People think girls like me are born untouchable.

Rich father. Designer closets. Penthouse view. Private school. Perfect grades when I bothered trying. A face half the city envied and the other half wanted attached to their family name.

Easy life.

That's what they saw.

Not the pressure.

Not the expectations.

Not the way everyone watched me like I was something to own instead of someone to know.

Still, I preferred it that way.

Power was better than affection. Power lasted longer.

I lay sprawled across my bed, staring lazily at the ceiling while my phone buzzed beside me for the fourteenth time in ten minutes. Someone was probably drunk-texting me from tonight's gala.

I ignored it.

The city stretched beyond the glass walls of my room, glittering gold under the rain. From the thirty-seventh floor, people looked microscopic. Small. Replaceable.

I liked that view.

It reminded me exactly where I stood.

Above everyone.

A soft knock came from my bedroom door before it opened slightly.

"Miss Aria?" one of the maids asked carefully. "Your father said you should sleep early. Tomorrow's event is important."

I didn't even look at her. "Tell my father I survived seventeen years without his sleep schedule. I think I'll manage."

Silence.

Then the door quietly closed again.

I smirked faintly.

See, people loved calling me difficult. Cold. Arrogant.

I preferred honest.

Most people smiled while thinking horrible things. At least I had the decency to say mine out loud.

I finally grabbed my phone, scrolling through endless notifications.

Three boys asking where I disappeared to after dinner.

One girl pretending to compliment my dress while insulting me indirectly.

Pathetic.

I tossed the phone away again.

The room suddenly felt colder.

I frowned slightly.

That was strange.

The temperature in the penthouse was controlled automatically. My father hated inconvenience almost as much as he hated weakness.

Lightning flashed outside the windows, illuminating the dark room in silver for a split second.

Then,

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

I sat up slowly.

A strange pressure settled over my chest.

Not anxiety.

Not fear.

Something heavier.

Something wrong.

The air became difficult to breathe.

"What now?" I muttered irritably, pressing a hand against my ribs.

Another flash of lightning split across the sky.

The lights went out completely.

Darkness swallowed the room.

I rolled my eyes immediately. "Amazing. The billionaire tower lost electricity. Should I start praying too?"

But then I heard it.

A sound.

Crack.

My smile disappeared.

Another crack echoed through the room, louder this time, sharp enough to make my skin crawl.

I looked up.

And froze.

A glowing fracture stretched across the ceiling.

Purple light bled through it violently, like someone had torn open reality itself.

For the first time in years

I felt genuine fear.

The fracture spread rapidly across the walls.

Glass exploded.

The room shook beneath me.

"What the hell is this?"

The pressure in my chest became unbearable. I struggled to breathe as invisible force wrapped around my body like chains.

The purple light grew brighter.

Closer.

Something whispered near my ear.

Not loudly.

Softly.

Almost lovingly.

"Shift."

Pain slammed into my skull.

I screamed.

My body lifted off the bed for one horrifying second before everything shattered into darkness.

And then.....

Nothing.

—

When I opened my eyes again, I immediately knew two things.

First:

my head felt like someone had dragged me through hell personally.

Second:

I was no longer in my room.

The ceiling above me was stained brown with water damage.

I blinked slowly.

What.

The mattress beneath me was thin enough to feel every wooden plank underneath. The air smelled faintly of detergent, dust, and something fried. A rusty fan rotated lazily overhead with a clicking sound that made me want to sue someone.

I sat up abruptly.

Bad idea.

Pain exploded through my skull so violently that I nearly blacked out again.

"Oh, fantastic," I hissed, gripping my forehead. "Love that for me."

My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting.

Tiny room.

Peeling wallpaper.

Crooked shelves.

Clothes folded on a broken chair.

The entire place looked like poverty and depression had collaborated on interior design.

And beside me,

A woman slept curled around a little girl on another mattress.

I stared at them blankly.

Who the hell were these people?

I looked around again, expecting hidden cameras.

Nothing.

No guards.

No staff.

No marble floors.

No giant windows.

No luxury.

My stomach twisted unpleasantly.

This wasn't funny anymore.

