March 4th.
The date kept flashing in Harriet's mind like a warning siren. Her heart was still racing, body drenched in sweat. She'd woken up in her old bed, surrounded by old dreams—and old ghosts.
She stood in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back like a stranger.
No scars.
No hollow eyes.
No broken soul.
She looked like the girl she used to be—before the fame, before the red carpets, before betrayal.
Harriet Smith: twenty-two years old, rising theater actress, painfully naïve.
She clenched her jaw.
Not this time.
This time, she wouldn't smile politely while people stabbed her in the back. This time, she wouldn't sacrifice herself for love, friendship, or blind ambition.
This time, she'd burn everything down first.
---
She pulled out her old phone—cracked and outdated—and turned it on. Notifications flooded the screen: auditions, rent reminders, messages from Aubrey and Leo.
Leo: "Dinner tonight? Can't wait to see you, star girl."
Aubrey: "Don't forget brunch tomorrow! We need to plan your birthday!"
Her hands trembled as she stared at their names.
The people who smiled in her face and killed her behind closed doors.
She laughed—quiet and unhinged.
"Oh, you two have no idea what's coming."
---
The first thing she did was withdraw all her savings from her small account. She'd made the mistake of sharing finances with Leo later in life, trusting him with everything. Not again. Not even her shadow would be shared now.
She deleted old photos, backed up evidence she knew she'd need later, and started making a new plan.
Step One: Cut emotional ties.
Step Two: Get into the upcoming casting for The Cursed Queen. The role had launched her career before. She'd land it again—but this time, she'd own it on her own terms.
Step Three: Watch everything burn.
---
Three hours later, Harriet was sitting across from Aubrey at a downtown café, pretending her iced matcha didn't taste like betrayal.
Aubrey still had her golden hair in a lazy top bun and wore oversized sunglasses, acting like a celebrity no one recognized.
She was talking about Leo.
Of course she was.
"I just think it's so sweet how much he supports you," Aubrey gushed, sipping her coffee. "He's different from other guys in the industry."
Harriet blinked at her slowly. "Yeah. Different."
Aubrey's lips twitched. "Anyway, you have to tell me everything if you two get serious. I mean, what are best friends for, right?"
Harriet smiled. "Right. What are best friends for?"
The poison in her voice was subtle—sweet, even.
And Aubrey, like a fool, didn't taste it.
---
That night, she stared at her script.
The Cursed Queen. The very role that made her a star—and drew all the vultures to her light.
She remembered losing the role mid-filming after the scandal, even though it was meant to win awards. Now, she had the chance to reclaim it.
Her audition was in three days.
Harriet knew every line. Every emotion. Every breath of that character.
But this time, the queen wouldn't cry.
She'd reign.
---
The next morning, Harriet walked into the building where the preliminary casting was being held—early, sharp, cold. She looked like a hurricane dressed in black denim and red lipstick.
She spotted Leo across the lobby.
Tall. Handsome. Smug. With the same flirtatious smile he'd used to manipulate half of Hollywood.
He saw her and came over instantly, arms wide like he hadn't ripped her soul apart in another lifetime.
"There's my girl," he grinned. "God, I missed you."
Harriet tilted her head.
She could already feel her old self curling up in fear, begging her to forgive him. To fall for him again.
But she was no longer the girl he once knew.
"You missed me?" she said, voice even. "You saw me two days ago."
Leo chuckled, reaching for her hand.
She let him take it—but there was ice in her eyes.
"Yeah, but every hour without you feels like a year."
You have no idea what a year feels like, she thought.
He leaned in. "Hey, I heard Zayne Carter's in the building today. Investment meeting or something. Isn't that wild? That guy's everywhere lately."
Harriet stilled.
Zayne Carter.
Her stomach coiled at the name.
Leo had no idea what that man meant to her. Not yet. She didn't even fully understand it herself.
Zayne had been at her death.
Unmoving. Silent.
A warning… or a witness?
Either way, she'd be seeing him again.
---
Harriet didn't expect him to find her that soon.
She was outside the audition room, reading over her lines, when she felt a presence behind her—tall, quiet, controlled.
She turned.
There he was.
Zayne Carter. Up close.
Wearing black again, of course. His hair was darker than she remembered. Neatly styled. His jaw sharp. His posture powerful, like he could command attention just by existing.
He didn't smile.
His eyes roamed over her face, scanning her like a puzzle that shouldn't exist.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said calmly.
Her breath caught.
"What?"
Zayne stepped closer, voice low. "You died."
Harriet's knees nearly buckled.
But she held her ground.
"You were there," she whispered. "You saw it."
"I saw everything."
His words cut through her, soft as silk and sharp as razors.
