They Gave My Ivy League Spot to My Fake Genius Sister

"Let Aria have the Stanford recommendation. Quinn owes her."

I stared at the family group chat—the one I wasn't in—and let out a cold laugh.

In my past life, I went completely hysterical over this, only to earn my family's disgust and a miserable death.

Now, reborn and given a second chance, I looked at the room full of guests celebrating My success, and walked straight to the microphone.

"Everyone, the party is over. I'm turning down the Stanford spot."

Under their stunned gazes, I dumped my champagne into the trash bin.

This rotten family? I'm done with them.

——

Today was my celebration party.

Celebrating me, Quinn Gallagher, for securing the state's only full-ride scholarship and the principal's direct recommendation to Stanford University.

The Gallagher family backyard was currently packed with people.

I didn't even recognize half the guests here. They were mostly local politicians, wealthy socialites, and corporate executives, all eager to rub elbows with my parents under the guise of celebrating my scholarship.

"Oh, Richard, Eleanor, you must be absolutely thrilled! Raising a Stanford scholar is no small feat," a distant aunt I hadn't seen in five years gushed, clinging to my dad's arm with a sycophantic smile.

"Well, Quinn has always been a highly disciplined girl," Dad replied, his chest puffed out with pride, happily taking the credit for a daughter he barely paid attention to.

A few feet away, a bald executive holding a martini walked right up to my sister, Aria.

"Quinn! Congratulations on the Stanford spot!" the man boomed, raising his glass at her. "To get the principal's direct recommendation—you truly are a once-in-a-generation prodigy!"

Aria's delicate smile stiffened for a fraction of a second.

I leaned against the carved stone pillar by the pool, a glass of sparkling water in hand, watching it all with cold detachment.

Ten minutes ago, I closed my eyes in the agonizing pain of a car crash.

I had been reborn.

Sent back to the most absurd night of my eighteen-year-old life.

In my past life, it was on this exact night that I foolishly believed I had finally won my parents' approval.

But when I turned to grab a glass of champagne from the head table, I accidentally caught a glimpse of my father's iPad lying there.

The screen was lit up.

It was an iMessage group chat named "Gallagher Core."

There were four people in it: my parents, Aria and my brother, Carter. Not me.

I walked over, my nails digging hard into my palms, and lowered my eyes.

A text from my mother popped up:

[I've already spoken to the principal. At next week's ceremony, the Stanford recommendation will be announced for Aria.]

Carter followed up immediately:

[Nice one, Mom. Quinn's grades are perfect anyway; she can get in on her own. Aria was lost out there for eight years, her foundation is too weak. This spot is a lifesaver for her.]

Dad sent a thumbs-up emoji:

[It's settled then. Quinn owes her. If she hadn't failed to watch her sister back then, Aria wouldn't have suffered so much. This is payback.]

Staring at those familiar words, I suddenly laughed.

In my past life, seeing those messages made me shake uncontrollably.

I charged into the crowd like a lunatic, screaming, demanding to know why they were stealing the future I had traded countless sleepless nights for.

And the result? My father slapped me across the face in front of everyone, calling me selfish and cold-blooded.

Aria cowered in mom's arms, playing the wronged victim.

I was branded a "jealous psycho" and kicked out of the house.

Eventually, driving home exhausted late at night after working multiple jobs just to afford tuition, I died in a car crash.

Meanwhile, Aria stepped over my dead body, took my Stanford spot, and became an Ivy League socialite.

But now I understand. It wasn't the family that fell apart; it was the illusion that they ever gave a damn about me.

"Quinn, what are you spacing out for? Go cut the cake." Mom, draped in a haute couture silk gown, walked toward me wearing her flawless, plastic smile.

"There are a lot of Ivy League alumni here tonight. You need to act like a perfect Gallagher."

I looked at her immaculate makeup. This time, I didn't go hysterical.

I simply set my sparkling water down on the table and said evenly, "Sure."

I turned around, bypassed the socialites sipping champagne and laughing, and walked straight to the DJ booth.

"Hey, Quinn. Got a request?" The young Black guy moonlighting as the DJ winked at me.

"Cut the music. Hand me the mic."

He froze for a second, but under my icy glare, he pushed the volume slider all the way down.

The deafening EDM vanished instantly. All that was left in the backyard was the surprised murmurs of the guests and the low hum of the pool filter.

I gripped the microphone, looking out at the hundreds of eyes staring back at me.

"Good evening, everyone," my voice echoed through the night air.

"Thank you all for coming out tonight. However, I have some unfortunate news to announce."

Sensing something was wrong, mom rushed forward in her heels, hissing a warning under her breath, "Quinn! What the hell are you doing?"

I ignored her.

My gaze swept over my brother Carter, who was standing at the back of the crowd with shifty eyes, and Aria beside him, wearing a white dress and biting her lip in that classic, innocent act of hers.

"Due to personal reasons, I have decided to reject the principal's direct recommendation to Stanford."

I paused, watching the shock ripple across the crowd.

"So, this celebration is officially canceled. Everyone, please go home."

"Quinn!" Dad let out a furious, low roar.

I didn't argue. I didn't explain.

I just put down the mic and yanked the power cord straight out of the amp.

After a sharp screech of static, dead silence draped over the Gallagher family backyard.

Despite my parents' glares, I headed for the gates.