My Reborn Sister Rejected The Billionaire So I Took Him Instead Chapter 1

My ultimate life goal? To be a pampered sloth.

Not just any sloth. I want to be the kind that only eats air-freighted ingredients, wears custom couture, travels with an eight-person security detail, and whose life is henceforth devoid of all stress and inconvenience. A top-tier, kept slacker.

Unfortunately, I was just Daisy Holt, the second daughter of the Holt family, forever living in the perfect shadow of my older sister, Stella.

Then, on the eve of her engagement to Lachlan Shaw—a formidable prince of the New York financial circuit—my sister was reborn.

She sobbed to our parents that her fiancé was a monstrous control freak, that marrying him meant stepping into a gilded cage, and she’d rather die than lose her freedom.

I was about to offer a platitude when a line of text flashed before my eyes, like a streaming comment or a social media pop-up:

[Here we go! The ‘She Runs, He Chases’ forced-love trope! The heroine says he monitors her social life and restricts her movements. Pure hell!]

Listening to my sister’s hysterical protests, and reading the plot leak, I felt a thrill that brought tears to my eyes.

Restricted social life? Perfect, I'm a recluse!

Restricted movement? Fantastic, I’m a homebody!

Where my sister saw a nightmare, I saw a bespoke slice of heaven tailored specifically for my low-energy, highly anxious existence.

When I saw Mom and Dad preparing to break the engagement for Stella’s "freedom," I dropped to my knees with a theatrical thud.

"Dad! Mom! If my sister doesn't want to jump into the fire," I declared, my eyes shining with genuine, tearful sincerity, "then for God's sake, let me take the dive!"

* * *

I suspect my sister, Stella Holt, was, in fact, reborn.

Otherwise, I couldn't explain how the woman who had been demurely flaunting her three-carat engagement rock the day before, woke up weeping and begging to call the whole thing off.

In the living room, she was currently pouring out her heart to our parents. She claimed that Lachlan Shaw, the New York elite's darling, was a velvet-glove tyrant—a secret, obsessive control freak.

She hadn't even met Lachlan in person yet.

I was about to interject when the comments flashed again:

[Wait, why did the heroine just reset the timeline?]

[It’s a sick, obsessive forced-love story. If the heroine doesn't marry him, what am I supposed to read?!]

[Hold up, commenter above, maybe a fresh start is good for her. The heroine loves her freedom. I mean, can you imagine that life? Food has to be air-freighted, clothes are all private custom orders, even the brand of toothpaste is dictated by the hero. A life with no choices and no turbulence? How could she possibly survive that?!]

My eyes lit up. This world, I realized, had gone completely mad.

I don't love freedom! That life—the one with no turbulence and pre-selected high-end everything—is the ultimate dream I, a socially anxious, lazy-to-the-bone human, have been striving for!

But the madness didn't stop there.

Mom and Dad, faces etched with sympathy, helped Stella up and righteously declared they would break the decades-old agreement. They were willing to risk bankruptcy and earn the ire of the entire New York financial circuit to protect their daughter’s "precious independence."

Excuse me? Isn't there another daughter? The trope of the substitute bride? Did no one read the handbook?

As Dad's hand trembled, reaching for the phone to make the fateful call, I executed my perfect, dramatic kneel.

"Dad! Mom! Stella doesn't want him," I pitched my voice with just the right amount of desperate piety. "I'll marry him. Will that work?"

The living room fell silent for two seconds.

Mom swiftly pulled Dad’s arm away from the phone. "Oh, honey, you forgot about Daisy! If she’s willing to marry him, that’s just perfect! Don't make the call, honey. The contract never specified which daughter."

Dad dropped the phone like a hot potato, visibly relieved. The family drama was solved, and everyone was suddenly delighted.