"I can't believe this," Olivia muttered under her breath.
When she stepped outside the company, she half-expected to see a chauffeur waiting, perhaps standing beside a sleek luxury car with the door held open. But reality hit differently. No chauffeur, no car, no polished smile waiting to serve her.
Before she could wonder what was going on, memories not her own began to surface, Emma's memories. She saw flashes of herself (well, Emma) taking public buses, squeezing through crowds, and fumbling with coins for fare.
There was a car, but it belonged to Charlotte. And with Charlotte not around, Olivia had no choice but to do the unthinkable, take the public bus.
Her pride screamed in protest. She couldn't bring herself to step onto that noisy, crowded box on wheels. So, she called Charlotte.
Charlotte's voice had been sharp with impatience. She reminded her, or rather, Emma that if she just focused on the movie project and did her part well, buying a car would be no problem. Then, almost mockingly, Charlotte asked, "Since when do you care this much about my car?"
That was when more of Emma's memories flowed in, memories of her discomfort sitting at the back of Charlotte's car, feeling guilty that Charlotte always drove.
Olivia groaned inwardly. Annoying woman. How could anyone complain about being driven around in comfort? If anything, it was a privilege.
But Emma wasn't a big name yet. She was still at that stage where strangers on buses might glance twice, then months later say, "Hey, I remember her, we rode the same bus once."
Charlotte had warned her to behave in public. "What you do now will come back to you later," she'd said.
Emma wouldn't need to act for that. She was naturally quiet. Olivia, on the other hand, felt like a caged cat.
Everything felt wrong.
The image of Emma's small home flashed through her mind, and Olivia's stomach turned. A modest house, one that couldn't even compare to her bedroom back at the mansion. Even Emma's "personal room" was no bigger than Olivia's bathroom.
The thought of sleeping there made her skin crawl. She might be in Emma's body, but it still felt like her own.
This wasn't living, it was punishment.
As the bus rattled down the road, Olivia sat stiffly, surrounded by strangers. A middle-aged woman beside her cradled a little girl licking a lollipop, her mouth stained with red sugar. Any normal person would've found it cute. Olivia only found it irritating.
On her other side, an old man snored loudly, head bobbing with every bump.
Olivia's shoulders tensed. She tried to shrink herself, wishing she could disappear. Darling, the tiny voice in her mind, or rather, the system, stayed silent, perhaps out of pity.
All traces of arrogance had vanished from her expression. Her unease wasn't an act. This world was foreign to her, too loud, too real, too close.
She wasn't raised for this. She was raised like royalty, to point at any car she desired and have it brought to her doorstep. To walk in spaces where the air itself seemed filtered for her comfort.
Now she was breathing the same air as everyone else, and she could barely stand it.
Her hands began to tremble.
The little girl noticed first. The woman was distracted, typing on her phone.
"Take," the girl said, stretching out her lollipop toward Olivia.
Olivia blinked, startled by the child's small voice and the sticky treat being offered to her. Her heart pounded faster, confused by the simple gesture.
She turned her head sharply. Their eyes met, the girl's gaze was pure, unbothered, kind.
Olivia wanted to scowl, to retreat into her pride, but the girl just smiled wider and waved the lollipop again. "Take."
"What should I do?" Olivia whispered under her breath, panic creeping in. "Darling?" she had bought idea when she actually referred to the system by it's name.
"I–I'm sorry, miss," the woman said quickly, noticing the exchange. "She's always this cheerful."
Olivia pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
The mother redirected the lollipop back to her daughter's mouth, who resumed licking it happily, though her curious eyes never left Olivia, watching her like a small, fascinated cat for the rest of the ride.
When the bus finally stopped at her destination, Olivia bolted upright. She didn't run, but her every step screamed urgency. It was as if she were fleeing a scene of silent humiliation.
The moment she stepped outside, she exhaled heavily, clutching her blouse. "Oh, God…" she muttered, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Then she glanced up, and there she was, the same little girl, peering through the bus window, waving with her small hand and flashing a toothy grin.
Olivia froze. She couldn't even bring herself to frown. Something about that innocent gesture softened the tightness in her chest.
She turned to sit on the long bench near the bus stop to collect herself, but two high school girls had already taken the spot. Their neat uniforms and quiet giggles made them seem bearable enough, until another woman arrived with a baby in her arms and sat beside them.
Olivia changed direction instantly, walking away. She didn't want to sit beside anyone anymore.
The walk to Emma's house was long and lonely. The house stood apart from others, tucked away in a quiet space that felt more isolating than peaceful.
Olivia's gaze darted left and right, her expression laced with confusion and unease.
"You can talk to me," Darling said softly, sensing her discomfort. "It might help you feel at ease."
It seemed like the wrong thing to say.
Olivia's head snapped up. "Shut up! You told me to act like a dummy, now you've got it!"
If Darling were human, she would've been shaking her head at that moment, full of sympathy and quiet resignation.
Still, she said nothing more.
Olivia seemed too proud to admit vulnerability.
By the time Olivia reached the brown-painted wooden door of Emma's house, her composure had returned, at least on the outside. She looked around once, took a steadying breath, and knocked.
The door opened almost instantly.
A black cat darted out and leapt straight into her arms, making her gasp.