I climbed off the mattress carefully, my bare feet touching the freezing floor.

Every instinct in my body screamed wrong.

The room felt familiar in a way that made my skin crawl.

Like I'd been here before.

Impossible.

I noticed a mirror hanging crookedly near the corner and walked toward it immediately.

At least I could confirm I hadn't completely lost my mind.

The girl staring back at me was still beautiful.

Obviously.

Long black hair spilled messily over my shoulders, slightly tangled but still glossy. Sharp eyes. Perfect lips. Expensive face.

Mine.

But the clothes.....

I looked down slowly.

An oversized faded shirt hung off my frame like a personal insult. Loose gray sweatpants covered my legs, worn thin at the knees.

I touched the sleeve carefully.

Cotton.

Cheap cotton.

I looked back at my reflection in horror.

"I look financially unstable."

The mirror offered no sympathy.

I leaned closer.

Something about my face looked different. Not physically.

Emotionally.

Like exhaustion lingered beneath my skin.

Then suddenly

Images flashed through my mind.

Rain pouring heavily outside a school gate.

Girls laughing.

Someone crying.

A sharp voice shouting:

"You embarrassed the governor's daughter!"

I staggered backward instantly.

"What"

Another flash.

This room.

This family.

This life.

No.

No, absolutely not.

I pressed my hands against my temples as unfamiliar memories pushed violently into my head.

Not mine.

But somehow mine.

My breathing turned uneven.

I looked at the mirror again.

At the beautiful stranger wearing cheap clothes.

And for the first time since waking up, a terrifying thought crossed my mind.

What if this wasn't kidnapping?

What if this was something worse?

Something impossible.

Something permanent.

—

I didn't sleep again after that.

Mostly because I was busy deciding whether I was dead, insane, or trapped inside the universe's worst joke.

None of the options felt comforting.

I woke up angry.

Not confused.

Not emotional.

Angry.

Because the moment sunlight hit my face and I opened my eyes to that ugly water-stained ceiling again, reality settled in with horrifying clarity.

I was still here.

Still in the tiny room.

Still breathing poor people air.

Tragic.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the spinning fan overhead while trying to make sense of the disaster my life had become overnight.

There had to be an explanation.

A logical one.

My father was ruthless, yes, but he wasn't insane. Which meant this entire thing had to be punishment.

A dramatic punishment.

And suddenly, yesterday's argument replayed inside my head.

The governor's daughter.

Right.

Her.

A slow smirk spread across my face despite the headache pounding behind my skull.

Okay, maybe I had gone slightly overboard.

Maybe.

But in my defense, if someone spent twenty minutes bragging about their "natural beauty" while their face looked painfully manufactured, were people not morally obligated to comment?

I remembered the cafeteria going silent.

The horrified expressions.

The governor's daughter looking seconds away from tears.

And me casually sipping juice while saying:

"Your surgeon deserves prison time."

Honestly?

Still funny.

I sighed dramatically, rubbing my temples.

Of course Father would be furious.

Politics mattered to him more than oxygen.

Insulting the governor's daughter publicly probably caused fifty middle-aged men in suits to start stress sweating simultaneously.

And now here I was.

Exiled.

Temporarily.

Hopefully.

A small body suddenly crashed against my side.

"Big sis!"

I physically flinched.

The little girl wrapped her arms around me like this was normal behavior while I stared down at her in mild horror.

Children truly had no understanding of personal boundaries.

"Why are you staring at me like I'm haunted?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because you appeared without warning. That's basically ghost behavior."

She giggled.

Weird child.

The older woman beside us slowly woke up next, looking exhausted before the day had even properly started. There were faint dark circles beneath her eyes, and despite the warm expression on her face, she looked permanently tired.

That bothered me for some reason.

Not emotionally.

Just observationally.

"Morning, Aria," she said softly.

I narrowed my eyes immediately.

Even hearing my own name from her sounded wrong.

Too familiar.

Too natural.

Like I belonged here.

I absolutely did not.

"Okay," I said slowly, sitting upright. "Let's establish something immediately."

The woman blinked.

