When Celia—no, Beverly—woke the next morning, the first thing she saw was a ceiling chandelier that could've paid off her old landlord's mortgage.
The second thing she saw was a maid. A maid. Standing at attention like a soldier in a soap opera, holding a tray with fresh orange juice and something that looked too delicate to be called breakfast.
"Good morning, Miss Beverly," the maid said.
Celia blinked. "Miss who?"
The maid froze.
Oops. Right. Beverly.
"Uh—I mean, yeah. Totally me. Beverly. That's me. The Beverly-est Beverly that ever Beverlied."
The maid raised an eyebrow so high it practically touched her hairline, but wisely said nothing. She placed the tray down and left, heels clicking against marble floors.
Celia sagged back against the mountain of pillows. "Oh God. This isn't a dream. I really died choking on instant noodles and woke up in a rich girl's body. My obituary is going to be humiliating ahhhhhhhh" she cursed inwardly
She swung her legs off the bed and almost tripped again. The floor was so shiny she could see her reflection in it. Her reflection, by the way, looked like someone who had never once in their life worried about rent.
⸻
The door burst open without warning.
"Beverly!"
In strutted a man in an expensive suit, wearing enough cologne to fumigate a small country. His hair was slicked back, his watch gleamed, and his smile was wide—but his eyes were cold,too cold
Her "father."
"Do you have any idea how worried I was?!" he barked. "You collapse at a party, three days in the hospital, and now the media is all over it! Do you want to embarrass this family again?"
Celia opened her mouth, then closed it.
Okay, so Beverly's dad was not the type to greet his almost-dead daughter with love.
"Uh… sorry?" she offered.
"Sorry doesn't fix headlines!" He slammed a newspaper onto the bedside table. The front page screamed:
'Heiress Beverly Torres: Drunk Disaster or Damsel in Distress?'
"Oh, wow," Celia muttered, skimming the article. "They make me sound like a Netflix special."
"Beverly!" he snapped.
Right. In character.
"Um, I mean—yes, Daddy. Totally my bad. Won't happen again." She added a wide, fake smile.
His eyes narrowed, but he seemed satisfied enough. "See that it doesn't. I've invested too much into cleaning up your messes." With that, he turned and stormed out, leaving behind an air of expensive perfume and disappointment.
Celia let out a long breath. "Wow. Warm guy. Ten out of ten parenting."
⸻
Later that morning, she discovered that "being Beverly" came with obligations.
Her phone buzzed nonstop with messages:
• Babe, where were you last night? We missed youuu 💕
• Girl, don't forget brunch today at La Mirabelle! We need content 📸
• Also… your ex is bringing his new girlfriend, so don't freak out 👀
Celia scrolled through the group chat, horrified. These weren't friends. These were vultures in designer heels.
She tossed the phone aside. "Nope. Absolutely not. Beverly 2.0 doesn't do fake brunches."
But then she remembered: if she wanted to survive in this new life, she couldn't hide forever. She had to face Beverly's world—fake friends, shady family, all of it.
And maybe… just maybe… have some fun turning it upside down.
She grinned to herself, grabbing a robe.
"Alright, Beverly's life. Let's see what kind of mess you've gotten me into."