Mind-Reading the Reborn Villain

Harlow jammed her manicured nail right into my face.

The girl who hijacked my life—and apparently hit rewind for round two of this sick game—screamed I snatched her thirtygrand diamond necklace. Lawrence and Patricia glared.

Warmth vanished from my parents' eyes. Suffocating disgust filled the void. She had zero clue. I lived dead broke. I never even glimpsed the damn rocks.

She missed the part where I pawned every single piece of trash I owned just to score a decent outfit for this toxic family homecoming.

My bouncy blowout cost my last fifty bucks—the single most expensive item on me. But her biggest blind spot? I hid a massive plot twist. I lived as a guy.

I watched her pathetic, tearsoaked performance. Two could play that game. My knees slammed the hardwood. I ripped a breathless, gutwrenching sob from my throat.

My shoulders shook violently. "Harlow!" I gasped. My voice cracked under the heavy tears. "Did my return trigger this?

Did I ruin your life?" "If you hate me this much, I’ll pack my bags! I’ll walk out that door right now! But why frame me?" She froze.

The stubborn, proud idiot from my past life... how did she morph into the ultimate gaslighter? I buried my face in trembling hands. A dark smirk tugged my lips. Please.

This little girl played totally out of her league.

She tried to outmanipulate a toptier male masseur—a guy who literally paid rent by acting sweet to hustle rich cougars into buying platinum VIP packages. … Chapter 1 I stayed glued to the floor, tilting my head back to meet her gaze.

Harlow’s jaw practically hit the hardwood. She glared daggers at me. Inside her head, a shrill, frantic voice screamed, and I heard every single word of it. This bitch!

What the hell is her problem?! Where did the stubborn, proud Avery from my last life go? Since when did she start playing the ultimate pickme? This isn't the script!

This is all wrong! Patricia rushed over, her heels clicking frantically against the floorboards. She hauled me up by my arms, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

Her palms were warm, but her grip dug into my skin like a vise. She whipped her head around, fixing Harlow with a furious glare. "Harlow! Your sister just got home!

How could you treat her like this?" "It’s just a necklace! I'll buy you both matching ones tomorrow!" I shook my head hard.

A single tear broke free, hanging flawlessly on my lower lash line before tracing a slow path down my cheek. Pure cinematic gold. "No, Mom, I can't," I whispered.

My voice trembled with fear. "That's way too expensive.

Besides… I think Harlow really hates me." I timidly slipped out of Patricia's grasp and took a hesitant step back, my fingers nervously twisting the fabric of my own shirt. "Harlow, are you scared I'm going to steal Mom and Dad's love from you?

I promise, I won't do that. I just want to stay here. Just looking at you guys is enough for me. Truly." "That’s enough!" A deep, booming voice shattered the tension. Lawrence.

He had been sitting on the leather sofa in stony silence, but now he stood up, his gaze heavy and commanding. He leveled a hard look at Harlow. "Harlow, apologize to your sister.

Now." Harlow’s eyes bulged. Dad is making me apologize to her?! In my past life, he absolutely despised Avery's pathetic, trashy attitude! Why? Why is this happening?!

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. But she didn't dare cross Lawrence.

She ground her teeth together, forcing the words out like toxic venom. "I'm sorry." I frantically waved my hands and let my shoulders shake. "No, no, no!

Harlow doesn't need to apologize. This is all my fault." I dropped my chin to my chest.

When I finally peeked up through my lashes, I shifted my focus entirely to Lawrence. "Dad, please don't be mad at her," I murmured softly. "I… I just wanted to fit into this family so badly.

I pushed too hard." Lawrence’s rigid posture relaxed a fraction. The vibe at the dining table that evening was suffocating.

I sat perfectly still at the edge of my chair, staring down at my bare plate. While everyone else cut into their prime rib, I quietly picked apart a single, dry dinner roll.

Chapter 2 Harlow's inner monologue echoed in my head again. Just wait, Avery. This is only the beginning.

Tomorrow, I'm going to make you crack your skull open in the conservatory and smash Dad's prized Ghost Orchid to pieces! Let's see him play the protective father then!

I ducked my head. Patricia's eyes softened with pity as she reached across the table, sliding a buttery, incredibly expensive lobster tail onto my plate.

I jerked back, pulling my arms in tight. "Mom, I… I can't eat this," I stammered, my voice trembling. "I've never even seen food like this before. It's too rich.

I'll probably just throw it up, and that would be such a waste…" A sharp snort ripped through the tense silence. Harlow was laughing.

