Chapter 2

In my last life, I had chosen my father.

It was the most natural choice in the world. He was Dr. Richard Miller, a star surgeon whose hands were hailed as miraculous. He was charming, wealthy, and powerful. He doted on me, or so I thought, calling me his "little princess" and promising me the world.

My mother, Sarah, was a different story. She was always more distant, more focused on her career and on Liam. She praised Liam for his athletic ability and his popularity, while my academic achievements went mostly unnoticed. She had traditional values buried deep beneath her "modern woman" facade. A son was an heir. A daughter was... a daughter.

So when they divorced, I ran straight into my father' s arms, believing I was running towards a safe harbor.

I was so wrong.

The charming mask my father wore in public was just that-a mask. In private, the "love" he showed me twisted into something monstrous. He didn' t see a daughter. He saw a tool. A test subject.

My father was ambitious, not just to be a great surgeon, but to be a revolutionary one. He was developing new, experimental surgical techniques and bio-enhancements. They were risky, unethical, and not yet ready for official trials.

So he trialed them on me.

It started small. "Vitamin shots" that left me feverish and weak for days. "Allergy tests" that resulted in painful rashes and difficulty breathing. He would meticulously document my reactions, his eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity, not fatherly concern.

"This is just to make you stronger, princess," he would say, his voice a soft poison. "We're pushing the boundaries of medicine, you and I."

I was a child. I believed him. I endured the pain, the sickness, the endless nights spent as his personal lab rat, because I craved his approval.

As I got older, the experiments became more invasive. Minor surgeries to "test new suturing methods" that left ugly, permanent scars. Implants of untested bio-monitors that ached under my skin. My health deteriorated. I was constantly tired, constantly in pain. My schoolwork suffered. I lost my friends.

My life became a cycle of sterile rooms, needles, and pain, all orchestrated by the man who was supposed to protect me.

He sacrificed my well-being for his career. Every successful, radical surgery he performed on a wealthy client was a technique perfected on my body. Every award he won was polished with my tears and my blood.

The day I finally understood the full scope of his cruelty was the day I overheard him talking to his business associate, a corrupt man named Mr. Thompson.

"The latest trial on Chloe was a massive success," my father had said, his voice filled with pride. "The regenerative serum worked even faster than projected. We can start charging a premium for this procedure."

I was hiding in the hallway, my body wracked with pain from that very "trial." I was sixteen. I was dying. My organs were failing from the cumulative stress of his experiments.

"What about the girl?" Mr. Thompson had asked.

There was a pause. Then my father' s voice, cold and detached, "She' s served her purpose. It' s a shame, but her system is too compromised now. We' ll get more use out of her data posthumously than we will from her living."

I died a month later in a sterile, private hospital room, my father holding my hand and weeping for the benefit of the nurses. I heard him say, "I did everything I could to save my little princess."

He was already planning his next research paper based on my autopsy.

And my brother, Liam? He knew. Maybe not everything at first, but he knew enough. He saw my sickness, my scars. He saw the special attention Dad gave me. And he said nothing.

He was too busy enjoying the fruits of my suffering. The expensive cars, the designer clothes, the effortless entry into a top university, all paid for by the money my father made from his "miraculous" techniques.

I once confronted Liam, my voice weak, begging him to help me.

"Dad's just trying to make you better, Chloe," he said, not even looking up from his phone. "You're always so dramatic. Besides, his work is important. It's helping people."

It was helping him. That's what he meant.

So when I opened my eyes and found myself back in that lawyer' s office, ten years old again, with the choice laid out before me, there was no hesitation.

There was only a vow.

I would not be their victim this time. I would be the architect of their ruin. Richard, Sarah, Liam. Every one of them would pay for what they did to me.

This new life wasn't a gift. It was a chance for revenge.

And I was going to take it.