CHAPTER 3: THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT
1400words
My phone vibrated—a message from Olivia: "Emma, I've had a special gown delivered to your apartment. Tonight's gala is crucial; I hope you'll wear it."
I smiled wryly. In my previous life, I'd gratefully accepted this "kindness," only to become a laughingstock when I appeared in what turned out to be counterfeit haute couture. Olivia had denied any wrongdoing, blaming the maid and making me look even more foolish.
This time, I merely glanced at the exquisite box left at my door, setting it aside without responding. Let her anticipate her little spectacle.
I applied the finishing touches to my makeup. Tonight marked the Sinclair family's annual gala, where society's elite would gather. In my previous life, this had been my first appearance as a Sinclair daughter—nervous, constantly adjusting my dress, terrified of making mistakes.
I'd practiced smiles and greetings endlessly before mirrors, memorized proper etiquette for every piece of cutlery, desperate not to embarrass my new family with my "common" background. How I'd longed for just one "well done," one glimpse of pride in my parents' eyes.
I remembered begging my mother for advice on proper conversation, receiving only dismissive words and a retreating figure. I remembered following my family at the event, carefully, deliberately ignored—an unwanted presence.
Now, I simply wanted to make an appearance and leave early.
The Sinclair mansion blazed with light as guests arrived. I drove there alone, deliberately avoiding the family entrance procession.
Curious glances followed me as I entered the grand hall. As the recently "returned" Sinclair heiress, I naturally drew attention.
"Emma, you've finally arrived," my father approached, displeasure flickering in his eyes. "Why didn't you enter with us?"
"Sorry, I was delayed," I replied calmly.
He scrutinized my attire, frowning. "This is what you chose for the gala?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"Such occasions require formal evening wear, not... this ordinary dress," he lowered his voice. "Didn't Olivia provide you with a gown?"
"I prefer this one," I smiled. "Simple, comfortable, and my own choice."
As Father prepared to respond, Alexander approached, offering me champagne. "Emma, you look beautiful."
I stared at him, surprised. In my previous life, he'd barely acknowledged me.
"Thank you," I accepted the glass gratefully.
"Father, some guests are asking for you," Alexander turned to him, skillfully changing the subject.
Father gave me one last penetrating look before departing.
"You didn't need to intervene for me," I told Alexander.
"I wasn't," he replied softly. "I just saw no point in arguing over something so trivial." He paused. "Since what you said at dinner... I've been thinking you might be right. Everyone deserves to choose their own path."
I gazed at him, astonished that my words had affected him.
Just then, Olivia approached, resplendent in a lavish pink designer gown, her expression eager for drama. She faltered visibly upon seeing my simple dress.
"Emma," she feigned surprise, "where's the gown I sent? Didn't it arrive?"
"It did," I replied calmly, sipping champagne.
"Then why aren't you wearing it?" Annoyance tinged her voice. "It was this year's limited edition."
"Was it?" I smiled. "Indeed, the material and design were quite... distinctive."
Olivia paled. "What exactly do you mean?"
"Stop pretending, Olivia," I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Your scheme is transparent."
"How dare you accuse me!" Her voice trembled, panic flashing in her eyes. "I was only trying to help!"
"Your 'help' is something I can do without," I met her gaze directly. "I don't need your false kindness, nor do I need specific clothes to prove my worth."
Alexander looked between us, confused. "What's happening?"
"Nothing," I smiled. "Just discussing fashion choices. Olivia, thank you for your 'thoughtfulness,' but please don't trouble yourself again."
I turned gracefully away, leaving Olivia frozen between anger and shock.
Glancing around, I noticed several socialites scrutinizing me, whispering among themselves. In my previous life, they'd been the ones mocking my counterfeit gown.
"The Sinclair heiress clearly doesn't understand appropriate attire."
"I heard she grew up in an ordinary family. No wonder she's so... plain."
I smiled, raising my glass in their direction before walking away. After experiencing death and rebirth, such petty gossip seemed utterly insignificant.