Lawrence slammed his heavy silver fork down on the table. He shot her a lethal, warning glare, and her jaw snapped shut. She froze instantly.

Patricia’s eyes welled with fresh tears. She quietly removed the expensive seafood, replacing it with a simple scoop of plain mashed potatoes, serving me herself.

That silent, maternal gesture was a massive slap in the face. Harlow looked like she was going to have an aneurysm.

Late that night, I stood alone in the lavish guest bedroom designated for "Avery." I let the pathetic, tremblingmouse act drop. The fake fear vanished from my face.

Thinking back to the chaotic inner monologue I’d tapped into all day, a razorsharp smirk cut across my lips. Past lives? A predetermined script?

Scripts were made to be ripped to shreds. Harlow thought her little timetraveling rebirth was some ultimate cheat code. She had no idea.

To me, her unfiltered, psychic broadcast was the script. Tomorrow’s scene featured the conservatory and a rare orchid, did it? Perfect.

Time to show this amateur how a real professional steals the show. "Avery, let me give you a tour of the gardens," Harlow chirped the next morning. Go straight to hell, Avery!

Her mental screaming was practically deafening. Come on, you stupid bitch. I already greased the cobblestones right next to the prized Ghost Orchid.

The second you step close, I’ll just "accidentally" bump into you. You’ll smash that pot to dust, and Dad will literally skin you alive!

I scoffed internally, but plastered a blinding, naive smile across my face. "I'd love that!" Out in the sprawling estate gardens, Harlow guided me straight toward the grand glass conservatory.

We stopped dead in front of the centerpiece—a breathtaking, meticulously cultivated Ghost Orchid.

I widened my eyes, letting my jaw drop in manufactured awe. "Wow… this is absolutely stunning!

Is this Dad's favorite?" Playing the wideeyed country mouse to perfection, I took a step toward the exotic petals. Hook, line, and sinker! What a fucking idiot!

Her inner voice twisted with sick excitement. I felt her shadow creep up right behind me. She was raising her hands. My sneaker hit the slick, suspiciously shiny cobblestone.

A fraction of a second before her manicured hands could connect with my spine— Now! My foot "slipped." But I didn't lunge forward into the delicate orchid.

Instead, I forcefully twisted my hips, launching my entire body weight backward at a sickening, unnatural angle. My kneecap slammed into a jagged piece of landscaping rock.

A whitehot flare of agony shot up my thigh. As gravity dragged me into the dirt, my fingers crushed the theatrical blood capsule hidden up my sleeve.

Warm, viscous liquid exploded outward, rapidly soaking the pristine white fabric of my jeans in a brilliant, horrific crimson. I didn't even glance down at the gruesome mess.

I whipped my head around. Tears spilled over my lashes as I stared at the untouched plant. "The orchid!" I shrieked, my voice cracking in pure panic. "Harlow, check the orchid!

I didn't hit it, did I? Please tell me Dad's flower is okay!" Harlow shortcircuited. She stood paralyzed, her hands hovering in midair, her smug smirk gone.

Her perfect trap vanished.

I was bleeding out on the gravel, looking a hundred times more mangled than her little trap was supposed to cause, yet completely hyperventilating over a stupid houseplant.

What the hell is going on?! How did she fall backward?! And why is there so much blood?! This makes no sense! Chapter 3 "Avery!" Patricia’s shriek shattered the morning quiet.

She sprinted across the lawn. All the color drained from her face the second she saw the crimson soaking my jeans. She dropped to her knees, pulling me into a desperate hug.

Seeing my frantic gaze still glued to the untouched orchid, her eyes flooded with hot tears. She whipped around, her glare pinning Harlow to the spot. "Harlow!

How could you let her get hurt like this? Are you bullying her again?!" Genuine agony flared from my scraped kneecap. A layer of cold sweat slicked my forehead.

I dug my trembling fingers into Patricia’s forearm, gasping for air. "Mom, no… don't blame Harlow… She… she tried to grab me, but she missed… It's my fault.

I'm just too clumsy." Checkmate. That single sentence nailed Harlow to the wall. She either shoved me, or she stood by and watched me bleed. Pick your poison.

Footsteps crunched heavily against the gravel. Lawrence. He took one look at my ruined, bloody leg, then shifted his dark, heavy gaze to Harlow’s ghostly pale face. His jaw locked.

Without a single word, he marched over, scooped me up into his arms, and strode toward the mansion. He didn't even pause as he brushed past Harlow.

He just dropped a freezing command. "Go to your room. Do not come out until I say so." Harlow flinched. The blood vanished from her lips. She ground her teeth together.

