I woke up on Thursday with my alarm blaring at seven in the morning, ready to—
Wait.
My alarm was set for seven-thirty.
I grabbed my phone, confused, and saw I had changed the alarm last night in a moment of pre-recording anxiety that I apparently didn't remember.
"Brilliant," I murmured, turning off the alarm. "Thanks, anxious past-me."
But since I was awake…
I looked at the closet where I had set aside a few clothing options to take to the studio and felt a pang of uncertainty.
They were all… functional. Practical. But looking at them now, in the morning light, they seemed kind of… bland?
"Okay," I said, sitting up in bed. "Don't panic about clothes. You have options. They are good options."
Five minutes later, I was having a full-blown clothing crisis.
"This isn't going to work," I said, staring at the pieces. "I'm going to look like I don't care. Or like I'm trying too hard not to look like I care, which is worse."
In my previous life, my idea of "going shopping" was walking into a store, grabbing three basic t-shirts of the same color in different sizes, buying the one that fit, and leaving. It took fifteen minutes tops.
Cassandra, on the other hand, had memories of spending hours at malls, trying on clothes, mixing and matching, using shopping as therapy and entertainment.
Back when I received those memories, I thought it was kind of frivolous.
But now…
"I have two hours before I need to be at the studio," I said out loud, already grabbing my bag. "And I have two million dollars. I can literally buy something that makes me feel confident."
Twenty minutes later, I was stepping off the subway at the Millennium Mall station—the nearest mall that wasn't completely unattainable luxury but also wasn't… well, a questionable corner store.
The mall was relatively empty for a Thursday morning, which was perfect. Fewer people to judge me while I had an identity crisis in the fitting room.
I walked into the first store that looked promising—a brand called Urban Thread that had window displays with clothes that looked "artistic but accessible."
"Can I help you?" A young saleswoman approached with a professional smile.
"I… am looking for something for a video recording," I said, feeling strangely shy. "Something that looks… I don't know, confident but authentic?"
Her eyes lit up with that look salespeople get when they receive an interesting challenge. "Okay, I love that. What kind of video? That helps me think about the style."
"Musical. I'm singing."
"Perfect! So we want something that doesn't distract from your face and voice, but also has personality." She started pulling pieces. "What's your usual style?"
I looked down at my current outfit—jeans, hoodie, basic sneakers. "Uh… comfortable?"
She laughed. "Honest. I like it. Okay, let's try a few things."
What followed was… actually, surprisingly fun?
The saleswoman—who introduced herself as Mia—kept bringing different pieces for me to try on. Some I hated immediately. Some were interesting. And some…
"Oh," I said, stepping out of the fitting room wearing a simple but well-cut black turtleneck with high-waisted tailored trousers. "This… this is good."
"That is perfect," Mia corrected. "Elegant, sophisticated, but not pretentious. And the cut flatters you without being flashy."
I turned in the mirror, observing from different angles.
Huh. I really looked… good. Confident. Like someone who should be taken seriously.
"I'll take it," I said.
"Great! Want to try a few more?"
And somehow, "a few more" turned into… a lot. A whole lot.
Because I discovered Cassandra was right—clothes shopping was fun when you had money and time and weren't just looking for "something that adequately covers my body".
It was like… exploring different identities. Seeing how different clothes made you feel.
This leather jacket made me feel confident. This flowy dress made me feel artistic. This all-black ensemble made me feel mysterious and interesting.
"Okay, this is addictive," I admitted to Mia after approving my sixth outfit.
"Welcome to the world of fashion therapy," she laughed. "It's dangerous for the wallet but great for the soul."
I was in the middle of trying on an interesting oversized shirt when I heard familiar voices from outside the fitting room.
Voices that made my stomach drop.
"—can't believe she had the audacity to show her face in public," a slightly nasal, high-pitched voice said. "After everything she did?"
"Maybe she has no shame," another voice replied, this one deeper and snootier. "I always knew she was trash underneath all that 'Whitmore daughter' facade."
I froze, my hand on the fitting room doorknob.
Through the small gap in the door, I could see three girls walking through the store. And I recognized them instantly from Cassandra's memories.
Victoria Ashford. Platinum blonde hair, designer dress, bag that probably cost more than a car. Heiress to a pharmaceutical company.
Melissa Zhang. Waist-length, pin-straight black hair, always perfectly made up, permanently bored expression. Family owns a chain of luxury hotels.
And leading the group, Sienna Rousseau. Curly red hair, piercing green eyes, and a smile that always seemed friendly but never reached her eyes. Daughter of a media mogul.
Cassandra's "friends."
Well, ex-friends. They had been the first to cut ties when the Eloise scandal happened. Not a single message. Not a single call. Just blocking on all social media and malicious gossip spread throughout their social circle.
"Do you think she's even still in the city?" Victoria was saying. "I thought she would have fled in shame."
"Please, people like her have no shame," Sienna said, her voice carrying that tone of superiority that made you want to both punch someone and cry. "She's probably—"
She stopped.
Because at that moment, I made the mistake of moving slightly, and the fitting room door creaked.
Three pairs of eyes immediately turned in my direction.
"Oh. My. God." Sienna said, her eyes widening before narrowing into something that could be cruel amusement. "Cassandra Whitmore. Or should I say… just Cassandra now?"
Crap.
I could stay in this fitting room like a coward, or I could go out and face this.
I took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping out in the shirt I was trying on—which thankfully was one of the more stylish options.
"Sienna," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Victoria. Melissa."
