Even her hearing began to fail her. Somewhere far away, a voice was calling her name — but it reached her as if traveling through deep water, muffled, distorted, growing dimmer with each pulse.
Then her ears sealed shut completely. No sound at all.
Dark. Hushed. Nothing.
...
"Hahh — hahh — hahh—!"
Carla jolted upright, gasping. Her chest seized, desperate for air, and she grabbed at her surroundings before she even knew where she was.
Cold sweat soaked her hair, beading at her temple and running down her forehead.
Her whole body ached. Just moments ago — it had felt so real — being pinned down, a liquid fire poured into her throat, burning through her chest and gut, her limbs locked and useless.
She blinked, breathing hard, and looked around.
"Is this... my room?" she murmured, confused. She turned in place, taking it in. "What happened? I was just — I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't feel anything at all."
She reached for the small desk calendar beside her bed.
"Hah??" Her eyes went wide. The date and year — it was last year. "I... am I back? Did I wake up from my own death??"
She lurched out of bed and ran to the vanity mirror.
"Hah??" She recoiled at her reflection — the thick, garish makeup plastered across her face, the clown-like excess of it. "I'm... back. I came back."
She looked at herself — at her body, her face, the date on the calendar — and understood. She had been reborn. Set back exactly one year. To the point where Ivanka had first begun inserting herself between Carla and Bastian.
She remembered. Ivanka had shoved her into the pool, then spun it as Carla performing for attention, staging her own fall to frame Ivanka and get her thrown out of the Miller estate.
And Bastian had believed every word.
A cold curve came to Carla's mouth. Because that was exactly the Bastian she remembered.
Well. Not this time.
This time, she would let Bastian and Ivanka have each other. Let them get married, for all she cared. She would change her own fate — step away, step out, and build a life entirely her own.
"God, I really do look like a clown." Carla stared into the mirror. This — all of this — was what happened when she let Ivanka dress her, advise her, guide her style choices. She'd become a punchline. "I'm going to fix this. How did I ever trust anything that woman said to me?"
She shook her head at her reflection, then moved to the basin and began scrubbing the makeup from her face — all of it, down to bare skin, not a trace left.
When she looked up again, she nearly didn't recognize herself.
The face in the mirror was stunning. Porcelain skin, clean and luminous, with a natural glow she'd been burying for years under layers of Ivanka's suggestions.
"I never even looked," she said softly, almost to herself. "I was so busy chasing him, I never actually looked at my own face."
The realization settled. Ivanka had always known — she had seen Carla's beauty before Carla ever did. And so she had coached Carla into garish makeup, outrageous fashion, outrageous everything — burying the competition before it knew it existed.
"Not this time." Carla held her own gaze in the mirror. "I'm done being stupid. I want to enjoy my life. I don't care what Bastian and that snake get up to — they can fawn over each other in front of me, and I won't feel a thing. I refuse to die twice."
She moved to her wardrobe, threw it open — and stopped cold.
"Oh, good grief."
Every piece she owned was an explosion of color. Loud prints, shiny fabrics, silhouettes that screamed for attention in all the wrong ways. Ivanka's curated disaster, hanging there in full glory.
Carla had been color-blind to it. Manipulated blind.
She began pulling garments off hangers, dropping them to the floor one by one.
"Tina!!" she called out.
A maid appeared in the doorway a moment later, slightly breathless. "Miss! You've woken up — I didn't realize you'd come around from your faint, Miss?"
Then she stopped dead, blinking at Carla. "Si — si — who are you?!"
"What's wrong with you?" Carla crossed the room toward her. "Take a look at who's standing in this room."
"Hah! You — you're Miss Carla!!"
"Obviously. Who else would be in this room?" Carla fixed her with a flat look. "Did you need an introduction?"
"I — I'm so sorry, Miss, you look so... different. I didn't recognize you at first. You're so beautiful, I genuinely didn't know it was you!" Tina pressed her hands together, genuinely flustered.
"Enough of that. Get rid of all of this." Carla swept an arm toward the pile of clothes. "Every piece. I don't want a single item left in my room."
"Yes, Miss." Tina gave a quick nod.
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Comments
Anya 😛
Interesting I can’t wait to see what she will do
2026-01-04
2
shii_shii_𝟢𝟢𝟢
👍👍
2025-12-30
0
Tavini Rere
okk
2025-10-26
0