My Extreme Revenge On My Biased Parents

I never believed in ghosts or deities, but my soul drifted uncontrollably to one place.

The concert had ended abruptly due to the sudden stampede.

I saw Brenda. She looked panic-stricken, pulling out a box of mixed paint from her bag to smear it on her clothes and hands.

She then waved down a taxi, jumped in, and headed to the same place I was drifting towards.

When I floated back home, Brenda was already sprawled on the couch, excitedly playing on her phone.

Without looking up, she shouted, "Mom, clean my shoes and wash my clothes. They're covered in paint."

Our mother replied, "Sure, dear. You've had a tough day. I've made you some chicken soup. It'll be ready soon."

She stirred the chicken soup in the pot with a ladle, smiling as she poured a bowl and set it under the fan to cool.

I floated behind Brenda and saw her editing the concert video, preparing to post it on social media.

Our dad cut a whole plate of peeled watermelon, stuck a small fork in it, and placed it on the coffee table, feeding her a bite with affection.

Our mom looked at the pile of shoes, bags, and dirty clothes Brenda had thrown around.

She sulked, "Where is that useless Rose? She didn't come home for dinner, and now that Brenda is back from painting, she's still out messing around. She doesn't care about how hard we work. That ungrateful girl should just stay out there and never come back."

My dad got up and threw the dirty clothes into the basket.

"If she stays out there, it's less worry for us. But who will do the laundry and cooking then? Luckily, we have another daughter. Brenda, when you grow up and become a famous painter, hire a maid for your mom. Then your mom won't have to see your sister's face every day. Isn't that right, Brenda?"

Hearing my parents' words, even as a soul, I couldn't help but feel a chill.

In this house, I was just a servant at their beck and call.

Even a servant got paid. I wasn't even that lucky.

And now, as they wished, the daughter they despised was truly dead out there, never to return or annoy them again.

Brenda kept her head down, fiddling with her phone, blocking six posts from the concert my parents had sent.

She took a moment to comfort them, saying, "Don't worry. I'll buy you a big villa and a luxury car, and I'll hire eight maids for you two."

Our parents couldn't stop smiling.

After the chicken soup cooled down, our mother handed it to Brenda.

She said, "Drink up, Brenda. Don't let your sister see. She's so greedy she'd eat a whole chicken. And your dad picked out the sweetest watermelon for you. Don't leave any for your sister."

Our dad swallowed as he watched the chicken soup. Brenda finished the bowl in one gulp, ate a couple of pieces of watermelon, and nodded eagerly.

I could only smile bitterly.