She blinked hard. "And yet… you did nothing."
"I wasn't supposed to interfere," he said quietly. "But I'm not sure I can keep doing that."
Her heart thundered.
"What are you?"
Zayne studied her for a long moment. "Someone with regrets."
Harriet felt her walls rising like armor.
"Well, join the club."
He stepped back, nodding once. "Don't trust Leo. And whatever you do—don't go to the Gala next week."
She froze.
"How do you know about the Gala?"
He didn't answer.
He turned and walked away, leaving her with a storm swirling in her chest.
---
Zayne's warning echoed in her head like a riddle.
> "Don't trust Leo. And whatever you do—don't go to the Gala next week."
Harriet stood frozen outside the audition room. The hum of other actors rehearsing, the clicking of heels on tile, the familiar tension of ambition thick in the air—it all faded under the weight of those words.
He knew too much.
And yet… she believed him.
In her last life, she'd gone to that Gala. Dressed in red. Smiling like a fool beside Leo and Aubrey. That night was the beginning of the end.
She remembered Leo's fingers tightening around her waist when the cameras were on. And how they vanished once the lights were gone. She remembered the headline the next morning. "Harriet Smith involved in scandal with co-star's boyfriend. Career-ending betrayal?"
A lie crafted by people she trusted.
People she'd die for.
And she had.
---
The audition was in fifteen minutes.
She sat down in the hallway, script in hand, but her mind wasn't on the lines. Her fingers trembled slightly, but not from fear.
It was fury. And it was beautiful.
She whispered the lines under her breath:
> "A queen does not beg. A queen does not break. If I am to fall, I will do so with fire in my eyes."
It wasn't just a scene anymore. It was her truth.
---
Inside the casting room, three producers, one assistant, and a camera operator sat behind a long table. The casting director, a sharp woman named Nadine with red glasses and zero patience, looked up.
"Harriet Smith," she said without expression. "You're early."
Harriet stepped forward confidently, chin up. "I like to be remembered."
A flicker of curiosity passed through Nadine's eyes. "Alright. You're reading for Elira?"
"The Cursed Queen," Harriet confirmed.
The assistant hit record.
Harriet closed her eyes for a brief moment, sinking into the role—but this time, she didn't have to act.
She was Elira now.
A woman betrayed.
A woman resurrected.
A woman who would not go quietly.
---
> "They painted me as a villain.
They whispered lies in every hall I once ruled.
And when I begged for mercy, I was met with laughter.
But I remember now. I remember who I am.
I was never meant to kneel."
Harriet's voice rang through the room with a kind of rawness that pulled silence over everyone like a blanket.
Nadine leaned forward.
> "You think you've won?
That your daggers will silence me?
I do not die, I evolve."
Her voice broke on the last word—deliberately—and she dropped to her knees, eyes glassy but cold.
The room was dead silent.
Then Nadine said, "Thank you."
No applause. No reaction.
But Harriet could tell by the stunned look on their faces—
She had them.
---
Outside, Leo was waiting, sipping an espresso like he owned the world.
"How'd it go?" he asked, reaching for her waist as if nothing was wrong in their world.
Harriet stepped back.
"It went," she said, her tone unreadable.
Leo frowned slightly. "You seem off. You okay?"
"Peachy."
He watched her, eyes narrowing. "You're not mad about last night, are you? You left early. Didn't return my calls."
She tilted her head. "Did you think I owed you something?"
There it was—a flicker of confusion. Irritation.
He masked it quickly with a grin. "Of course not. Just checking in."
"Well, don't."
She walked away before he could respond, heels clicking like gunshots against the floor.
---
That night, Harriet sat on her fire escape, wrapped in an old hoodie, staring at the city lights. Her phone buzzed beside her.
Aubrey: "So excited for the Gala! I've got your dress picked. Just say yes 💃🏼"
She didn't respond.
She opened her notebook instead—the one she had used for scripts, dreams, and poetry in her last life.
Now it had a new purpose.
At the top of the page, she wrote:
RETRIBUTION LIST
1. Leo Kingsley — for every lie he told with a kiss.
2. Aubrey Lane — for the blade behind the smile.
3. Mira Cole — for taking the role she stole.
4. Marcus Vance — for selling the story to the press.
5. Herself — for trusting them all.
She circled the last one. Twice.
A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. "Never again."
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, it was an unknown number.
> Zayne: "You shouldn't have auditioned. Things are already moving."
Her pulse skipped.
She typed back, fingers cold.
> Harriet: "I'm not afraid of movement. I make the floor shake."
No reply.
She stared at the screen, then slowly smiled.
Zayne Carter was watching her.
Good.
Let him.
Everyone had watched her fall.
Now they could watch her rise.