My sister and I were both reborn on the day we were adopted. In our first life, she fought to be chosen by the wealthy Blackwood family, convinced she was about to become a spoiled heiress. I was adopted by a working-class couple instead. I survived on scholarships and part-time jobs, put myself through college, and eventually married the Blackwood heir—the same man who had always hated her. Three days after my wedding, my sister ran me down with her car. So when we got a second chance, she immediately chose the family that had adopted me before. She thought that if she copied my poverty, my hard work, and every hardship I had endured, Adrian Blackwood would fall for her the way he had once fallen for me. And I would be left to suffer the coldness and cruelty she had endured in the Blackwood family. She was half right. Adrian hated me from the moment we met. He stood by while his friends shoved my face into a sink, then turned around and draped his coat over my sister’s shoulders. She looked at me and smiled. She thought everything was unfolding exactly as it had before. But she had forgotten one thing. She could take the place I once stood in. She could never take what it had cost me to get there.
