Chapter 2Runway Revenge: The Curse of the Green Thorns

A few minutes later, Tiffany couldn't wait to check on me.

Seeing the empty cup, she couldn't hide her grin. Her eyes, already squeezed shut by the fat on her cheeks, practically disappeared.

She volunteered to wash the cup.

When she opened the kitchen door, the smell of grease hit me. Tiffany was making late-night fried chicken.

Honestly, Tiffany took after her mother. Brenda was petite and decent-looking, so Tiffany shouldn't have been unattractive.

But when they first moved in, Brenda wanted to assert dominance. Any gourmet food went straight to Tiffany. To mock me, Tiffany would gorge herself in front of me.

"Dad bought me this pudding! Sorry Harper, he didn't get one for you. Don't be mad!"

At dinner, if I touched a ribeye steak, Tiffany would act like a victim. "Dad, back home, Mom always let me have the whole steak. Does Harper have to take everything?"

My dad, who hated conflict and felt my late mother was too strong-willed, sided with them to feel like a "man." He ordered that I eat leftovers only after they finished.

For a child, life is about food and play. Tiffany’s gluttony grew unchecked. She became obese.

When we hit our teens, she started obsessing over my figure. She convinced Dad to let me eat at the table, but only so Brenda could cook greasy, sugary bombs to sabotage me.

But I was already modeling. I ate strict agency-approved meals. They couldn't touch me.

In my last life, I saw her eating fried chicken at midnight and tried to warn her. "Weight loss is about consistency. Eating this late ruins your metabolism."

She just gave me a mysterious smirk. "Harper, I don't care anymore. I believe in destiny. Maybe one day I'll just wake up skinny. Don't you think?"

Now I knew. She knew the swap was coming. Every calorie she ate would end up on my hips.

I walked into the kitchen, pretending to be tempted. "Is that fried chicken? Can I have a bite?"

Tiffany panicked and covered the plate. "No! Harper... you're a model! You have to watch your figure!"

I looked down, acting sad. "That warm milk really woke up my appetite. But you're right. Maybe you should stop making me milk. It makes me crave junk food!"

She froze. The milk was the only way to mask the taste of her blood.

As I turned to leave, she shouted, "Wait! I’ll make you a keto-friendly dessert!"

She spent an hour making a complicated coconut egg white pudding. She even got yelled at by Dad for using the mixer so late.

I ate it with satisfaction. "If I have this after my milk every night, I won't crave junk."

She forced a smile through gritted teeth. "Sure... I’ll make it for you every single night!"