After Lilith finished speaking, Catiana and Winona exchanged a look—silent, but loaded with a mutual understanding that only a mother and daughter could share. It wasn’t particularly warm, but it wasn’t harsh either; it was a blend of curiosity and calm, something all too familiar between them. Lilith could easily guess the source of their confusion. Normally, she would have asked, “Why?” Why was she being pushed away to the side villa when there were so many empty rooms in the main house? There were spaces that could be turned into anything—music rooms, dance studios, art galleries, or even just places for storage—but none were offered to her. Not even a small, modest room. But in the grand scheme of things, it no longer held significance. What purpose would it serve for someone like her, someone of little value, to question their decisions? To make a show of defiance? It would be pointless and sound foolish. In truth, Lilith realized they didn’t really know her at all. Even in her past life, she likely wouldn’t have asked. Once, she had tried to find out where her name had come from, but that small attempt to learn had drained her of every ounce of courage. A child like her who wasn’t loved had very little bravery to begin with. She finished most of her meal and speared a cherry tomato with her fork, popping it into her mouth. She glanced at Adrian for a second before casually asking, her voice as nonchalant as if she were making small talk, “Are you planning on sending me away?” Her calmness surprised Adrian, catching him off guard. He blinked and paused for a moment before responding, not even looking at her, “No, that’s not the plan,” he muttered, his voice flat. To be fair, Lilith’s question wasn’t unreasonable. Since her rebirth, some things had subtly shifted—tiny changes, like the butterfly effect. In the past, they would have at least allowed her to eat at this table without question. Now? Who knew? They might ask her to pack up and leave at any moment. The others at the table quickly realized what Lilith had said, their eyes flicking toward her all at once. She could feel their gazes pressing into her, but she didn’t mind. She chewed the tomato, its tart flavor lingering in her mouth, then swallowed. Turning back to Adrian, she muttered a quiet, “Thank you.” His lack of intention to send her away, at least for now, meant that she still had some protection under the Joneses’ name, even if she was only a forgotten, overlooked daughter—one who would lead a life of luxury but as a mere shadow in the background. That, too, didn’t really matter. An odd silence settled over the table. Strangely, no one seemed to notice how out of place everything was. Lilith knew with certainty that her presence, or lack thereof, wouldn’t make a dent in their lives. She was invisible, unimportant. She dabbed her lips with a napkin and quietly said she was finished, ready to leave. No one even acknowledged her. Taking the unspoken hint, Lilith fell silent and walked out of the dining room through the ornate wooden doors. She glanced over her shoulder one last time. As soon as she left, the atmosphere shifted. The air became lighter, filled with the polished calm of wealth and privilege. Everyone around the table looked calm and content, their faces relaxed, almost serene. Adrian and Catiana, too, looked like the picture of affectionate, caring parents. The night fell gently, the sky turning a deep blue with only a few scattered stars. But the moon shone brightly, casting its light like a lamp beside her bed. Lilith wandered to the back of her villa, where a small garden sat, more of a patch of land than anything else. It wasn’t much, just a scattering of plants, but she had put effort into it over the years. She had planted a row of sunflowers, nurturing them with care, but every year, the blooms and fruits never lived up to her expectations. The only time the sunflowers had truly flourished was the year she died. Under the blazing June sun, they bloomed in fiery abundance, as if set aflame by the sun itself. At that moment, Lilith had believed it was a sign—a symbol of good things to come, a hopeful omen for her life. But soon after, death came without warning, leaving her to wonder if she had misinterpreted the meaning. Now, sitting on the swing, her feet dangling above the ground, Lilith felt as though she were suspended in an empty universe, vast and silent. Everything around her seemed dim, covered by a fine mist, and she couldn’t make sense of it. Nothing seemed real, nothing seemed worthwhile. Nothing mattered. Why have I been given another chance at life? Absentmindedly, Lilith picked at one of the sunflower petals, her mind drifting. Back at the dinner table, silence settled. The others lowered their heads, eating quietly, exchanging only the briefest words. When they did speak, it was with short, curt replies, only deepening the silence that followed. The crystal chandelier above bathed the room in soft, warm light, but it felt like it only highlighted how disconnected everyone was. No one could read the thoughts of those around them. After taking the day to rest, Lilith went to school. She was 15, still in her last year of middle school. The entrance exam for the private high school she attended in her previous life is about to begin. It was just a little over a month away. She had forgotten much of her middle school knowledge, but by the time she died, she was about to graduate from college, so reviewing and preparing for the high school entrance exam would still be very easy. She organized her time carefully, reviewing each subject’s key points. She set up her study plan logically and worked through practice tests, quickly realizing she was still more than capable. But practising was one thing, and taking the real test was another. In her past life, Lilith often questioned if her existence was some sort of glitch in the system, an error that couldn’t be fixed. If her mind was sharp on a typical day, operating at about 80 percent, it would drop to 20 percent when it mattered most—during important exams, at fancy parties, or high-pressure social situations. Her brain would feel foggy and sluggish, leading to headaches, stomach pains, and a feeling of exhaustion during exams. She’d spill drinks on guests at banquets, ruin birthday cakes, call people by the wrong names, mix up faces, forget meetings, and make countless other embarrassing mistakes. When she couldn’t explain herself, she would just look at people with an apologetic expression, though it never seemed to help. The more she tried to explain, the worse it got, and in the end, she would fall silent. Her every action and word felt like something out of a cliche novel, the kind with a villainous woman always causing trouble. No wonder no one liked her. In the end, her suspicions were never proven right. It wasn’t that her life was a glitch—things in the novel world were functioning normally. That was why she, the expendable character, couldn’t follow the script. By the end of June, no one had noticed Lilith’s rebirth. It wasn’t like those dramatic comeback stories. Lilith didn’t pull off any stunts or deliver speeches to win anyone over. She moved through the campus and the villa district calmly, her face blending in as usual, nothing special about her. The only thing different about her now was that she had come to terms with the reality of her situation. She no longer longed for a life or emotions that weren’t hers. She faced whatever came her way with quiet acceptance, almost as though she had surrendered to fate, ready for whatever came next. She called this her “dead mindset”—the belief that nothing really mattered, and if things went wrong, she could always just end it.