Blurb：
In this gripping tale of rebirth and revenge, Yvonne is given a third chance at life after two tragic endings. Determined to escape her toxic family, she masterfully manipulates the dynamics between her Mom, Dad, and Aunt Luna. Armed with knowledge from past lives, Yvonne turns the tables—using a simple rose to expose secrets and shatter illusions. Watch as she outsmarts the lunatics who once destroyed her, crafting a path to freedom where turnabout is fair play. Will Yvonne finally cherish her life, or will the silent treatments and twisted games consume her again? Dive into this intense drama of betrayal, survival, and cunning strategy.
Content：
This is my third time being reborn.In my first life, I gave the rose I got from school to my dad's old flame, and my mom labeled me an ungrateful brat.
After Mom said she'd had enough of me and Dad, she left. Then, consumed by guilt, Dad strangled me with his own hands.
In my second life, I learned my lesson and put Mom first in everything. That time, she chose to leave my father and took me with her.
But I ended up becoming a pawn of their twisted game—and later, a prop in her new family' dramas. Eventually, I was pushed down the stairs by her stepdaughter.
This time, I've decided to cherish my life and stay far away from these lunatics.
I realized I'd been reborn again while holding the rose from the school event.
I was standing at the front door, my hand about to press the doorbell.
In my first life, when I opened the door, Mom, Dad, and his old flame, Aunt Luna, were all staring at me.
Seeing the rose in my hand, Dad was thrilled. He said to Aunt Luna, "Looks like little Yvonne has a connection with you—she brought your favorite flower on your first meeting."
Then he took the rose from me and handed it to Aunt Luna.
Because of that, my mom resented me for the rest of her life.
After the divorce, she never acknowledged me again.
Even when Dad strangled me in a fit of rage, she didn't shed a single tear.
She just said coldly, "That's what an ungrateful brat deserves. Since she chose her cheating dad and that homewrecker, her death was her own fault."
In my second life, as soon as Dad finished speaking, I clutched the rose tightly and handed it to Mom, saying loudly, "I don't even know this lady. Why would I give her anything? This is for you, Mom."
For that, Dad slapped me across the face. The next day, that rose ended up in the trash.
Mom told the housekeeper, "How tacky. Who even likes such tasteless flowers?"
Just as I snapped back to reality, the door swung open. Three pairs of eyes locked onto me.
I strode right up to Aunt Luna, handed her the rose, and said with a sweet smile, "You're so pretty, ma'am. I got this rose from school. It's nothing special, but I wanted to give it to you. Hope you have a wonderful day."
Aunt Luna looked startled but thanked me warmly.
I glanced at my father—he looked like someone had just snatched two million dollars right out of his hands. I felt a secret thrill.
"So, you both adore her. I carried you for nine months, went through hell to bring you into this world, and this is my reward?. Fine. You two really deserve each other." Her face was a mask of betrayed righteousness..
I smiled serenely. "Mom, I thought you didn't like roses. Remember on Mother's Day when I gave you roses, and you threw them away?"
"Why do you want this one now? Is it really about the rose—or just about taking something from this lady?"
Mom's face turned pale. "What nonsense! Since when have I ever disliked roses?"
"You've never liked them. Everyone in this house knows that. Ask Martha, ask Dorothy—they'll tell you."
"And weren't you the one who ordered the rose bushes in the garden torn out? You and Dad had a huge fight over it—even Grandpa got involved. Don't tell me you forgot?" I feigned surprise.
Watching everyone's mixed reactions, I felt deeply satisfied. That's right. Turnabout is fair play.
This time, I'm going to beat the lunatics at their own game.
In the days that followed, Mom gave me the silent treatment.
It was her go-to move. Whenever I did something she didn't like, she wouldn't say it outright. She'd just sigh about how unlucky she was—a husband who didn't love her, a daughter who was disobedient and disloyal.
Then she'd ignore me for days or even weeks.
She'd watch me get scared and miserable, begging for her forgiveness, while she coldly looked right through me.
Only when she felt I'd been punished enough would she finally "forgive" me, then warn, "I love you so much—how could you hurt me like this? If you ever do it again, I'll never speak to you again."
This time, I couldn't be bothered to play my part.
Her ignoring me was a welcome relief.
Whatever love I had for her vanished in my last life, when she stood by and watched her stepdaughter push me down the stairs, then calmly helped her cover it up.
Two days later, I walked out of school, but the family car wasn't there.
"Upgrading her tactics," I muttered, dialing the driver's number. That mother of mine really had no love for me at all.
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The End