Chapter Six: The Art of Not Panicking
Celia had been many things in her old life: broke, stressed, perpetually tired. But she had never been good at lying.
And right now? Prince was staring at her like a detective about to crack a case.
Don't panic, she told herself. Just think rich girl thoughts. Rich girls never panic. They just call their lawyers.
She plastered on a smile. "Of course I'm myself. Who else would I be? Beyoncé?"
Prince's mouth twitched, almost a smile. Almost. "You just… seem different. Softer."
Softer? Celia almost choked. If only you knew I died eating noodles three days ago, my guy.
Out loud, she said breezily, "Well, near-death experiences do that. Character development, you know?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Character development?"
"Yes," she nodded firmly. "I'm the season two version of Beverly. Better writing, less drama, more depth."
For the first time, Prince actually laughed. A short, startled laugh that made Celia's chest tighten.
Oh no, she thought. He's hot when he laughs. Abort mission.
Prince stepped closer, tilting his head as though trying to read her face. "Whatever's going on, Beverly… I think I like this version."
Celia froze.
She needed to shut this down before she accidentally developed feelings. She hadn't survived poverty, heartbreak, and reincarnation just to catch feelings for Beverly's ex-flame.
So she smirked and shoved past him. "Don't get used to it."
But her heart? Her heart was hammering like she'd just run a marathon.
⸻
The next morning, Celia found herself dragged to another "essential" part of Beverly's life: a photo shoot.
Apparently, Beverly had a contract with some luxury skincare brand. Which meant standing in front of flashing cameras while people shouted things like, "Chin higher! Pout harder! Make love to the lens!"
Celia's strategy was simple: overcommit.
She struck ridiculous poses, pouted like a confused fish, and even whispered, "Lens, you are my soulmate" under her breath.
The photographer clutched his chest. "Brilliant! Beverly, you've never been so… alive!"
Celia grinned. If only you knew how literally true that is.
But not everyone was impressed.
As she wrapped up, a tall girl in red stilettos stormed in. Perfect hair, perfect eyeliner, perfect aura of hostility.
"Oh, look," the girl sneered. "The prodigal heiress returns."
Celia blinked. "Uh… hi?"
The girl crossed her arms. "Don't play dumb, Beverly. You know exactly who I am."
Celia's brain went blank.
Oh crap. Who is she?
"Of course I know who you are," she said smoothly. "I was just… testing you."
The girl smirked. "Still the same spoiled brat. I'm Vanessa. Or have you forgotten our little… feud?"
Celia's stomach dropped. Beverly had enemies? Of course she did.
"Right. Vanessa. My… arch-nemesis." Celia nodded. "Totally remembered that."
Vanessa leaned in, voice dripping with venom. "Careful, Beverly. Not everyone is happy you're back on your feet. Some of us preferred you out of the picture."
Celia swallowed hard.
So, let's recap:
• Beverly had fake friends.
• Beverly had enemies.
• Beverly had an ex-almost-boyfriend with billionaire cheekbones who still hovered like unfinished business.
And Celia?
She had no idea how to survive any of it.