Reborn: The Unwanted Girl's Spectacular Comeback

"Kalista, apologize to Isabel. Now. "

That voice was cold and sharp, like shattered glass, piercing through the fog in her mind. It came from a tall figure, blocking out the glaring light of the chandelier above.

A wave of nausea swept over her. The stomach tightens, air is blocked from entering the lungs, stuck deep in the throat. She tried to propel herself up from the cold marble floor, but a scorching, electric pain shot up from her right foot, stealing her breath and forcing a choked gasp from her lips. Ankles.

A few feet away, a soft, delicate voice reached his ear. The sobbing is the cry of an injured bird, meant to evoke sympathy and hint at vulnerability. That was Isabel Sterling's voice.

Kalista's vision cleared. She saw her brother Ethan standing above, his chin tensed in dissatisfaction, and there was no warmth in his eyes. The way he looked at her was not like he was looking at his sister, but rather at the stain on the family's reputation.

And there, carefully arranged on a soft Persian carpet, is Isabel. Her white dress was spotless, and the tiny scrape on her knee became a perfect canvas. She looked like a broken porcelain doll. Her gaze met Kalista's for less than a second. In that fleeting moment, beneath the flickering tears, Kalista saw: a trace of victory satisfaction.

Then it disappeared, drowned out by another burst of heart-wrenching sobs.

"Kalista, apologize to Isabel. Now. "

Those words echoed not only in the lobby but also in the deepest, most fearful corners of her memory. This scene, this pain, this accusation-everything is terrifyingly chilling, yet so familiar.

The floodgates of her memories suddenly opened. It wasn't a trickle, but a massive flood-a raging torrent from the life she had already lived. His life ended in a cold, sterile hospital ward.

This was seven years ago. She was twenty-one. This is the day it all began. She was falsely accused of pushing Isabel down the stairs on the day.

In her first life, she once cried out about her innocence. She had cried and begged, swearing she had never touched her. No one believed her. Ethan's face wore a mask of disgust, while his father's face bore a cold, disappointed portrait.

The result of her resistance was a one-way ticket to what they called the "Youth Correctional Center"-a gilded cage, a private institution where wealthy families hid their shameful children. It was hell, the place where her spirit was systematically destroyed.

A tremor began in her hand and spread throughout her body. This is not a nightmare, not a memory. The pain in her ankle was too real, the icy cold of marble pressing against her skin.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, like something crazy and trapped.

This is true. She came back. She was reborn at the beginning of her own destruction.

Ethan saw her silence and trembling, mistaking it for stubborn resistance. His voice grew louder, carrying a hint of menace. "Are you deaf?" Or do you need me to drag you over myself? "

Isabel, always a peacemaker, added fuel to the fire. "Brother, please don't be mad at her," she said softly, her voice full of false concern. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have blocked her way...... She may not have done it on purpose. "

The implication was clear: she did it, but perhaps not out of malice. This is a clever maneuver.

Ethan's expression grew even more stiff.

Kalista took a deep breath, a rough, trembling breath. The fire of hatred in her chest burned fiercely enough to burn the entire world. But she couldn't let it go, not now. If she resisted, if she shouted the truth, she knew exactly what would happen to her.

She couldn't go back to that place. Never.

She had to stay, endure, and gradually dismantle the family until she could finally leave as she wished.

She looked up.

In an instant, her face fell. The cold resoluteness in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure, undisguised fear and regret. Real tears streamed down her cheeks. She has enough pain to absorb.

When she spoke, her voice was a broken, trembling whisper.

"Sorry...... Ethan ...... I'm truly, really sorry, Isabel......"

The effect is immediate. Ethan froze, his mouth slightly open. He was ready for a quarrel, screaming, and denial. He was not prepared to face this-this immediate, complete submission.

Even Isabel's trained sobbing paused for a second, and her performance made a brief mistake.

Callista propped herself up again, and with her ankle protesting, a painful whimper escaped her lips. She fell back to the floor, her face pale, tears soaking her cheeks. She didn't look at Isabel, her eyes fixed on Ethan, big and full of pleading, mixed with pain and desperate regret.

"I...... I really didn't mean to. She stammered, her words rushing out rapidly. I just ...... Rushing to grab my design sketches. I'm afraid I'll be late for submission......"

The excuse was pale, but her expression was flawless. It sounds like something a panicked, clumsy girl would say.

Ethan's anger, which had just been a raging flame, had now faded into a pile of smoldering embers. He still looked down at her from above, his brows tightly furrowed into a deep, doubtful line, but the threat before him had already passed.

Kalista knew she had won her first battle. She avoided the worst possible outcome.