As I sought a quiet corner, a familiar voice called out.
"Emma Sinclair? Is that you?"
I turned to see an elderly gentleman approaching—Robert Hamilton, founder of Hamilton Pharmaceuticals and a key Sinclair Group partner.
"Mr. Hamilton, lovely to see you," I greeted him politely.
"I knew it was you!" He clasped my hand warmly. "Your presentation on gene editing applications for chronic disease treatment at last month's bioengineering conference was brilliant! I've been hoping to discuss it with you further."
"I'm honored!" I was genuinely surprised that my Cambridge University research project had found such an audience here.
"Wait—you're a Sinclair daughter?" Hamilton asked, astonished. "I thought it was just a coincidence of names."
"Yes, I am," I answered simply.
"Incredible!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Sinclair never mentioned having a daughter so gifted in bioengineering."
Just then, Father approached, clearly having noticed our conversation.
"Robert, I see you've met my daughter Emma," he said, confusion evident in his tone.
"Met her? I'm her fan!" Hamilton enthused. "Your daughter's insights into gene editing are remarkable. Did you know her conference presentation captivated the entire industry?"
Father stared at me, clearly unaware of this achievement.
"Hamilton Pharmaceuticals is seeking new research partners," Hamilton continued. "If Emma's interested, we'd love to collaborate with her. This could also deepen the partnership between our companies."
Father's expression shifted from surprise to calculation; I could almost see the business equations forming in his mind.
"An intriguing proposal," I said calmly, "but I'm focused on completing my studies before considering commercial ventures."
"Of course, education comes first," Hamilton nodded understandingly. "But please consider interning with us during your breaks. We can provide exceptional research facilities."
"Thank you for the offer. I'll give it serious thought," I replied courteously.
After chatting a while longer, Hamilton was called away by other guests.
Father turned to me, his expression complex. "You never mentioned any of this."
"You never asked," I replied evenly.
He paused. "Hamilton Pharmaceuticals is a crucial partner. If you could establish connections with them, it would greatly benefit Sinclair Group."
I looked at him, inwardly bitter. Even after learning of my academic achievements, his first thought was how to leverage them for the family business.
"My research aims to cure diseases, not generate profits," I met his gaze directly. "If you see me merely as a Sinclair Group asset, I'd rather maintain my distance."
With that, I walked away, leaving him standing alone.
As the gala wound down, I decided to leave early. Near the exit, I overheard a conversation from a garden alcove.
"Father, you can't pressure Emma like this." Alexander's voice.
"I only want her to contribute to the family," Father replied. "She has talent but is too headstrong."
"Perhaps she simply wants to live on her own terms," Alexander said. "I'll shoulder the family responsibilities—don't prevent Emma from pursuing her own path."
I paused, surprised by Alexander's defense. In my previous life, he'd never spoken up for me.
"You're suddenly concerned about her?"
"I just believe everyone deserves choices," Alexander's voice was low but firm. "I have none, as the firstborn. But Emma is different—she should be free to pursue her dreams."
"What are you saying?" Father's voice hardened. "You're the Sinclair heir—it's your glory and duty!"
"Yes, Father, I know," Alexander replied calmly. "I'll fulfill my responsibilities, but please don't impose the same constraints on Emma."
I slipped away, feeling a ripple of emotion. Alexander had his own dreams and burdens, silently carried. In my previous life, I'd been too focused on winning parental approval to truly understand my brother.
Leaving the mansion, the night breeze caressed my face. Tonight had revealed details I'd missed before—Alexander's resignation, Hamilton's recognition, even that fleeting glimpse of surprise and pride in Father's eyes.
Perhaps rebirth had given me not only a chance to change my destiny but also to rediscover my family.
Regardless, I had chosen my path. This time, I would live authentically, no matter what obstacles lay ahead.
Driving back to my apartment, I recalled Alexander's words: "Everyone deserves choices."
Indeed. This time, I choose freedom.
