My sister wanted to conquer Hollywood, but she ended up pregnant by mistake. To save her career, my mother announced to the world that I was the one who was pregnant. My boyfriend threatened to break up with me, forcing me to raise her child in secret. She climbed to the top amidst applause and roses, eventually winning the Oscar for Best Actress. Meanwhile, I, notorious and disgraced, was lured to a rooftop by her "genius" daughter and pushed to my death. Opening my eyes again, I’m back to the day my sister found out she was pregnant. In this life, I refuse to be a silent extra in her movie! 1 "Your sister is going through a crisis, and you’re out there living it up? Get your ass back here right now!" My mother’s shrill voice blasted through the phone, vibrating against my eardrum. I remained unmoved. I even took a slow sip of my favorite watermelon juice, letting the cold liquid soothe my throat before I spoke. "What good would me coming back do? If something happened, you should call the police. Do you want me to dial 911 for you?" My calm tone clearly triggered her. There was a brief silence before an even sharper scream erupted. "Clara Miller, are you trying to ruin your sister? If this gets out, how is she supposed to show her face in this industry?" I took another long pull through the straw. "Again, what does that have to do with me?" "Stop asking questions! If you still consider me your mother, get home right now!" She slammed the phone down. I knew exactly what she was planning. My "dear" sister, Sienna, was pregnant. I’m only a year older than her, and we look remarkably alike. My mother wanted me home so I could act as a decoy—to let the world believe I was the one with the baby, preserving Sienna's "pure" image for her upcoming roles. How pathetic. We are both her daughters, but in her eyes, only Sienna’s life matters. Mine is just a disposable prop. I only realized the truth after I died in my first life. I was living in a world where Sienna was the "Mary Sue" protagonist. She had the "golden girl" aura, the world’s adoration, and a path paved with stardust. And I? I was the tragic supporting character who gave everything and received nothing. I wasn't even the villain; I was just the foil used to highlight Sienna’s perfection. On the day she accepted her Best Actress trophy, her seven-year-old daughter—a supposed "prodigy"—tricked me onto a balcony and pushed me off. My body lay in the morgue for six months because they were "too busy" with award season to bury me. To make matters worse, they leaked stories to the press claiming I had died because I was a drug addict who neglected my "own" child. My soul lingered beside Sienna for ninety years, watching her live a magnificent, blissful life. When she finally died in her sleep, surrounded by loving grandchildren, a white light sucked me in. And now, I’m back to the day she tested positive. I don’t care if this world is a novel or reality. I refuse to follow the script. If fate gave me a second chance, I’m taking the lead. In my last life, I took that phone call and rushed home. I lost my position as the lead dancer. Eventually, thanks to my mother’s meddling, I lost my career at the National Dance Company entirely. This time, I turned off my phone. I followed my troupe to Paris. I landed a solo at a prestigious gala, went viral, and was dubbed the "Prima of the New Age" by critics. By the time I finished my world tour and returned, Sienna’s stomach was already showing. It was time to head back. Rule number one for a supporting character: keep your distance from the protagonist. I needed to legally and socially sever my ties with them. To the people here, I had only been gone for five months. But to a soul that had been trapped beside Sienna for nearly a century, it felt like an eternity since I’d stood in this familiar, suffocating neighborhood. "Oh! Is that you, Sienna? You’re back?" I turned to see our neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, carrying a bag of groceries. She squinted at me with a judgmental smile. "Sienna, I saw you on the news! You’re doing so well! Not like that sister of yours—disappearing for months, getting knocked up by some random guy, and now she’s back parading her belly around like it’s a trophy. So embarrassing for your family." I blinked. So, even without me being there to agree to the plan, the rumors had already been planted. Because I used my stage name "Karina" abroad and haven't shown my face to the local press, and because Sienna and I are nearly identical, the neighborhood assumed the pregnant girl staying at home was "the bad sister." I smiled at Mrs. Henderson. "Mrs. Henderson, I’ve only been gone five months. Have you forgotten me already? I’m Clara, not Sienna." 