I stare at the mysterious text message until my eyes burn.
"I know what you are."
My finger hovers over the delete button, but I can't do it. Who sent this? How could anyone possibly know I came back from the dead?
Before I can spiral further, another text pops up from the same unknown number:
"Don't trust anyone. Especially not the ones who smile."
Then nothing. No matter how many times I text back "WHO IS THIS?", no response comes.
I throw my phone onto the bed like it burned me. My heart won't stop racing. This is insane. All of this is insane.
But I can't think about mysterious messages right now. I have bigger problems.
I sit on my lumpy bed and force myself to remember everything. Not just the good parts—the terrible parts too. Every betrayal. Every knife in my back. Every person who smiled to my face while destroying me behind my back.
Sophia Harris. My best friend since high school. The girl I shared this apartment with for two years. In my first life, I trusted her completely. She made me that "special tea" the morning of my audition—said it was her grandmother's recipe for opening up vocal cords. I drank it gratefully.
Twenty minutes later, my throat started swelling. By the time I walked into the audition room, I could barely speak. I tried to sing anyway, croaking out notes like a dying frog. The judges laughed. Actually laughed.
Sophia got called in right after me. Somehow, her voice was perfect. Crystal clear. She sang MY song—the one I'd been practicing for weeks. Later, she said she did it to "honor me" since I couldn't perform.
She got the contract I wanted. I got humiliation and a throat infection that lasted two weeks.
It took me eight years to figure out the truth: she'd put something in that tea. Something to hurt me just enough to steal my spotlight.
Ethan Park. My boyfriend of three years. Handsome, charming, and completely talentless. In my first life, I wrote songs for him constantly. He'd say sweet things like "You're so talented, babe" and "I could never write like you." I believed him. I poured my heart into every lyric, every melody.
Then he'd record them and claim they were his. When I confronted him, he said I was "overreacting" and "being dramatic." He gaslit me so hard I started believing I was crazy.
"Midnight Echo" made him famous. The song I wrote about my mother's death became his breakthrough hit. He made millions. I made nothing.
When I finally left him, he told everyone I was an obsessed ex who couldn't handle his success.
Victor Kane. Head of Stellar Entertainment. Powerful, connected, and disgusting. After Sophia got signed and Ethan got famous, I was desperate for any opportunity. Victor offered me a meeting. Said he saw "potential" in me.
The meeting was in his office at night. He locked the door. Told me success in this industry required "flexibility" and "gratitude." His hand landed on my knee.
I said no and walked out. The next day, I found myself blacklisted at every major label. Nobody would even listen to my demos. Victor made sure of that.
I spent ten years singing at mall openings and birthday parties while the people who stole from me lived in mansions.
Not this time.
My phone buzzes again. Ethan's name flashes on the screen. Before I can stop myself, I answer.
"Mia! Finally. Did you get my text?" His voice sounds exactly the same—smooth, friendly, fake.
"Yeah. I got it." I keep my voice neutral even though I want to scream.
"Great! So about that song idea—the midnight one? I was thinking we could grab coffee tomorrow before your audition and you could sing it for me. I really think it has potential for my demo."
In my first life, I met him. I sang "Midnight Echo" a cappella in a coffee shop, thrilled that he showed interest in my music. He recorded it on his phone without telling me. Three months later, it was his debut single.
"Actually, Ethan, I changed my mind about that song," I say slowly. "I think I'm going to perform it myself. At my audition."
Silence on the other end. Long, shocked silence.
"What? But you said—"
"I changed my mind." I can hear the edge in my voice now. "It's too personal to share. You understand, right?"
"Babe, come on. We're a team. What's yours is mine, remember?" The charm in his voice has a desperate edge now. "Besides, your voice is great for backup, but mine is really the one built for solo work—"
I hang up on him mid-sentence.
My hands are shaking but it feels good. In my first life, I would've apologized and given him the song anyway. I would've believed him when he said my voice wasn't good enough for lead vocals.
But I spent ten years watching him perform my songs. I know the truth now: he has no talent. Just a pretty face and my stolen music.
Another text comes through. This time from Sophia:
"Hey babe! Still planning to come by with my special tea tomorrow morning! 9 AM work for you? You're going to KILL that audition! "
I stare at the message, rage burning in my chest. She's going to poison me again. She's already planning it, probably mixing up that throat-killing tea right now.
My fingers fly across the keyboard:
"Actually, my throat feels a little scratchy today. I think I should avoid tea tomorrow morning. Don't want to risk anything! But thanks for thinking of me! "
I hit send and imagine her face when she reads it. All her planning, wasted.
My phone rings immediately. Sophia's name appears. I almost laugh. She can't believe I turned down her "help."
I don't answer. Let her wonder.
But then a new text appears. Not from Sophia. From that unknown number again.
My blood turns to ice as I read it:
"Good. You're learning. But they're not your only enemies. The audition tomorrow—it's rigged. They've already chosen someone else. You're just there to fill the quota."
I read it three times, my mind racing.
How does this person know about the audition? About Sophia? About any of this?
And if the audition is rigged... then going there tomorrow is pointless. In my first life, I failed because of the poisoned tea. But what if I was never meant to succeed at all?
What if everything was stacked against me from the start?
Before I can process this, one final text comes through:
"If you want to actually succeed, don't go to Seoul Star Entertainment tomorrow. Go to Apex Entertainment instead. Ask for Adrian Steele. Tell him the Phoenix sent you."
"P.S. - He'll be at Moonlight Cafe at 8 AM. Alone. This is your only chance."
I stare at my phone, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
Adrian Steele. I know that name. Everyone in the music industry knows that name. He's the most powerful, most ruthless music mogul in the country. His label, Apex Entertainment, only takes the absolute best.
He would never give someone like me a chance.
Would he?
My phone goes dark, and in the black screen, I see my reflection looking back at me—young, scared, confused.
But also determined.
Whoever this "Phoenix" is, they know things they shouldn't know. They're either trying to help me... or setting up the biggest trap of my life.
Tomorrow morning, I have to make a choice: go to the audition I know is waiting for me, or chase a mysterious message from a stranger who claims to know my future.
Both options feel like walking off a cliff.
But I already died once.
What's the worst that could happen?