She knew Lawrence wasn't just annoyed this time—he was absolutely livid. The private family physician patched me up.

It was just a surface scrape, but my theatrical blood capsule had done some serious heavy lifting.

Lawrence sat like a statue by the edge of the mattress, his eyes tracking my every shallow breath. I squeezed my eyes shut. My lips parted, dry and cracked.

A thin layer of sweat beaded on my hairline.

I let out a broken, delirious whisper. "Dad… please don't be mad at her… She just… she really hates me… Maybe… maybe you should just send me back…" I let my voice crack, lacing the words with pathetic, chokedback sobs. "I don't want to… tear this family apart…" After that, Harlow dialed back the outward hostility.

She slapped on a polite, overly sweet mask. But her internal monologue never shut up. Just wait for the family dinner, you absolute trash!

Let's see you navigate a sixcourse table setting! I can't wait to watch you humiliate the entire family in front of the relatives!

I kept my head bowed, idly smoothing out the wrinkles in the expensive designer dress Patricia bought me.

The dinner took place in a private dining room at a ridiculously exclusive French restaurant.

Polished sterling silver caught the low, ambient light across the sprawling mahogany table. Extended family members filled the seats, dripping in old money and quiet arrogance.

The appetizer arrived. Escargot. I stared blankly at the overwhelming arsenal of forks and knives flanking my plate.

Perfectly on cue, I let a wave of deep confusion wash over my features.

I reached for the outermost fish knife and clumsily aimed it at the plate. "Avery, you're using the wrong one." Harlow’s voice cut through the low chatter—not too loud, but pitched perfectly to make the entire table stop and look.

She offered a sicklysweet smile, pointing a manicured finger at my hand. "That’s a fish knife.

Have you really never had French cuisine before?" Dozens of eyes snapped toward me, heavily loaded with scrutiny and thinly veiled disdain.

I forced all the blood to rush to my cheeks. My hand jerked, dropping the heavy silver knife onto the china plate with a sharp, jarring clink.

I scrambled to my feet, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.

I hugged my arms around myself, shrinking back from the table, looking utterly terrified. "I'm so sorry, everyone," I stammered, my voice thin and violently trembling. "I… I used to scrub dishes in the back of a dingy roadside diner.

I only ever watched people eat this kind of food. "I never actually got to sit at a table. I embarrassed the family. I'm so sorry." Dead, suffocating silence blanketed the room.

Harlow’s smug smirk completely froze. Several older relatives shifted their gaze from me to Harlow. The way they looked at her drastically changed.

Her little "helpful reminder" suddenly reeked of vicious, meangirl bullying. "That's enough." Lawrence’s face hardened into a terrifying scowl.

He reached over, took the fish knife from my trembling fingers, and shoved the correct utensil into my palm.

His voice left zero room for argument. "We don't care about pretentious rules in this family.

You eat however you want." Chapter 4 That was the first time he had ever publicly defended me. Under the table, Harlow’s hands clenched into tight fists.

Her knuckles turned bonewhite. A heavy dose of corporate shop talk broke the suffocating tension. The uncles started loudly debating a nightmare overseas merger.

The target was the UKbased Craig Group.

I chewed my food in absolute silence, completely zoning out of the conversation to focus on the crystalclear broadcast of Harlow's inner monologue.

That deal totally tanked in my last life. The Craig Group's VP, Wallace, is a massive racist and a total creep. Dad’s entire negotiation team got laughed out of the boardroom.

Just wait. This merger is going to be the biggest joke of the fiscal year. Bingo. Opportunity knocking. I gently set down my silverware.

I let out a soft, breathy murmur, making it sound like I was just thinking out loud. "The Craig Group… that sounds so familiar." I turned to Patricia, blinking in manufactured uncertainty. "Mom?

When I was bussing tables back at the diner, I think I overheard a British customer talking about them. "He said their VP… a guy named Wallace?

He was about to be fired over some massive discrimination lawsuits and a nasty sex scandal." The booming corporate chatter around the table instantly flatlined.

I pretended not to notice the dead silence. I tilted my head, scrunching my face like I was struggling to remember. "The guy taking his job… I think his name was Benedict? Yeah, Mr.

Benedict." "The customer said he was completely obsessed with collecting rare vintage Rolexes." Lawrence’s head snapped toward me. He locked his dark, piercing eyes on my face.

The soft pity vanished. A cold, sharp scrutiny replaced it. "Is that true? What you just said?" I flinched under his heavy stare.

I dropped my chin to my chest, my voice shaking. "I… I just overheard some guys talking over cheap coffee. I'm probably just making things up.