"I'm assuming my father sent me here because of yesterday's incident, which, frankly, feels dramatic even for him."

Both of them stared at me blankly.

I continued anyway.

"I understand the political inconvenience of humiliating the governor's daughter, but abandoning me in whatever this place is feels excessive."

Silence.

The little girl frowned first.

"What governor's daughter?"

I paused.

The woman looked confused too. "Aria, what are you talking about?"

I stared at them.

Then laughed once in disbelief.

"Wow. So we're pretending now."

"No," the woman replied carefully. "I genuinely don't know what you mean."

That made absolutely no sense.

The memories were clear.

The gala.

The school.

The argument.

My father's cold expression afterward.

Then—

Nothing.

Darkness.

And now this.

I crossed my arms tightly. "Fine. Let's stop acting weird for a second. Where's my phone?"

The little girl pointed toward a small desk near the wall.

I walked over confidently.

Relief flooded through me when I spotted it.

Finally.

Something normal.

I grabbed the phone instantly—

—and froze.

This wasn't my phone.

The cracked screen alone nearly gave me emotional damage.

"This thing survived war," I muttered.

The little girl snorted loudly.

Ignoring her, I quickly tried unlocking it.

Password incorrect.

I frowned.

Tried again.

Still wrong.

"What kind of psychopath uses sixes in their password?"

The woman got off the mattress slowly. "Aria, you changed it last month. Don't tell me you forgot again."

Again.

That word again.

Tiny details kept hitting me like misplaced puzzle pieces.

As if this version of me had existed long before I arrived.

No.

That was impossible.

I unlocked the phone using fingerprint instead and immediately searched for my father's contact.

Nothing.

No saved number.

No company contacts.

No luxury brands.

No private school group chats.

No photos of my penthouse.

Instead, the gallery contained pictures of:

this room the little girl school notes random sunsets cheap meals

I stared at the screen in complete silence.

Then I checked social media.

Different account.

Different followers.

Different life.

My stomach twisted unpleasantly.

The woman noticed my expression immediately. "Aria?"

I looked up sharply. "What's my full name?"

"…Aria Laurent."

The world seemed to pause for half a second.

No.

No, that was wrong.

I was Aria Vale.

Daughter of Victor Vale.

Heiress to Vale Enterprises.

Not—

Not this.

A strange coldness spread through my chest.

I quickly locked the phone and forced myself to stay calm.

Think.

There had to be an explanation.

Maybe identity protection.

Maybe Father changed everything temporarily to "teach me humility."

Honestly, that sounded exactly like something rich people thought was character development.

I looked around the room again.

The peeling walls.

The old furniture.

The tiny kitchen visible from the doorway.

This wasn't temporary housing.

It looked lived in.

Deeply lived in.

That realization unsettled me more than anything else.

The woman suddenly smiled faintly. "You really hit your head hard yesterday, huh?"

I looked at her carefully.

"Yesterday?"

"You fainted after work."

Work.

I blinked slowly.

"…I have a job?"

The little girl burst into laughter.

"You forgot your own part-time job?"

Part-time job.

Me.

I genuinely considered fainting again.

The woman sighed affectionately. "Enough drama. Go get ready for school."

School.

Right.

At least that part was familiar.

I walked toward the pile of clothes near the chair, already irritated.

"Where's my uniform?"

"What uniform?"

I turned around slowly.

"What do you mean what uniform?"

"We don't wear uniforms at public school."

Public school.

Right.

That explained the lack of standards.

I stared at the clothing pile in disgust before holding up an oversized gray hoodie between two fingers.

"This looks medically depressing."

"You picked that yourself," the little girl informed me proudly.

I looked offended immediately. "Then past me had terrible judgment."

The woman laughed softly under her breath.

I ignored her.

After several painful minutes, I finally changed into black jeans and the hoodie, then stood before the mirror again.

Still beautiful.

Obviously.

Beauty like mine survived hardship.

What didn't survive was my patience.

I brushed my hair back slowly while studying my reflection.

No expensive jewelry.

No luxury skincare.

No polished image.

Yet somehow…

I still looked powerful.