2 "That’s impossible! Your mother said..." Mrs. Henderson didn't believe me until I pulled up my sleeve to show her a faint scar on my forearm. I got that scar years ago when I caught her son after he fell out of a tree. She was the one who bandaged it. She stared at me, her jaw dropping. "You really are Clara? Then the one who's pregnant is...?" I let out a bitter laugh. "It’s my sister. My mother was so worried about Sienna’s acting career that she... well, you know." Some things don't need to be spelled out. Her expression shifted instantly from judgment to deep pity. she squeezed my hand. "Oh, you poor thing. To have your own mother do that to you." I forced my eyes to turn red, looking like I was trying to stay strong. "It’s okay. Mom has never really liked me. I’m used to it." In my last life, I was too stupid to explain. I spent my short life being stabbed in the back by whispers. This time, I wouldn't be so passive. I walked to my front door and knocked. I didn't have a key; mine had been taken away years ago. In the original "story," Sienna was the center of the universe. To make her shine, the "author" made the lives of the supporting cast miserable. Every bit of mud thrown at Sienna eventually turned into a flower. In the last life, when her one-night stand at a bar was leaked, the guy ended up being the billionaire male lead. They were "destined" for each other. But without me to carry the mud for her, let's see how well those flowers grow. "Who is it?" The door was opened by Silas Vance, my boyfriend—at least, he was when I left. He was wearing a baby carrier with a practice doll in it, holding a bottle of warm formula. He was learning how to be a father. I wasn't surprised. Silas was the classic "Beta Male" of the story—Sienna’s most devoted admirer, or more accurately, her ultimate "simp." In the last life, I stayed home to care for Sienna. Silas was there every day, constantly criticizing me for not being "attentive" enough. Eventually, he took over the primary care. He took her to every prenatal checkup. He was there for the delivery. When she was bedridden post-op, he carried her to the bathroom and sponged her down. He even washed her silk underwear and hand-fed her every meal. Once, I caught him massaging her legs and felt a pang of jealousy. I said, "Silas, there are boundaries. She’s my sister, but you’re my boyfriend." He exploded. In front of the whole family, he screamed at me: "She’s your sister! I’m just helping out because you’re incompetent! Clara, your heart is so twisted that you see filth in everything!" Sienna had just smirked, resting her bare feet on Silas’s arm to dry them. "Clara, don't be so old-fashioned. Silas and I have nothing to hide. We're doing this right in front of you, aren't we?" And my mother had shoved me aside. "You’re just jealous of your sister! If you can't take care of her properly, don't stop Silas from doing it! I honestly doubt you're my daughter. Why can't you be as open-minded as Sienna?" Back then, my emotions were so suppressed that I didn't even know how to fight back. I just watched my boyfriend treat my sister with a tenderness he never showed me. Silas froze when he saw me. Then, his face twisted into a sneer. "Oh, the 'Star Dancer' finally graced us with her presence?" My soul had wandered for nearly a century. I felt nothing looking at him. "The season ended. I came back to see Sienna." My mother heard my voice and charged toward the door. She raised her hand to slap me. "You're finally back! Why didn't you just die in Paris?" I stepped back. Her hand slapped the doorframe with a loud crack. "You dared to move!" she shrieked. Sienna’s voice drifted from the living room. "What's going on?" She strolled out, wearing a tight maternity mini-dress, sucking on a popsicle. She looked at me with an expression of pure entitlement. "Clara, perfect timing. I'm due soon. You'll need to take over childcare. I have a major audition coming up, and I can't have a screaming baby on set." 3 Looking at her shameless face, I replied coldly, "I won't." "What did you say? Say that again!" My mother’s face turned a shade of purple I’d only seen on eggplants. She stared at me, unable to believe that her formerly submissive daughter was saying no. I repeated myself. "I’ve worked too hard to become the lead. I’m not quitting my career to be a nanny." Sienna frowned. Silas glared at me. "You chose to have this baby," I said to Sienna. "You should be the one responsible for it, not dumping it on someone else." My mother slammed her hand on the table. "How can you say that? You're her sister! Sienna is going to be a superstar. She can't have the scandal of a child out of wedlock!" "So you recognize it's a scandal?" I countered. "I'm the lead at a National Dance Company. I care about my reputation too." Sienna rolled her eyes and patted her stomach. "Clara, don't be so narrow-minded. It’s the 21st century. Having a baby isn't a scandal if you have talent! You're already a lead; who cares if you have a 'secret' kid?" I looked at her. "If that's the case, why don't you just tell the truth?" She choked for a second. "I'm different. My career is just starting." "If you have talent..." I threw her words back at her. Silas interrupted, his voice dripping with disgust. "Clara, I never realized how cold-blooded you were. Sienna is your sister. How can you let her dreams fail? It's just one child. How hard is it to just do this for her?" I looked at him for a long moment. He eventually looked away, sensing my gaze. "Since you put it that way..." I started. Sienna immediately lunged forward to hug me. "I knew you were the best, sis!" My mother’s face softened, though she still looked grumpy. "About time. Talking to you is like pulling teeth. Such a waste of