Reborn Against Family Schemes

After the initial shock wore off, my parents looked at me with a mix of disappointment and reproach. Isabella sat quietly, content to let them handle me. She kept reassuring them, suggesting that maybe I had my reasons.

My mother, clearly irritated, snapped, "Your sister is standing up for you, yet you still act so irresponsibly for your age!"

The waiter had already brought out all the dishes, but I just took a sip of water.

"You told me before that all the family money is to be reserved for Isabella, and that I should fend for myself without seeking help from you. So, does it really matter if I make my own decisions now?" I replied.

My father looked at me with disappointment, saying, "Why divide a family like that? I admit, over the years, we've leaned a little more towards your sister in terms of material things, but the love we have for both of you is the same."

Maybe parents who play favorites do comfort and deceive themselves like this. Say it enough times, and they might even believe it.

"And now, how much money do you have left?" my mother asked directly, realizing that the emotional appeal wasn’t working.

"Not much," I lied calmly, "just about a couple of thousand dollars for living expenses."

In truth, after making the down payment, I still had a few grand stashed away for emergencies.

My mother, holding back her anger, asked, "Just a couple of thousand? Why didn't you save more? What if something comes up? We don’t have any money to give you."

"What kind of emergency are we talking about?" I smiled in response.

My mother was at a loss for words.

Isabella glanced at our parents and then suggested, "Mom, Dad, maybe we should tell Genevieve. She's still part of the family."

My father sighed heavily and began to lament. Just as I remembered it happening before, it was about his friend borrowing the car and getting into an accident, leaving him without the funds to cover the costs.

He lamented that the victim threatened to cause a scene at the university where he taught if they didn’t get compensation. After his story, he looked at me expectantly.

Why look at me? I told them I was broke.

So, I played along with a deep sigh too.

My father still had some pride and couldn’t bring himself to ask me directly, so he hesitated and mumbled.

Isabella, who had been quietly eating, suddenly played her role as the "considerate daughter" and urged me to "think of a solution."

I suggested with a smile, "Why not use the family savings for now?"

My mother raised an eyebrow, about to protest, but my father signaled her to stop.

Isabella then said regretfully, "It’s all my fault. Mom and Dad said they wanted to buy me a house for when I got married, but I'm not sure I'll ever get the chance. Maybe we shouldn’t buy it after all…"

My mother hugged Isabella tightly, "Don't talk like that. We have to buy that house. Good deals like this don’t come often."

I shrugged, "I really can’t help."

"Genevieve, I know this might be difficult for you, but could you try borrowing some money from your friends or colleagues? You know, at our age and position, it’s hard for us to go around asking for money…" Isabella pleaded, lowering her stance.

University professors and company executives can’t borrow money, can they?

"My social circle isn’t exactly rolling in spare cash, who could easily lend tens of thousands of dollars?"

All three fell silent.

It wasn’t about newfound conscience or familial sympathy. They just realized I was stating the truth—no amount of emotional blackmail would produce the money they wanted.

But Isabella wasn’t ready to give up her scheming.

"Could you ask your boss for a loan, maybe?" she suggested.

"No." I replied bluntly.

"What did you say?!" My mother was visibly irritated.

I gave a sardonic laugh. "On what grounds am I supposed to ask my boss for money? How would I repay it? What about my mortgage?"

"Why are you living away? Just rent out the new place and move back home. Then you can work and repay the boss," she suggested.

"Why would I choose to live in a cramped attic room when I have a spacious house of my own?" I stood up, adding, "Let’s just stop staying in touch."

The three of them looked shocked again, probably not expecting that I, who had always been so accommodating, would genuinely refuse to go along with their demands this time.

Even my father, who had been relatively civil towards me, changed his expression. "Are you cutting ties with us? Don’t forget that legal obligations of support can't be waived!"

He softened a bit, "Why make a fuss? Just apologize to your mother, and you’re still our good daughter."

"No need," I said, waving and heading to the door. "You’ve got Isabella as your good daughter. I’ll fulfill my legal obligations—when you turn 60, you can take it to court, and I'll pay exactly what they decide."

"Genevieve!"

"What?" I laughed as I replied, "I haven’t touched a single dish at this table. You’re not expecting me to pay, are you?"

"Get out! From now on, your father and I will consider we never had a daughter like you!"

Perfect.

I thought my mother might actually mean it, but not even two hours later, I received a text from her using a new number: Isabella said she’ll borrow money from Peyton; if you want to return home, you're responsible for paying it back.

Ah, I forgot to block that number earlier.