"Wow, what a surprise to see you here," Victoria said, her tone making it clear it was anything but pleasant. "I thought you'd be… I don't know, hiding in a hole somewhere after everything."
"Just shopping," I said, my heart beating fast. "You know how it is."
"Actually," Melissa said, looking around the store with poorly disguised disdain, "we don't know what it's like to shop in… department stores. We usually go to boutiques."
It was an obvious lie. Urban Thread wasn't a department store, and we all knew it. But the goal was to humiliate me, not be factual.
"Ah, but it makes sense," Sienna said, stepping closer with that smile that was never really a smile. "I imagine your budget is a bit more… limited now. Without the Whitmore family funds to support your lifestyle." She paused. "Although I heard they gave you a 'generous compensation' to go away. Two million, was it? How sweet of them, considering you tried to kill the real sister."
The words cut, sharp and intentional.
And for a moment, I was completely thrown off balance.
Because part of me—the part that was me from my previous life, the nerdy girl who hated confrontation—wanted to shrink. Wanted to run away. Wanted to cry.
But another part of me—the part that had Cassandra's memories, who had lived years in this high-society world with its performative cruelties—knew exactly how this game worked.
And then, as if the universe had decided to give me a little nudge, it happened.
Ding.
That familiar sound.
And in the corner of my vision, almost transparent so only I could see it, a blue screen appeared:
---
[ NEW MISSION ]
MISSION: Overcome your current situation without showing weakness
REWARD: +10 Charm
---
The screen disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
And something inside me… shifted.
Overcome without showing weakness.
Okay.
I could do that.
In fact, Cassandra had been good at this. She had learned to survive in this world of social sharks by being sharp in return. By being untouchable. By being a villain when necessary.
And I had all her memories.
I slowly let a smile form on my face—not friendly, not warm, but the kind of smile Cassandra used to use. The kind that said you can't touch me.
"Two million," I said, my voice casual, almost bored. "It's funny that you know the exact amount, Sienna. Gossiping about my finances? I'm flattered you still think about me."
Sienna's smile faltered for a split second.
"And you're right," I continued, gesturing vaguely at the store around us. "My budget is limited now. Limited to just two million dollars liquid, with no family obligations. While you…" I paused, letting my gaze sweep over the three of them, "you still have to smile for mommy and daddy to get access to the family funds. Must be tiring, performing perfection all the time."
Victoria's mouth opened, then closed.
"And as for Eloise," I said, my voice growing colder, "I didn't push her. But I don't expect you to believe me. You never cared about the truth—only about the most interesting narrative to gossip about." I tilted my head. "By the way, how is that scandal with your father, Melissa? I heard rumors about financial irregularities. Or is that too true to be fun gossip?"
Melissa's face turned red. "How dare you—"
"I dare because you mean nothing to me," I said simply. "You were my 'friends' when it was convenient, when I had the right surname and the right bank account. The moment things got difficult? You vanished. So please, don't pretend you have some kind of moral high ground."
I picked up my shopping bags—which Mia had intelligently left near the fitting room—and slung them over my shoulder.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have places to be. Real people to meet. Enjoy your shopping at… ah, wait, you only came here to humiliate me, didn't you? What a productive use of your time." I smiled, sweet as honey and equally fake. "Always a pleasure, girls."
And then I just… walked.
I passed them with my head held high, my heart pounding but my steps firm.
I heard Sienna start to say something behind me, but Victoria cut her off with a whispered, irritated "let her go."
I didn't look back.
I walked straight to the checkout where Mia was waiting for me with a huge, slightly impressed smile.
"That," she whispered as she rang up my purchases, "was amazing. I shouldn't have listened but like, I totally did, and you destroyed them."
I let out a shaky laugh. "I kind of surprised myself."
"You should. That was legendary level." She handed me the bags. "And hey, whatever video you're recording? You're going to rock it."
"Thank you," I said, genuinely grateful. "For everything."
I left the store with my bags and walked quickly until I found a bench in a quieter area of the mall.
I sat down, placing the bags beside me, and let out a long, shaky sigh.
"Damn," I whispered. "That really just happened."
And then, as if waiting for me to process it, the blue screen appeared:
---
[ MISSION COMPLETE! ]
[ REWARD GRANTED: +10 Charm ]
Charm: 68 → 78
[ NOTE: Charm affects presence and appearance. Changes are subtle but noticeable. ]
---
I felt… something. Like a gentle warmth running through my body, starting in my chest and spreading to my fingertips. It didn't hurt. It wasn't dramatic. Just… pleasant.
When it passed, I grabbed my phone and opened the front camera, looking at my reflection.
I looked… the same. But also not?
My eyes seemed a bit brighter. My skin had a slight healthy glow that wasn't there before. The symmetry of my face seemed slightly more… balanced?
The changes were subtle. If you saw me yesterday and today, you might think I had slept well or used better makeup.
But together, they made a noticeable difference.
"Okay," I said to my reflection. "This is… actually kind of great?"
I put my phone away and checked the time.
9:15.
I needed to be at the studio by ten.
"Right," I stood up, grabbing my bags. "Time to go. You just survived a confrontation with your ex-mean-girl friends. You can definitely survive a video recording."
As I walked out of the mall towards the subway station, I allowed myself a small, victorious smile.
Cassandra had spent so much time being treated like the villain that she had eventually buckled under the weight of it.
But me?
If I had to be the villain sometimes to survive in this world?
Then so be it.
But on my terms.