my breath!" Silas smiled. "I’ve already mapped out a growth plan for the baby from birth to eighteen. Just follow it." I knew that plan. It involved me paying for everything—roughly five thousand dollars a month. He was very generous with other people’s money. "Wait," I said, breaking their little fantasy. "I wasn't finished." "I meant, since Silas thinks it's so easy and noble, he can raise the child. I have a world tour starting. I don't have time. I just came to check if you were alive. I'm leaving now. Goodbye." They were stunned into silence. My mother grabbed a glass and threw it at me. "Don't you dare walk out that door! You think your wings are strong now? You don't listen to your own mother? If you leave today, don't you ever come back! I will disown you!" I didn't stop. This house had stopped being mine a long time ago. My mother had packed all my clothes into trash bags and moved them to the basement, claiming they took up too much room. My bedroom had been converted into Sienna's "glam room." When I came back, I realized even my dishes were gone from the kitchen. The family photos on the wall were all Sienna—her headshots, her "aesthetic" pregnancy photos. There wasn't a single trace of me left in this house. Funny. I was too blind to notice it in my first life. Silas shouted a final threat. "Clara, if you don't do this for Sienna, we’re over!" I turned back to look at him. He looked smug, certain his threat would work. "Fine. Let's break up. I was going to bring it up anyway." He gaped at me. He couldn't understand how the woman who had worshipped him, who would do anything to keep him, was suddenly walking away. "Silas," I said, "I've wanted to say this for a long time. The way you date me while acting like Sienna’s lapdog? It’s pathetic. You’re gross." Sienna screamed behind me that they were "just friends." Whatever. It didn't matter anymore. Severing ties with them felt like dropping a hundred-pound weighted vest. "You'll regret this, Clara Miller!" Silas roared. No, Silas. You’re the one who’s going to regret it. I hadn't forgotten. In the last life, he stayed single for Sienna his whole life. When he died saving Sienna’s grandson from a car, his last words to her were: "Sienna, if Clara were still alive, things would be different. Clara, I'll marry you in the next life." I wanted to vomit. Who wants a used simp for a husband? 4 I went back to the theater. I practiced, I performed, and I lived. Maybe it was because I had seen so much in my ninety years as a ghost, but my mentor said my dancing had a new depth. It was more haunting, more magnetic. A month later, my partner, Ezra, and my teammates came running into the studio with their phones. "Karina, you have to see this!" I looked at the screen. I was the headline. The "anonymous source" was my mother. She had written a long, poorly phrased "expose" on Twitter. She claimed that the girl dancing on stage wasn't Clara, but Sienna Miller. She said "Clara" was at home pregnant and that I had stolen my sister's identity to steal her fame. She wanted to blacken my name while elevating Sienna’s. But she was naive. In a high-stakes professional theater, you can't just "swap" people. "Hilarious," Ezra laughed. "Does she think anyone can just do what you do?" "Wait, Sienna Miller?" another teammate asked. "Isn't that your sister's name?" I didn't hide it. "Yeah, it is." "My sister got pregnant out of wedlock. My mother was so worried it would ruin her acting career that she decided to tell everyone the pregnant one was me." Ezra stared at me, horrified. "Is she insane? I don't mean to insult your mother, but... is she okay in the head? Sienna’s reputation matters, but yours doesn't?" My teammates were furious on my behalf. See? Any sane person could see how messed up this was. But to a "supporting character" tool like my mother, it seemed perfectly logical. The scandal barely had time to trend before it was crushed. My neighbors, led by Mrs. Henderson, posted a video response. They told the truth about my mother’s favoritism. "The mom always favored the younger one. She raised the elder one like a servant," Mrs. Henderson said to the camera. "Clara has been a dancer since she was a kid, and her mom used to call it 'trashy' and 'begging for attention.' She used to lock Clara out of the house for practicing." "Sienna wanted to be a star, so the mom converted Clara’s bedroom into Sienna's closet. Clara didn't even have a bed to sleep in when she came home. The girl on TV is definitely Clara. Sienna can't even stand on one leg, let alone dance." Listening to them, I felt like I was watching a movie of my own life. A hollow, gray movie where I was just a pawn moved around by a player who didn't care if I broke. My teammates and the theater’s PR department officially backed me up. My mother was forced to delete her post. But she didn't give up. She showed up at the theater. She looked at me with pure hatred, as if I were her mortal enemy rather than her child. "Sienna had her baby," she commanded. "It’s your fault she’s being mocked online now. You have to fix it." "You’re going to quit this job, come home, and serve her while she’s in recovery. You’re going to raise that baby."
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