Dad, please don't take it seriously…" He didn't say another word.

He shoved his chair back and strode over to the far corner of the private room, instantly dialing an international number.

When he finally returned to the table, the way he looked at me had fundamentally changed. The second the dinner wrapped up, he summoned me directly to his private study.

At the same moment, Harlow’s mind exploded with panic. Impossible! How the hell does she know about Benedict?! That news didn't leak until six months later in my past life!

Who the fuck is she?! Lawrence sat rigidly behind his massive mahogany desk.

The international call had just confirmed every single word of my "accidental" diner gossip. "Avery." It was the first time he had spoken my name with that level of deadserious gravity.

I kept my head bowed, nervously twisting the hem of my shirt. "Yes, Dad." "Starting tomorrow, you're interning at headquarters." It wasn't a suggestion. It was a direct order.

Out in the quiet hallway, I could practically hear the furious, frantic pacing inside Harlow’s bedroom through her psychic screaming. Why?!

It took me a lifetime to earn Dad’s approval, and she gets it in three days?! No. Absolutely not. I have to destroy her.

The next morning at breakfast, Harlow was aggressively, sickeningly sweet. "Avery, congratulations!

I'm so happy you get to go to the office and help Dad out." She plastered on a fake, beaming smile, pushing a plate of artisanal pastries toward me.

She pivoted toward Lawrence, her voice bright and overly cheerful. "Dad, since Avery is clearly so gifted… Why don't you put her in charge of the Westside Waterfront Development?" "It's a huge, highprofile project!

It would be the perfect stage for her to really show off what she can do!" Beneath her sweet tone, I heard the venomous, bloodthirsty shriek in her head loud and clear.

The Westside project! In my last life, the partners committed massive financial fraud and embezzled fifty million dollars from the family! The stress put Dad in the ICU.

Here you go, Avery. I'm handing you the live grenade. Let's see how fast you blow yourself up!

Chapter 5 I snatched her hands, forcing my eyes to well up with fresh tears. "Harlow, you're too good to me!" I gasped, letting my voice wobble perfectly. "I don't know anything about the business, and you still fight to get me this amazing opportunity…" Toxic smugness practically radiated from Harlow’s eyes.

But Lawrence frowned. His heavy brows pulled together. The project represented a massive, multimillion dollar development. He hesitated.

I immediately pushed my chair back and stood up. I locked eyes with him, projecting pure, naive determination. "Dad, please give me this chance!

I trust Harlow's judgment completely, and I just want to help take some of the weight off your shoulders." "If I mess this up, it falls entirely on me.

I will take full responsibility for the fallout!" That reckless guarantee completely erased his hesitation. He gave a slow, firm nod. A tight smile stretched across Harlow's face.

She already pictured security dragging me out of the building. The second I grabbed the project files, I went full method actor. I played the absolute dumbest intern imaginable.

Every single day, I marched into Harlow's room with the most basic, entrylevel financial statements to "ask for her advice," lulling her into a false sense of absolute security. "Harlow, should the debttoequity ratio shoot up this high?" I asked, blinking innocently.

What an absolute moron! Literally standing on the edge of a cliff and still trying to kiss my ass! Cold contempt filled her mind.

Out loud, she offered a sickeningly patient sigh. "No, Avery.

You have to look at the holistic picture…" I swallowed every single word of her "guidance." And in every single board meeting, I made sure to loudly announce it. "Harlow actually pointed this strategy out to me," I chirped.

The night before the official contract signing, Harlow purposely waltzed into my bedroom.

She spotted me drowning under a mountain of paperwork, aggressively highlighting entirely useless market reports.

She set a warm glass of almond milk on my desk, wearing a mask of pure, fake sisterly affection. "Don't stress too much, Avery.

Tomorrow will play out perfectly." I accepted the glass with a grateful, exhausted smile. I tuned into the icy countdown ticking away in her head. Twelve more hours, Avery.

Then you wake up from this little richgirl fantasy permanently. The heavy oak door clicked shut. Instantly, the helpless, panicked anxiety vanished from my face.

I shoved the useless prop documents off my desk. My eyes went dead and cold. I punched in a number I memorized years ago.

The contact operated as a heavily connected, deepstate political fixer. He also stood as one of my most loyal VIP clients back when I massaged away the stress of the city's elite.

I dropped my voice to a sharp, commanding whisper. "Lincoln. It's me. Avery. "Run a deep background check on a firm for me. Westside Waterfront Development.

They sign a merger with my father's company tomorrow morning. "I suspect massive financial fraud and illegal shellcompany fundraising.