Just sharper now.

More dangerous.

Like something stripped down to its rawest form.

Interesting.

A tiny unfamiliar feeling stirred in my chest.

Not fear.

Not sadness.

Something colder.

Something observant.

For the first time since waking up, I stopped thinking:

"How fast can I leave?"

And started thinking:

"What exactly happened to me?"

The woman's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Breakfast is getting cold."

I grabbed the bag hanging beside the mirror before walking toward the doorway.

The little girl skipped beside me happily while I mentally prepared myself for whatever "poor people breakfast" meant.

Still, one thought remained firmly rooted in my head:

My father would come eventually.

He had to.

Because there was absolutely no universe where someone like me simply disappeared.

Right?

By the time I stepped out of the apartment building, I had reached three conclusions.

First, parallel worlds were real.

Second, this one clearly hated me personally.

And third, poor people woke up offensively early.

The morning air was cold enough to annoy me as I adjusted the strap of my backpack and stared at the large blue bus parked near the sidewalk. Students slowly climbed inside while the driver looked seconds away from retiring permanently.

I stood there for a moment, genuinely debating whether walking several kilometers to college would preserve more dignity than entering a public bus.

Unfortunately, this version of me apparently relied on something called "free student transportation," which sounded suspiciously like a financial cry for help.

The bus driver glanced at me impatiently. "You getting in?"

I sighed dramatically and climbed aboard.

The inside smelled like cheap deodorant, old seats, and sleep deprivation. Students filled most of the rows, some talking loudly while others leaned against windows with headphones on. Nobody looked particularly happy to be alive.

Relatable.

I walked farther down the aisle carefully, ignoring a few curious stares thrown my way. Most people looked normal enough, but the differences in this world kept hitting me in small ways.

The clothes were simpler.

The phones were older.

Even the conversations felt different from what I was used to. Nobody talked about international vacations or luxury brands or private events. They talked about assignments, part-time jobs, attendance, money.

Money especially.

It was strange hearing people discuss it like survival instead of convenience.

I slid into an empty seat near the middle of the bus and rested my head lightly against the window.

The city outside looked almost identical to mine.

Same streets.

Same traffic.

Same skyline.

But somehow… duller.

As if someone had taken my world and stripped away everything polished from it.

A headache pulsed faintly behind my eyes again.

Last night replayed in fragments inside my head. The purple fracture across my ceiling. That strange pressure in my chest. The voice whispering shift right before everything went black.

I still didn't fully understand what happened to me, but at this point denying reality felt stupid. This wasn't kidnapping. It wasn't some elaborate punishment planned by my father.

It was worse.

I had somehow ended up inside another version of my life.

The thought should've terrified me more than it did.

Instead, I mostly felt irritated.

Because if the universe was going to throw me into another dimension, the least it could do was maintain my income level.

I pulled out the phone from my bag again, staring at the cracked screen with visible disappointment. The more I looked through it earlier, the clearer things became.

This Aria Laurent had existed long before I arrived.

She had her own habits. Her own friends. Her own life.

And unlike me, she apparently studied hard enough to earn a scholarship into Westbridge State College.

That part honestly impressed me.

I'd found stacks of neatly organized notes in the apartment before leaving. Academic awards too. Debate certificates. Merit rankings.

The original Aria clearly worked herself half to death to stay here.

Meanwhile, I got into college through legacy admissions and naturally superior intelligence.

Different journeys.

Same result.

Well, almost.

A loud laugh suddenly cut through the bus, interrupting my thoughts.

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

I noticed it before even looking up. Several students went quiet while others avoided glancing toward the back rows altogether.

Interesting.

I turned slightly in my seat.

A group of boys occupied the rear section of the bus like they owned it. Expensive shoes rested carelessly on seats while students nearby kept their distance. In a bus full of average college kids, they stood out instantly.

Not billionaire rich.

But comfortable rich.

The boy sitting in the center looked especially familiar.

Dark hair.

Sharp jawline.

Cold expression.

Annoyingly attractive in the kind of way that probably caused emotional problems for people.

And the second our eyes met, another memory hit me.

