After Rebirth, I Outplayed My Manipulative Older Sister Chapter 04

After Rebirth, I Outplayed My Manipulative Older Sister Chapter 04

“Went through out there.” 

Those words carried a storm of implications. 

The classmates turned to Georgia. 

Her usual pitiful expression froze. 

Rumors began to spread: Cora has a half–sister, born from her father’s affair. Instead of hating her, 

Cora defends her at every turn. And this sister? 

She doesn’t seem grateful at all. 

Who started it? I had no idea. 

Just some sweet, sharp whispers. 

All based on truth, spiced up a little, and suddenly everything looked different. 

I glanced at Georgia. She stared down at her work, 

her fingers whitening around her pen. 

When it came time to pick courses for sophomore. 

year, Georgia chose a different set of courses 

from me. 

In my past life, whatever courses she picked, my 

dad made me pick the same ones, so she could “help me” with schoolwork. 

I fought back. Got a slap across the face for it. 

This time, I spoke up first. “Dad, Georgia and I are good at different subjects. If we take different 

courses, we can actually learn from each other.” 

Dad liked the sound of it and didn’t object. 

Later, Mom told me Georgia had mumbled to Dad, “It feels weird without Cora in my class.” 

And right after that, Dad came to Mom and said I should switch to the same courses as Georgia. 

Mom had replied bluntly, “Is Georgia choosing courses, or choosing her maid? She can’t get used to it? Then she should deal with it herself. You 

expect Cora to keep running circles around her? Is Georgia paying her a salary or what?” 

Dad couldn’t argue back. 

In sophomore year, we finally didn’t have to take all the same classes together anymore. 

But I wasn’t done with her yet. 

Second semester of sophomore year, Georgia 

became Vice President of the Student Activities. 

Council. 

In my past life, she’d climbed steadily: campaign. 

wins, state honors, scholarships, top universities- 

every step perfectly calculated. 

Every time Dad praised her, he’d add, “Cora, learn. 

from your sister.” 

I couldn’t stop him. The more accomplished she 

became, the more jealous and petty I’d look if I 

did. 

The best way to destroy someone? Smother them. 

with praise. 

On election day, I arrived an hour early and took 

the front–center seat in the auditorium. 

When she stepped up to speak, I led the applause, 

louder than anyone. 

As soon as she finished, I stood and shouted, 

“Georgia! You’re the best!” 

The whole room laughed. 

Her cheeks flushed slightly, “Thank you, Cora. 

Thank you, everyone.” 

She won unanimously. 

I was the first to rush over and hug her, “Georgia! I 

knew you could do it!” 

A classmate teased, “Cora, anyone would think. 

you were the one elected.” 

I said, “I’m happier for her than I would be for 

myself!” 

On the way home that night, she suddenly said, 

“Cora, you don’t have to do this every time.“. 

“Do what every time?” 

“Act this over–the–top whenever something good 

happens to me.” She stared at the ground, voice 

light. “I know you don’t mean it.” 

I stopped and looked at her. 

Her face half–shadowed under the streetlamp, that 

soft, pitiful look still there, even as she spoke. It 

seemed utterly sincere. 

I smiled, “Georgia, what are you talking about? I’m your sister. If I’m not nice to you, who should I be 

nice to?” 

She stared at me for a few seconds, then turned away without another word. 

After that, she started avoiding me. 

When I brought snacks to her classroom door, she sent a classmate to say she was busy studying. When I invited her out on weekends, she said she 

had tutoring. When I left “Good luck” notes on her 

desk, they’d be gone when I got home. 

She was scared of me. 

Far more interesting than hate. 

A girl who lives on playing the victim fears nothing 

more than someone better at the act. 

She could never call me out, because doing so 

would mean admitting she’d been faking it all 

along, too. 

Senior year, something big happened. 

An ordinary Tuesday. 

During evening study hall, the teacher called me 

out, “Cora, something’s happened to your father.” 

When I reached the hospital, Dad was in the ER, fighting for his life. 

Mom sat on a hallway chair, her face blank. 

Georgia stood in the corner, clutching her phone. 

“Heart attack. Collapsed at home suddenly. 

Georgia called 911,” Mom said. 

Tears spilled down Georgia’s face at once, “It’s all 

my fault. I stayed up talking to him too late, and 

he’s been so busy with work lately…” 

I watched her cry, a strange unease twisting in my 

chest. 

Dad had always been healthy–high blood 

pressure, but he took his meds regularly and got 

checkups every year. 

In my past life, he’d lived into his seventies, 

traveling with Georgia and calling her his most. 

caring daughter. 

Why a heart attack now? 

I didn’t ask. 

In front of the doctors and nurses, I played the worried, anxious daughter perfectly. 

I held Georgia’s hand and comforted her, “It’s not. 

your fault. Don’t blame yourself.” 

She cried even harder, leaning into my comfort. 

At four a.m., Dad stabilized. 

The doctor said another thirty minutes and it 

would have been too late. 

Mom exhaled deeply, her hands trembling, lips. 

pale. 

I told her to go home and rest, but she shook her head, saying she was fine. 

But I noticed her sitting by the bed, head resting 

against the back of the chair, eyes closed for a long time. 

I thought she was just exhausted. 

Later, I learned that was the early sign of a 

subarachnoid hemorrhage. 

Back home, several cigarette butts lay in the living 

room ashtray. 

But Dad had quit smoking five years ago.