I hold a solid lead on their shadow ledgers." The pale glow of the laptop screen illuminated my emotionless face.

Through the thick drywall, Harlow’s muffled, manic giggling bled into my room. It sounded unhinged. Tomorrow marks your funeral, Avery!

I will ruin you worse than my past life ever did! I backed up the encrypted files to a secure cloud server and scrubbed my digital footprint clean.

Once the screen went dark, I dialed a second number. Another spa connection. Jason, a ruthless Private Equity shark. "Jason.

It's me." "Talk to me," he answered, his tone flat and strictly business. I only fed him three words. "Clean energy.

Patents." Dead silence stretched for three seconds before he fired back a name. "Sunrise Tech. Stateoftheart patents, but they bleed cash.

The CEO acts like a total tech nerd with zero business sense." "Thanks." I ended the call. That gave me exactly what I needed. The perfect replacement.

Chapter 6 I burned the midnight oil, painstakingly forging a beatup "study notebook." I deliberately cramped my handwriting, filling the pages with verbatim quotes Lawrence had dropped in old Forbes interviews.

Never look just at the surface; track the cash flow. True enterprises carry social responsibility. The Westside Waterfront financials look too good to be true.

Every single scribbled line practically worshipped the ground he walked on. I painted myself as his ultimate disciple.

By dawn, I sported massive, bruisedlooking bags under my eyes. I knocked on his heavy study door, balancing a mug of black coffee.

I slid the heavily annotated notebook and a flimsy, barebones dossier on Sunrise Tech across his mahogany desk. I let my hands visibly shake.

I pitched my voice into a perfect blend of heroworship and crippling insecurity. "Dad, I stayed up reading everything," I murmured. "Applying the metrics you talked about… the Westside project just feels off.

The math doesn't settle right." "I fell down an internet rabbit hole and found this tiny startup, Sunrise Tech.

Their patent portfolio perfectly aligns with your philosophy on longterm value. Am I… am I totally oversimplifying this?" Lawrence picked up the notebook.

His thumb traced over my deliberately clunky handwriting. The harsh, corporate scrutiny melted from his eyes, replaced by a deep, complicated swell of pride.

He muttered something dismissive about "rookie pipe dreams." But the second I turned my back, he snatched up his desk phone, barking at his executive assistant to run an immediate, priority background check on Sunrise Tech.

When Harlow waltzed into my room later, I was aggressively rubbing my temples, staring blankly at the Westside prospectus. Still acting! What a massive fake!

Let's see how hard you cry in the boardroom today! The raw joy in her head was deafening.

I snapped my head up, my eyes wide with manufactured panic. "Harlow, I have such a bad feeling about this.

Dad looked at my analysis this morning, and he seemed really disappointed." She patted my shoulder, her touch light and sickly sweet. "Don't panic, Avery.

The project is bulletproof. I've got your back." On the chauffeured ride to headquarters, I dialed the pathetic loser act up to an eleven.

I rubbed my clammy palms against my slacks, letting my shoulders violently tremble. "Harlow, is the board of directors terrifying?

If I say the wrong thing, will security throw me out?" Trash is always trash. Just lay down and die already! Harlow’s patience officially flatlined.

She thoroughly bought the illusion. I was just a stupid lamb marching directly into the slaughterhouse. The executive boardroom reeked of expensive cologne and high stakes.

Todd, the VP from Westside Waterfront, sat at the sprawling table, practically glowing. He already acted like the fifty million dollars sat comfortably in his offshore bank account.

Harlow claimed the leather chair right next to mine. She monitored me through her peripheral vision. Her gaze felt like literal ice.

I sucked in a deep, ragged breath, nervously shuffling the glossy Westside merger contracts in front of me.

But beneath the table, my left hand rested heavily on my lap, pinning down something entirely different. The Sunrise Tech investment pitch.

Lawrence’s executive assistant slipped into the room, powerwalking straight to the head of the table. He leaned down, whispering rapidly into Lawrence's ear.

Lawrence’s face violently hardened. He snapped his head up, pinning me with an intensely heavy, complex stare.

Shock bled into deep scrutiny, finally solidifying into absolute, cutthroat resolve. He reached for the microphone integrated into the desk, tapping the mesh grill twice.

The sprawling boardroom fell dead silent.

He leaned forward, his deep, booming voice crashing over the executives. "Before we authorize the Westside Waterfront merger, my daughter, Avery, has a few supplementary insights to share." Harlow’s smug, triumphant smirk shattered into a million pieces.

Every single eye in the room snapped directly to me