In my previous life, I had answered a trantic call from my sister’s assistant, Sophia, only to arrive at her house to find my sister’s body, already covered with a white sheet.
I collapsed to the floor, trembling as I peeled back the sheet. Her face was a sickly shade of blue, her eyes bulging grotesquely. The coroner concluded it was carbon monoxide poisoning, likely a suicide.
As they wheeled her body away, I clung to the stretcher, sobbing until my voice was hoarse, refusing to let them take her.
Then, Sophia, who had always been respectful and polite, slapped me so hard that my ears rang.
“Ella! Stop putting on this act! Your sister killed herself because of you!”
Her accusations came fast and furious.
“You drove her to depression! You even sold her company behind her back–the company that was her life’s work. How could you be so heartless?”
“All those years of gambling, drinking, and partying, living off your sister’s hard–earned money–you never showed a shred of gratitude! Instead, you sold the company and siphoned off the profits. You pushed her to the brink!”
Her words stunned me into silence. What company sale? What depression? I couldn’t make sense of it.
Before I could gather my thoughts, Daniel arrived. I ran to him, desperate for comfort. After my sister, he was the person I trusted most.
But instead of consoling me, he lashed out in anger.
“Ella, have you lost your mind? I told you not to sell the company! How could you? For money? Your sister raised you after your parents died, and this is how you repay her?”
“She told me how you’d curse her and hit her, and now she’s gone because of you. You’ve always been selfish and cruel, and now you’ve destroyed the only person who truly cared about you.”
His words, full of righteous indignation, crushed me.
I soon realized this was only the beginning. Reporters and livestreamers swarmed the scene, filming every tearful outburst and condemning comment. The footage went viral, and the internet erupted in hatred against me.
At my sister’s funeral, the crowd’s hostility reached a boiling point. Daniel dramatically threw a stack of documents at my feet–evidence, he claimed, of my crimes. He was flanked by two police officers
“Miss Smith, we have evidence that you illegally transferred company assets for personal gain. Please come with us.”
In an instant, I became the object of universal scorn. Someone hurled a funeral wreath at my face, leaving a bloody gash
Tried to Bury M
Reborn, My Family Tried to Bury Me, So I Burned It All Down!
Your parents died young, and Claire worked herself to the bone to raise you. And this is how you repay her?”
Claire slaved away, working ten–hour days to build her business from scratch, and you drove her to depression and suicide. You deserve to rot in helll”
More objects–glass bottles cigarette butts, even rocks–came flying my way.
The livestreamers zoomed in, capturing every cut and bruise, every tear streaked moment. I became the internet’s favorite punching bag.
The man I had planned to spend my life with ensured my incarceration: And when I sought a retrial, a fellow inmate on death row–stabbed me to death.
Until my last breath. I couldn’t understand how my bright, loving sister had chosen to end her life on the eve of my
birthday.
Now, with this second chance, I will uncover the truth.
