Andrew Stark slowly stirred, eyelids fluttering before reluctantly parting. A pounding headache hammered through his skull as he groaned and tried to sit up. But this wasn't his apartment. Or any familiar place. Around him were empty bottles scattered carelessly, the room itself a strange mix of old-world charm and subtle modern luxury—as if he'd been dropped somewhere between a centuries-old castle and a high-end hotel.
Confusion wrapped around him like a heavy fog. He felt strange, almost… younger. More alive. There was an unfamiliar energy bubbling beneath his skin that he hadn't felt in years.
Dragging himself to his feet, he noticed a hallway leading to a lavish closet. It was packed with beautiful clothes, high-end watches, belts, and perfumes. Curiosity drew him to an elaborate mirror framed with intricate gold and dark polished wood.
He stared at his reflection.
Looking back was a sharp, handsome man with jet-black hair and vivid blue eyes. The face was marked by fatigue and sorrow—dark shadows pooled beneath the eyes—but despite that, an undeniable handsomeness and vitality showed through.
Andrew blinked, fighting the strange mix of anxiety and wonder. Then, without warning, an unbearably sharp pain shot through his head. He clutched the sides of his skull and stumbled, collapsing onto the floor as everything faded to black.
Two hours later, he woke again. The headache was gone, replaced by a strange clarity. Memories poured in—memories that weren't entirely his own: a painful childhood spent as an orphan, reckless indulgence in drink and drugs, a wasted inheritance, and ultimately, death brought on by self-destruction.
He sat there, breathless, as two lives—his old one and this new one—collided inside his mind.
He realized then: this was no ordinary awakening. He had been given a second chance. But in a different world.
When Andrew's eyes finally opened again, the pounding headache had faded into a dull ache, replaced by an odd clarity. Memories began flooding his mind—memories that felt foreign yet undeniably real. He found himself living the life of another Andrew Stark, a 23-year-old who had grown up in unmatched privilege.
This Andrew had been born into a wealthy, loving family, living in the very castle-like estate he now found himself in. His parents had cared deeply for him until their sudden death in a plane crash when he was just 20 years old.
"It seems plane crashes are a recurring theme for both Andrews," he muttered dryly to himself, a faint smirk breaking through the confusion.
After that tragic loss, the new Andrew spiraled downward. Overcome by grief, he became a heavy drinker and gambler, despite inheriting his parents' vast fortune—a sprawling castle with modern touches and a collection of lucrative businesses. His father's empire included pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, and investments in several smaller firms.
In the wake of his parents' passing, he sold off the pharmaceutical and hospital shares but held on to stakes in smaller startups. After taxes and sales, nearly 100 million dollars had landed in his hands. But like many lost souls before him, Andrew squandered most of it—throwing money into reckless gambling and risky investments. Now, only about 25 million dollars remained.
And like every other night for the past three years, he had binged heavily on alcohol—until that night when he finally drank himself to death.
Andrew's mind wrestled with the bitter irony of his new existence. As the memories settled, he sighed deeply, thinking back to his old life.
For 20 years, he had clawed his way through Hollywood—starting at 15 as an orphan chasing a dream to become a director. He'd worked a dozen odd jobs: props boy, production assistant, line assistant, assistant producer, even stepped in as background talent when needed. His passion and grit had finally landed him a directorial debut, only to be cut short by that fatal plane crash.
Now, he was trapped in a new body, a new world—carrying memories of two very different lives. And for the first time, he could sense the weight of opportunity resting on his shoulders.