She let her gaze fall to the floor, her damp lashes covering her eyes. She needed to hide them, to hide the cold, calculating coldness that was plotting her path of revenge.

"Let's start now," she thought. "Now."

The smell of disinfectant fills the luxurious living room, like a sterile invasion of the freshly cut lily scent. Dr. Evans-the Sterling family's family doctor for twenty years-gently wrapped a pressure bandage around Callista's swollen ankle.

"Severe sprain." His voice was professionally calm. "It couldn't bear any weight at all for at least a week. Apply ice and elevate without applying pressure. Do you understand? "

Kalista nodded, her face blank. "Thank you, doctor."

Her gaze swept across the room, landing on Isabelle, who was perched on the edge of the velvet sofa. Dr. Evans had already treated her, and her "wound" was only covered with a small, cartoon-like bandage on her knee.

Isabel looked pale and fragile, leaning against the cushion, as if just sitting up straight had drained her strength. "Brother," she whispered to Ethan, who stood guard beside her, "I'm really fine." Stop blaming Kalista. "

Ethan's jaw tightened, he nodded briefly, and said to the doctor, "Thank you, Evans." We handle the rest ourselves. "

The doctor packed up his bag and left, a heavy silence enveloping the entire room. Ethan dragged a heavy armchair across the carpet, placing it facing Callista. He sat down, his knee almost touching hers, creating an interrogative atmosphere.

"Kalista." His voice was low, devoid of emotion. "We need to talk."

A bitter and silent laugh formed in Kalista's mind. Here it comes. The real punishment.

"Given your behavior today." Ethan continued, his eyes like granite shards. "And the harm you caused Isabelle, I don't think you're in the right emotional state to cope with the pressure of high-level academic work."

Each word is a carefully placed stone, building a wall that blocks her future. Kalista's heart throbbed painfully, but she kept a blank expression.

Beside him, Isabel let out a perfectly timed faint sob. "This has nothing to do with her studies......

Ethan ignored her, his attention entirely focused on Kalista. "Professor Alistair Beaumont's graduate scholarship. You must withdraw your application. "

Those words were like a heavy punch thrown down. Kalista suddenly lifted her head, her eyes wide with carefully crafted shock and disbelief. That scholarship was her everything. In her previous life, that was her only beacon of hope, the only path she carved for herself to escape this family. She remembers fighting for it, screaming and begging Ethan not to take it from her hands. They locked her in a room until the deadline passed.

Isabel sensed the scent of victory and lowered her head, but Callista could see the corners of her mouth curl up in a triumphant smile. She was always jealous of Callista's talent.

"You will give your position to Isabel." Ethan finally revealed his true purpose. "Her talent is as outstanding as yours. She simply didn't get the same opportunity. "

Callista's gaze shifted from Ethan's cold and resolute face to Isabel's pretentious and grateful expression. It's like watching a terrible, predictable show. The urge to scream and scratch their triumphant faces is a real sensation-a ticklish pain in the throat. She swallowed it.

Resistance is pointless. She now knew. But this time, surrender will be a weapon.

"Alright."

The word was very soft, yet it fell into the silent room, carrying the impact of gunfire.

Ethan and Isabel stared at her, so shocked they couldn't speak. They expect a storm, but end up with a calm sea.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, full of doubt. "Do you understand what you're talking about? If you refuse, there will be consequences. "The threat is clear: the financial support that allows her to survive and even exist will be cut off.

"I understand." Kalista's voice was unsettlingly steady. "I agree to withdraw. I also agreed to give the position to Isabel. "

She paused, letting the words hang in the air. Then, she met Ethan's gaze directly. Her eyes were clear, no longer tearful, but carried a strange, elusive calm.

"But I have one condition."

Ethan furrowed his brows tightly. Isabel shifted uneasily on the sofa.

"I will call Professor Beaumont myself." Kalista declared. "I will tell him in person that I voluntarily withdraw. This is my first condition. "

She would not allow them to poison her relationship with the only professor who truly valued her work. She wants to hold the voice in the conversation.

"My second condition." Her voice carried a hint of sharpness. "It's aimed at Isabel." She didn't look at the so-called sister, her gaze fixed on Ethan. "Since you have such confidence in her talent, let her prove it."

Before the two of them could respond, Callista reached for her phone on the coffee table. Her fingers were steady, and she found the number in her contacts. She pressed the call button and then set her phone to speaker.

The room was so quiet she could hear her own blood pulsing in her ears.

