Reborn on New Year's Eve My Family Sold Me for Revenge

"Alice, are you deaf?" My brother snapped, craning his neck to glare at me. "I asked you a question. Vivian pressing the ashes into dice and soaking them in water—what do you think?"

I offered a practiced, empty smile. "Bro, I've seen people do similar things online. But whether it brings good luck or bad? I really couldn't say."

My lack of endorsement earned me scowls from both him and Vivian.

I ignored their hostility, crouching to organize the cosmetics my nephew had scattered across the floor. I wasn't about to give them the validation they wanted. If this ritual went south, they'd only look for a scapegoat—and I refused to be it.

Mom and Dad shuffled in behind me, sneering at my hesitation.

"Why bother asking her?" Dad scoffed. "You know how she is. Aside from reading a few books, she's useless. Since when does she get a say in family matters?"

"Exactly," Mom chimed in. "Your grandmother cared about us most. It makes sense she'd send us signs from the other side."

A chill settled in my gut.

To them, my brother's unit was the only real family. I was just inventory—a resource to be sold off once I'd served my purpose. Despite my grades bringing honor to the family name, I remained nothing more than a "wasted investment" in their eyes.

In my past life, I had poured every cent into this house, desperate for a crumb of affection. In return, they buried my battered body and slandered my name, claiming I died over a boy.

The memory made my blood boil. My fingers curled into fists.

You want to turn Grandmother into dice? Fine. Go ahead.

Just as I resolved to let them ruin themselves, sharp pain radiated up my arm. Mom's fingers dug into my flesh, twisting hard.

"You wretched girl, stop standing there! Go get the mold for Vivian!" she barked. "Our fortune depends on Grandmother's guidance. The dead know everything. Once we're rich, we won't have to worry about a thing."

I hissed through my teeth, ignoring the stinging welt forming on my skin. Instead, I plastered on a greedy grin, rubbing my hands together theatrically.

"Is Grandmother really that powerful? Then I want a die made from her ashes, too. I'll need some supernatural help getting rich after graduation."

Vivian's face hardened instantly.

She clutched the urn to her chest, shooting a frantic look at my brother. He caught the signal immediately, digging into his pocket and tossing a crumpled three-dollar bill at me.

"Alice, stop causing trouble. Go to town and buy some fireworks for tonight. Now."

I glanced at Vivian, guarding the ashes like a dragon with its hoard. They were terrified I'd steal their luck.

Suppressing a cold laugh, I snatched the money, feigned disappointment, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

But I didn't stop watching.

As I walked down the road, I pulled out my phone, eyes glued to the living room surveillance feed. On screen, Vivian beckoned my nephew over.

"Ryan, come here. Come get some of Grandmother's blessing."

I nearly stopped walking. In her obsession with superstition, she'd conveniently forgotten her own son's severe asthma.

When Ryan had his first attack years ago, I'd begged them to take him to a specialist. Vivian had only screamed at me, blaming me for feeding him "dirty" osmanthus cake—ignoring the fact that he'd begged for it.

"My son's cough is your fault!" she'd shrieked.

My concern had been met with venom. Now, as I watched her hand him the ash-filled mold, I felt nothing but dark, icy anticipation.