The bell rang with a sharp chime, echoing through the arched hallways of Creswell Academy. Elara slid into her seat by the window in Contemporary World Affairs—once her favorite class, a lifetime ago. This room, with its polished walnut desks and floor-to-ceiling windows, had seen her at her brightest… and her most broken.
Sunlight spilled across her desk as she opened her leather-bound notebook with practiced grace. Her notes were already organized, each topic color-coded, each quote underlined. Looking at her handwriting, memories of her past life rushed back. She felt a surge of quiet relief; she still possessed the knowledge of the "future." Navigating her senior year would be a breeze this time around.
Professor Alden strode in—tall, strict, and a former diplomat with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. He barely spared the class a glance before launching into the day's lecture: "Soft Power and Global Influence in the 21st Century."
"The floor is open," he announced, leaning against his mahogany lectern. "I want to hear arguments. In the modern age, who holds more true influence—corporations or governments?"
A hush fell over the room. Most students were still flipping through their textbooks or whispering to one another, hesitant to catch Alden's piercing gaze.
Then, Elara raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Voss?"
She stood without hesitation, her voice calm but commanding. "Corporations. Without question. Influence no longer lies in military might alone, but in who controls the narrative, the data, and the algorithms. Governments legislate, but corporations—tech giants in particular—shape behavior, culture, and perception. They are the architects of belief."
A pause followed her statement. Then—a slow, rhythmic clap from the back of the room.
Selene.
Elara turned slowly to meet her sister's eyes. Selene sat with her legs crossed and a seemingly innocent smile, twirling her pen between her fingers like a knife.
"Beautifully said," Selene chimed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "But aren't governments still the only ones with the power to enforce change? What good is influence without authority?"
Elara tilted her head slightly. "Authority fades when perception shifts, Selene. Influence is the seed. If a corporation convinces the masses to act, governments are eventually forced to follow—or fall."
The professor raised a brow, genuinely impressed. "Well argued, Miss Voss. Miss Selene, an interesting counter—but today, the point goes to Elara."
Selene's smile faltered for the briefest second.
Nova leaned across the aisle, whispering, "That was brutal. I loved it."
Elara's lips curled into a half-smile. She didn't gloat; she didn't need to. Her intellect, once dulled by manipulation and "supplements," now burned clear and sharp. As the class continued, she could feel Selene sitting stiffer in her seat, fingers tightening around her pen. Selene was watching her now—truly watching—beginning to sense that the sister she thought she controlled had vanished.
The black Aston Martin Lagonda pulled into the estate's sweeping driveway, its engine a smooth, low purr. Elara stepped out, her ponytail still pristine, her uniform untouched by the humidity of the day. The chauffeur offered a polite nod, which she returned with a practiced, regal calm.
She had barely taken three steps toward the grand entrance when the sharp click-clack of heels echoed behind her.
"Elara, wait up!"
Selene, breathless but perfectly posed, rushed after her, her pastel-pink skirt fluttering in the breeze. "Don't forget about the gala tonight. Damien's going to pick us up—he texted me about thirty minutes ago."
Elara let out a short, mocking scoff, but she didn't stop walking. "I didn't forget."
Selene fell into step beside her, her tone too light, too curious. "What are you planning to wear? You've still got that white silk gown, don't you? The one with the sheer sleeves?"
Elara didn't answer immediately. Instead, she had a flash of memory—sharp and painful. In her previous life, Selene had asked this exact question in this exact tone. Elara had gushed then, excited to wear the silk dress their mother had custom-commissioned before she passed.
And that night… the zipper had broken. The hem had mysteriously torn. The straps had frayed before she even stepped out of the car. Everything had gone haywire while Selene appeared in a regal emerald gown—poised, untouched, radiant. When Elara finally entered the gala, flustered and wearing a borrowed dress two sizes too big, the whispers had been merciless.
"How unprepared."
"How careless."
"Selene should have been the heiress all along."
Elara's jaw tightened as she pushed open the manor's heavy doors. Her voice remained smooth. "I haven't decided yet."
Selene pouted, a practiced look of sisterly concern. "You should let me help. I could do your makeup again—like I used to. Everyone loved your look last time."
Elara gave her a long, unreadable look. "I think I'll manage on my own tonight."
Selene blinked, momentarily thrown by the quiet refusal. They entered the marble foyer, sunlight streaming through the grand windows. Elara paused on the staircase, turning back slightly.
"You should wear emerald," Elara said softly. "It always looked better on you."
Selene lit up, her ego stroking itself to life. "Do you really think so?"
Elara smiled faintly—a secret she had no intention of sharing.
Yes, she thought. Emerald suited snakes just fine.