After two rings, a gentle and knowledgeable voice answered the call. "Callista?" I am reviewing your latest submission. As outstanding as ever. "

Callista's throat tightened, but she forced her voice to remain steady. "Professor Beaumont. Thank you. I called to inform you that I need to withdraw my scholarship application. "

A shocked silence came from the other end of the line. "Withdraw?" Kalista, what's wrong? You are my most promising candidate. "

"A private family matter requires my full attention." She retold the lie with chilling precision. She could feel Ethan's approving gaze falling on her. He thought he had won.

Then, she unleashed her ultimate move.

"But Professor, please understand. This is only temporary. I assure you, within a month, I will present you with a brand-new portfolio-such a striking piece that you will have no choice but to return my place to me. I will win it back with my strength and openness. "

She hung up the phone.

The living room was silent. Ethan and Isabel both stared at her, their faces filled with shock, confusion, and a growing unease.

She gave them what they wanted, but turned their victory into a countdown.

The journey to her room was a slow, painful limp, aided by the reluctant arm of the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. Calista's room was in the attic, a space the Sterlings considered suitable for a charity case. It was small, with a single sloped window and furniture that was a decade out of style. It stood in stark contrast to Isabelle's sprawling suite two floors below, a palace of pink and white.

She eased herself onto the edge of her bed, her ankle throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Her phone, the one she'd used to make the call, buzzed on the nightstand. A new message.

It was from Professor Beaumont.

"Calista, I don't know what is happening, but I trust your talent implicitly. I will hold your spot. One month. Here is the contact information for Damien Holden. He is a former student of mine, a good man. If you find yourself in any kind of trouble, call him. He will help you."

A flicker of warmth, the first she'd felt since this nightmare began, moved through her chest. She stared at the name-Damien Holden. It was unfamiliar. A variable from a life she had never lived. She committed it to memory.

She was typing a reply to the professor when her door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall.

Gavin Sterling stood there, still dressed in his racing gear, his face flushed with anger. He was her second brother, a man who lived life at two hundred miles per hour, both on the track and off. He was Isabelle's most fervent champion and Calista's most vocal tormentor.

"You ungrateful parasite!" he snarled, storming into the room. He jabbed a finger at her face. "You hurt Isabelle, and you still have the nerve to make demands of Ethan?"

Calista looked at him, her expression flat. Arguing with Gavin was like arguing with a thunderstorm. Pointless and exhausting.

Her silence only enraged him further. "What's with that look? You think you're better than us? Without the Sterling name, you're nothing! You'd be on the street!"

Isabelle appeared in the doorway behind him, a vision of worried innocence. She placed a delicate hand on Gavin's arm. "Gavin, don't. Her ankle is hurt."

"Don't you dare defend her!" Gavin shook off her hand, his voice booming in the small room. "You're too good, Izzy. That's your problem. You let her walk all over you!"

His furious gaze swept the room and landed on the phone in Calista's hand. In two quick strides, he snatched it from her. The screen was still lit, displaying Professor Beaumont's message.

Gavin let out a harsh, ugly laugh. "What's this? Calling for backup? Think you're going to make a comeback in a month? In your dreams!"

A switch flipped inside Calista. An icy calm washed over her. "Give me back my phone."

"You want it back?" Gavin's smile was cruel. "Here."

He threw the phone to the ground. The screen spiderwebbed with a sickening crunch.

"You can have it back when you learn how to offer a real apology," he spat. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Isabelle shot Calista a look-a fleeting glance of pity that was quickly overshadowed by pure, unadulterated pleasure.

BANG.

The door slammed shut.

Calista stared at it for a second before the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the wood.

A cold dread trickled down her spine. She scrambled off the bed, ignoring the pain in her ankle, and hobbled to the door. She twisted the knob. It didn't budge. It was locked.

"Gavin! Open the door!" she yelled, pounding her fist against the solid oak.

She could hear his footsteps retreating down the hall, accompanied by Isabelle's faint, theatrical protests. "Brother, maybe this is too much..."

Calista leaned her forehead against the cool wood, her breath coming in ragged pants. The walls of the small room suddenly felt like they were closing in.

Then, with a soft click, the single lamp on her nightstand went out. The room was plunged into absolute darkness.

He'd cut the power.

The blackness was instantaneous and total. It pressed in on her from all sides, thick and suffocating. It wasn't just the absence of light; it was the presence of a memory. The memory of another locked room, another darkness. The memory of days turning into weeks in the disciplinary center, locked in solitary confinement.

Her breath hitched. Her lungs seized. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her temples. The air grew thick, unbreathable. She slid down the door, her back scraping against the wood, until she was huddled in a heap on the floor.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them tight to her chest, trying to make herself smaller, trying to disappear. But there was no escaping the panic. It was a living thing, inside her, clawing its way up her throat.