First Life, Fake Daughter. Second Life, Real Daughter. Still the One They Hated Novel – After developing severe PTSD, the only thing I wanted was to die. Instead, I was dragged into a switched-at-birth heiress drama by a so-called system. In my first life inside the story, I was the fake daughter. Naturally, the entire family adored the real one. She slashed her own wrists and blamed me for it. My adoptive parents dumped me at a brutal training camp. My adoptive brother demanded that I pay for my sins with my body. So I burned the whole family alive. Then I jumped into the river and died with them.
The protagonists were wiped out. The world collapsed. And the system calmly tossed me into the next one. In the second life, I became the real daughter. And the family still chose the other girl. She pretended to be chronically ill and framed me for everything. My biological parents drained my blood to treat her anemia. My loving brother even forced me to take explicit photos so she wouldn’t be caught in a scandal. When she came to flaunt her victory in front of me, the system suddenly issued a warning.
[Host. Extreme actions are prohibited in this world. If you break the rules, your original body will die permanently.] I laughed. Whether something counted as “extreme” didn’t really matter. The real issue was—I still wanted to die. *** So I grabbed Celeste Whitlock by the hair. Then I snatched a blood transfusion bag from the medical tray and shoved the tube toward her mouth. “Anemia, right?” “Transfusions take too long.” “You should just drink it.” “Big gulps.” The bag burst open. Blood splashed everywhere.
The nurses screamed and stumbled back in horror. I grabbed a syringe and started stabbing the needle into my own arm again and again. “Go on,” I said cheerfully. “Drink up. There’s plenty.” According to the script of this world, the fake daughter only pretended to be sick. She claimed to have anemia, and my biased parents turned the real daughter—who happened to have O-negative blood—into her personal blood supply. But I had already stopped caring about living. If I bled out here, that would solve everything. And if someone died with me on the way out— Even better. Celeste struggled wildly in my grip, her face drenched in blood. The scene looked almost surreal. “Ah—help—!” My parents rushed forward in panic. “Stop!” “Have you gone insane?!” I hadn’t. I just wanted to die. The doctors in my original world had already explained it.
Severe PTSD. When triggered, it could cause violent outbursts. That was why, in the first world, after enduring enough injustice, I burned the entire family alive. The system then dumped me into the second simulation and warned me not to kill anyone again. Otherwise my real body would die. Funny thing is—PTSD doesn’t just come with violent impulses.
It also comes with a very strong urge to kill yourself. The system wanted me to quietly endure the suffering written into the story. So I decided to use these people to vent my violence first, and then let the system help me finish the job. Honestly? That sounded like a pretty good deal.