Books falling from my arms.

Laughter echoing through hallways.

Cold coffee staining clothes.

That same boy leaning back lazily while the old Aria stood there silently pretending humiliation didn't bother her.

Oh.

So this was him.

Kale.

Apparently the original Aria's personal nightmare.

I leaned back slightly, observing him more carefully now.

He looked bored more than cruel. Like someone who'd grown up getting away with things long enough to stop questioning himself. The type of guy who treated people badly simply because nobody had ever stopped him.

One of his friends noticed me first. "Look who decided to come back."

Kale glanced toward me lazily before speaking.

"Scholarship girl."

I almost laughed.

That was somehow worse than an actual insult.

He held out some cash without getting up from his seat. "Get me coffee before class."

Several students nearby immediately looked toward me.

Waiting.

The tension in the air told me everything I needed to know.

This happened often.

The old Aria used to obey.

Something sharp twisted unpleasantly in my chest at the thought.

Not because I felt bad for her.

Because I couldn't imagine letting someone speak to me like that repeatedly without eventually committing violence.

I stayed seated.

Kale slowly looked up from his phone.

"…Did you hear me?"

I smiled politely.

"Unfortunately, yes."

A few people nearby exchanged nervous glances.

Kale stared at me for a second longer, probably waiting for me to get up anyway.

I didn't.

Finally, he frowned slightly. "Then go."

I tilted my head. "You seem confused, so let me help. I'm a scholarship student, not your unpaid assistant."

The silence afterward felt almost impressive.

One guy near the window actually choked trying not to laugh.

Kale's expression changed slightly. Not angry exactly.

Surprised.

Interesting.

The old Aria must've really tolerated everything.

"You got an attitude overnight?" he asked calmly.

"I've always had one," I replied. "You just finally earned it."

His friends looked between us carefully like they expected someone to explode.

Honestly, I was starting to enjoy myself.

Kale leaned back against his seat slowly, studying me with narrowed eyes. "You think being smart makes you untouchable?"

"No," I said casually. "But it does mean I won't fetch coffee for a man perfectly capable of basic motor functions."

A girl sitting near the front laughed under her breath.

Kale noticed.

So did I.

His gaze returned to mine, sharper this time.

There was something oddly intense about the way he looked at people. Like he was trying to figure out whether they were bluffing.

Unfortunately for him, I rarely did.

"You're different today," he said finally.

I shrugged. "Maybe I got tired of people mistaking silence for weakness."

That shut him up for a second.

Not because the line was dramatic.

Because it was true.

The old Aria apparently survived this place by staying invisible. By lowering her head and enduring things quietly because losing her scholarship meant losing everything.

I understood that logically.

Still hated it though.

Kale looked away first, which honestly felt like a personal victory.

"Whatever," he muttered. "Do what you want."

I smiled sweetly. "See? Growth. We love to see it."

Someone laughed again.

This time louder.

The bus atmosphere shifted after that. The tension remained, but differently now. People kept glancing at me occasionally, whispering quietly among themselves.

Apparently watching scholarship girl develop a backbone counted as morning entertainment.

The rest of the ride passed quietly. I spent most of it staring out the window while trying to organize my thoughts.

Because despite everything, one thing kept bothering me.

Why was I here?

Not philosophically.

Literally.

Why me?

What connected both versions of my life strongly enough for something like this to happen?

And why did it feel less like an accident the longer I thought about it?

The bus finally pulled into the college campus nearly twenty minutes later.

Westbridge State College looked larger in daylight than I expected. Students crowded the pathways between buildings while others sat near fountains or outdoor cafés scrolling through their phones before class.

It wasn't terrible.

Public, obviously.

But not terrible.

I stepped off the bus and immediately considered skipping classes.

Unfortunately, another memory surfaced almost instantly.

Strict attendance requirements for scholarship students.

Missing classes could affect funding.

Meaning this version of me quite literally could not afford academic laziness.

Disgusting system.

I adjusted my bag with a sigh and started walking toward the business department building along with the crowd.

Fine.

If I was trapped in a parallel world, the least I could do was remain academically superior while suffering through it.