Chapter Seven: Enemy Number One
The problem with reincarnation, Celia realized, wasn't just the dying part.
It was the homework.
Because suddenly she had enemies she didn't remember, friends she didn't trust, and a love interest she wasn't sure she could handle without combusting.
Case in point: Vanessa.
Vanessa, who had just hijacked her photo shoot like a villainess auditioning for a telenovela. Vanessa, whose red heels clicked against the marble floor like war drums.
"Still pretending you're relevant, Beverly?" Vanessa sneered, crossing her arms. "I thought your collapse at the party would finally end your little reign."
Celia raised an eyebrow. Okay, rich girl, calm down. You're not Scar from The Lion King.
Out loud, she smirked. "Wow, Vanessa. Did you rehearse that in the mirror, or do you naturally sound like a Bond villain?"
The crew stifled laughs. Vanessa's face twitched.
Good. Score one for Celia.
Vanessa leaned closer. "You think you're untouchable because of your daddy's money. But one wrong move, and you'll be finished. Don't forget—I know things."
Celia's stomach flipped. "Things?"
"Secrets," Vanessa whispered dramatically, before spinning on her heel and strutting away like she'd just dropped the mic.
Celia blinked after her. "…What is this, a Netflix drama trailer?"
The photographer cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh… shall we continue, Miss Beverly?"
"Yeah," Celia muttered, rubbing her temples. "Before another villain monologues me to death."
⸻
By the time she got home, Celia was exhausted. But the universe wasn't done tormenting her.
Her father was waiting in the living room, sitting like a king on a leather armchair.
"Beverly," he barked. "We need to talk."
Celia sat stiffly. "If this is about my online reputation, I'd like to plead the fifth."
He frowned. "Enough jokes. Vanessa's family has been circling us. They want a merger deal, but I won't allow it. You stay away from her, do you understand?"
Celia blinked. "…Wait, so my arch-nemesis is also a business rival's daughter?"
Her father's eyes narrowed. "Business is war, Beverly. And that girl will use any weapon she can against us."
Celia slumped back. Fantastic. Reincarnated into a soap opera and a corporate chess game.
She muttered under her breath, "I should've just stayed dead."
"What?"
"Nothing, Daddy. Love you too."
⸻
Later that night, she curled up with Beverly's phone, scrolling through old group chats, trying to piece together this insane puzzle.
Her notifications buzzed again. A new message.
PRINCE: Dinner tomorrow. Don't say no.
Celia stared at the screen.
Dinner. With him.
Her heart raced. Her brain screamed.
But her fingers? They typed back before she could stop them:
CELIA (as Beverly): Fine. One dinner. Don't say I didn't warn you.
She dropped the phone and buried her face in a pillow.
"Oh God," she groaned. "I'm doomed."