The rain had stopped falling, leaving behind puddles of murky water across the courtyard of St. Helena Academy. The dampness in the air clung to Sharon Countbell's oversized, threadbare sweater, but she didn't care about the chill. What hurt more was the sound of laughter — sharp, cruel, and aimed squarely at her.
"Look at her hair! It looks like a bird's nest."
"Don't go too close, you might catch her ugliness!"
"She's like a ghost wandering around!"
Sharon lowered her head, clutching her worn-out books to her chest as if the pressure against her ribs could stop the pounding of her heart. Her thick glasses slid down her nose, and she quickly pushed them back up with trembling fingers. She could feel her face flushing red, the heat of humiliation spreading under her pale skin.
This wasn't new. This was her life.
For as long as Sharon could remember, she had been the target of mockery. Her classmates pointed at her crooked teeth, her frizzy brown hair, and her thin, awkward frame. Her clothes — often hand-me-downs from her cousins — were never stylish, and her timid voice made her an easy victim. The cruellest part wasn't even the insults; it was the way everyone laughed together, united in their ridicule, while she stood alone.
That afternoon, as Sharon walked past the lockers, a voice cut through the crowd. A boy's voice, confident and mocking.
"Hey, Countbell!"
Her heart skipped. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Arga Bridgman.
He was tall for his age, with sharp, handsome features and a confidence that made everyone gravitate toward him. He was the golden boy of the academy — smart, athletic, admired. Teachers adored him, classmates followed him, and girls whispered about him in the hallways. He had everything Sharon didn't. And he had made it his personal mission to remind her of her place.
"You dropped something," Arga said with a smirk.
Sharon frowned, confused. She looked down. Nothing.
Then, before she could react, he tossed a crumpled piece of paper at her feet. On it was a crude drawing — a caricature of her, with a huge nose, wild hair, and crooked teeth. Beneath it, in big letters: UGLY DUCKLING.
The crowd roared with laughter. Sharon froze. She wanted to scream, to defend herself, but no words came. Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned.
"Don't cry, Duckling," Arga said, tilting his head mockingly. "If you cry, you'll just make your face uglier."
The laughter echoed in her ears long after the crowd dispersed. She picked up the paper, crushed it in her fist, and ran to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, she locked herself in a stall and let the tears fall freely. She pressed her hands against her face, hating herself for being weak, hating them for enjoying her pain.
But most of all, she hated Arga Bridgman.
He was everything she despised about this world — charming on the outside, cruel on the inside. Everyone saw him as a hero, but she saw the monster hiding behind the smiles.
As she cried, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink. Her swollen eyes, her frizzy hair, her flushed cheeks — all of it stared back at her. She wanted to smash the reflection.
"Why do I look like this?" she whispered.
Her fists trembled. For the first time, deep inside, a seed was planted. A seed of hatred. A seed of revenge.
***
Years passed.
Life didn't suddenly get better for Sharon. The bullying continued through middle school and into high school. She became skilled at pretending not to hear, at pretending not to care, but the scars built up inside her. Each insult carved into her heart like a knife.
But Sharon wasn't weak. Not anymore. She read. She studied. She observed. She poured her pain into determination. When other kids spent their afternoons gossiping, Sharon was in the library, reading about psychology, fashion, nutrition, and acting. Acting, especially, fascinated her. The ability to transform, to become someone else, someone admired — it felt like salvation.
At sixteen, something shifted. She discovered the power of discipline. She began taking care of her skin, eating healthier, and exercising every day. Her awkward body slowly became leaner, her pale skin clearer. She experimented with makeup, taught herself hairstyles, and practised speaking in front of the mirror until her voice no longer shook.
By the time she turned eighteen, Sharon Countbell was no longer the girl everyone laughed at.
The ugly duckling had grown into a swan.
Her beauty wasn't ordinary. It wasn't the soft, gentle kind. It was sharp, striking, and unforgettable. Her hazel eyes glowed with intensity, her once-frizzy hair now tumbled down in glossy waves, and her figure carried grace born from effort and resilience. But beyond the surface, there was something else — an aura of strength, a fire that made people stop and look.
She had transformed herself. And she would use this transformation to carve her place in the world.
***
The turning point came when Sharon auditioned for a local theatre production. At first, she was nervous — the stage lights, the rows of strangers watching — but once she began speaking, she felt alive. The audience hung on her every word, her every movement. For the first time, people weren't laughing at her. They were in awe.
That night, she decided on her future.
She would become an actress. Not just any actress — a famous one. A woman admired, envied, and celebrated. A woman powerful enough to make those who had mocked her regret every cruel word.
Especially him.
Arga Bridgman.
She had heard his name occasionally over the years. He had gone abroad for university, following in his wealthy family's footsteps. Their paths hadn't crossed again. But Sharon never forgot. His voice still echoed in her nightmares. His laughter still haunted her.
She promised herself: one day, when they met again, he would no longer see an ugly duckling. He would see the woman who had risen above him. He would see what he had lost.
And maybe then, she would smile as he suffered.
***
On her twentieth birthday, Sharon stood in front of a mirror in her modest apartment. The reflection staring back at her was no longer the broken girl from St. Helena Academy.
She was Sharon Countbell, a rising star. She had already landed small roles in television dramas, and her name was beginning to circulate in casting offices. The industry was ruthless, but Sharon was hungrier than anyone. Every audition was a battlefield, and she walked into each one with her scars hidden beneath her flawless smile.
Yet beneath the glamour, the determination, and the growing fame, the fire of revenge still burned.
One day, Arga Bridgman would return. And when he did, she would be ready.
Not just to show him her success, but to make him pay.
For every tear.
For every laugh.
For every time he called her the Ugly Duckling.
That day would come.
And Sharon Countbell would have her revenge.