all?"

I raised my voice on purpose.

And for a moment, that polished mask of upper-class dignity they all wore.

Was about to slip right off.

Every eye in the room turned toward us at once.

At the head of the table, old Dominic slowly lifted his head and gestured for a servant to bring a chair.

Then he looked at Horace. "What is this? Your sister comes home today, and no one thought to set a place for her?"

"Father, I didn't think it through. It won't happen again."

Horace stood and answered with his head bowed.

As he sat back down, he still didn't forget to shoot me a look.

Once Dominic had settled again, his gaze fell on me, and he waved me over.

"Come sit beside me."

In an instant, everyone in the room froze mid-motion.

"Father, she's only a child!"

Samuel couldn't hold it in.

But Horace signaled the servant to carry the chair over.

My mother caught my hand, nervous. "Carla"

I turned my hand and patted hers, telling her not to worry.

Then I walked up to old Dominic.

The book had said that in his youth Dominic had ruled the business world, a cold, ruthless man.

Apart from his wife, he'd felt little for anyone.

So it stood to reason he felt little for this daughter he hadn't seen in so many years either.

Bringing her back was only to honor his late wife's dying wish.

And yet now, this sharp-eyed old man had a different light in his eyes when he looked at me.

"Alike. So alike."

"You look just like Maggie did when she was young."

He murmured it, then asked me, "How old are you this year?"

"Seventeen."

I answered each question in turn.

After dinner, Dominic made the call: he told the eldest Gilbert son to enroll me in school tomorrow.

"Put her in the same school as Bruce and Wendy, so they can look out for her."

At that, Wendy immediately objected. "Grandpa, our school is very strict. Why should some country bumpkin get to"

"What did you say?"

Dominic's face went cold on the spot.

The mood at the table froze along with it.

Layla forced out a strained smile. "Father, Wendy didn't mean it that way. It's just that Westfield Prep has always had very strict standards, and Carla's just transferred in from a country school. I worry she'll have a hard time keeping up with the coursework."

"Maybe it'd be better to start her off at the vocational high school out in the suburbs."

"Carla, what do you think?"

Dominic looked at me.

I glanced at Layla, then turned back to Grandpa. "Grandpa, I want to go to Westfield Prep. I can pass the entrance exam."

"Good. Westfield Prep it is."

There was a new note of approval in the way Dominic looked at me.

"Tch. Country bumpkin, all talk."

Bruce muttered it from the seat beside me.

I didn't bother with him.

The next morning I came downstairs.

Bruce and Wendy were already sitting in the family car.

They'd been horsing around, but the second they saw me they both turned their faces away.

Neither said a word.

"Miss, why don't you take the front seat."

I nodded and reached for the passenger door.

Wendy tossed her bag onto the seat first. "Sorry, my bag needs that spot. If you want a ride, go book your own."

Then, chin high, she ordered the driver.

"What are you waiting for? Drive."

The driver gave me an apologetic look, but he did as he was told.

The car pulled away in front of me.

Exhaust drifted up into my face.

I stepped back on reflex and bumped into a solid chest.

I turned, and Jayden's flat, unreadable face filled my view.

"I'm headed the same way. Want a ride?"

Before I could answer he'd already gotten in.

The window came down, his sharp profile in view. "Are you getting in or not?"

"Oh. Right."

I pulled myself together, opened the door, and climbed in.

The whole way there, it was very quiet.

When the car reached the school gate, I pushed the door open to get out.

He tossed a bag of breakfast into my lap.

"For you."

I looked back, startled.

He acted like nothing had happened at all.

"Thank you."

I took the breakfast and got out.

On the way to the administration office, whispers came at me from every side.

"I heard she's some country relative the Gilberts dragged in."

"One look at her and you know she won't even pass the entrance exam, and she's got the nerve to think she can get into Westfield Prep."

"You know the teachers who proctor the exams are strict. Last time some newly rich guy tried to buy his good-for-nothing son a spot and it didn't work. The dean chewed him out so bad the man cried."

...

In my last life, my sister had been sent to this school too.

She didn't last a single day before withdrawing.

She transferred to a vocational high school out in the suburbs.

That was how welcome people like my sister and me were here.

But then, who was I.

In my last life I was a famous test-taker.

Recruited straight to the top national university at sixteen.

At eighteen I skipped several grades and got into Harvard on special admission.

A little high school entrance exam.

Hardly worth mentioning.

The entrance exam was scheduled for an hour and a half.

I finished every answer sheet in under thirty minutes.

Turned my paper in early.

The proctors froze for a second.

And when they learned I'd turned in an unprecedented perfect score.

Wendy and Bruce panicked and ran straight to the dean's office.

"That's impossible. She must have cheated!"

In front of everyone, Wendy pointed at me, dead certain. "Sir, you don't understand. Carla is a poor relative my grandfather insisted on bringing in from the country. The education she got out there was terrible. She can't even solve a basic high school math problem."

"How could she possibly turn in a perfect paper?"

"She must have cheated!"

Bruce rushed forward and grabbed my hand. "Carla, at this point, are you still going to lie your way out of it?"

"Apologize to the teachers, now!"

"You've completely disgraced the Gilbert family!"

The room broke into chatter.

"I did not cheat!"

While the standoff dragged on with no one giving ground,

Samuel, the third Gilbert son, arrived and slapped me across the face without a word.

"You little wretch! Who taught you to cheat?"

"Just as I thought, you picked up bad habits out in the country and dragged the Gilbert name through the mud!"

My cheek flared with a fierce, stinging pain.

I held my ground. "I didn't cheat. It's my first time here. I don't know a single person in this room. How would I even cheat?"

"If you don't believe me, Uncle, you can have the teachers check the exam-room cameras, or give me new questions to answer. I'll do either one."

"Only, if it proves I did nothing wrong, then I'll ask you to apologize to me in front of everyone."