In my last life, they murdered me. Now, I’ve been reincarnated as the unborn daughter of a tragic heroine. In that past life, my mother was lured into a vicious trap by her best friend and her husband. It was a "two lives, one casket" ending. In this life? I was a D-list actress who specialized in playing tragic extras before I died, and I’ll be damned if I let my mother and myself go up in flames again. When that "best friend" sent the invitation to the gala again, my mother’s hand wouldn't stop shaking as she gripped her phone. I rolled my eyes in the amniotic fluid. My thoughts crashed into her mind like a physical blow. [Mom, stop shaking! You’re causing a damn tsunami in here!] [Crying is the most useless thing on this planet. Suck those tears back in, now!] My mother’s eyes widened in sheer terror. "Who... who’s speaking?!" [Don’t go looking for a ghost. I’m the kid in your belly!] Without mercy, I forced the memory of her previous death into her brain—the image of her "best friend" pushing her off that penthouse balcony. The sensation of falling. The snap of bone. The phantom pain and raw terror sent her into a breakdown. She curled up on the floor, letting out a desperate, broken whimpering. [Begging for mercy? Last time, you knelt and begged them, and they didn't even blink. It didn't save us then, and it won't save us now.] [But it’s okay. Your kid is a professional. I might have spent my last life as a nobody playing corpses on Law & Order, but I’ve memorized every trope and screenplay in the book. If you listen to me, I promise you your revenge.] My mother stared blankly at her stomach. I let out a mental smirk. [Acting Rule Number One: The most profound contempt is found in the simplest actions.] [Now, smile. And tell her yes.] My mother hesitated, but under the sheer pressure of my mental will, she reached for the phone that had slid across the floor. She squeezed out a smile that looked more painful than a sob and accepted that "invitation to a funeral." 1 The moment she hung up, she collapsed, her strength spent. I didn't give her a second to breathe. I kept the lesson going. [Acting Rule Number Two: Retreat to advance. Vulnerability is often your sharpest weapon.] [Pick up the phone again. Call your mother-in-law, Beatrice West. You know, the one who treats you like an oven for her 'precious legacy heir.'] My mother resisted, but she loved me—or at least the idea of me. She followed my lead. When the call connected, Beatrice’s impatient, sharp voice barked through the speaker. "What is it now? Focus on the pregnancy and stop calling me every five minutes!" My mother flinched, the words dying in her throat. [Cry! Now! Let it out!] [Tell her your heart is racing, your head is spinning, and you can’t stand the smell of grease. Oh—and tell her you’re craving something sour.] With my permission, the dam broke. My mother’s tears flowed, her voice trembling with genuine grievance as she recited my script. "Mom... I... I’ve been feeling so dizzy lately. Every time I smell cooking oil, I feel like I'm going to be sick... and all I want to eat are green apples and lemons..." There was a heartbeat of silence on the other end. Then, Beatrice’s tone shifted instantly. It became sharp, urgent, and almost frantic. "Nauseous? Craving sour things?" "Don't move! And don't you dare eat any of that trashy takeout! I’m taking you to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow. Nothing can happen to the West family heir!" [Acting Rule Number Four: When danger is near, muddy the waters to find a way out.] [Tell her you can’t go to the hospital because you promised Tiffany Sinclair you’d go to her party.] My mother sobbed, her voice heavy with feigned conflict. "But... I already told Tiffany..." [No 'buts.' Speak!] Under my coercion, my mother spoke in a frail, tiny voice. "Mom, I promised Tiffany I’d go to her Halloween gala tomorrow night..." "What gala?! Absolutely not!" Beatrice’s voice jumped an octave, pure fury. My mother’s eyes welled up with a fresh layer of tears. [Quick, say you’re afraid of making Tiffany angry. Tell her to talk to Tyler.] My mother’s voice was timid. "Mom, maybe... maybe you should talk to Tyler? I’m just afraid Tiffany will be... upset with me." "Upset? Who cares if that outsider is upset? Is she more important than my grandson? I’m calling that boy right now!" The line went dead. My mother looked at her pale reflection in the mirror, blinking, lost. I was satisfied. [Mom, remember this. A woman’s tears are never meant for a dog of a man. From today on, your tears are only for the performance.] My mother didn't quite understand, but she nodded anyway. 2 The next morning, the doorbell rang. It was the gown Tiffany had "specially prepared" for my mother. "Jade, babe! I found the perfect 'warrior' outfit for you!" Tiffany’s voice over the phone was so sweet it was nauseating. "With your pale skin, this 'Fallen Starlet' piece is going to kill. Trust me, you’ll be the envy of the room tonight!" My mother held up the black dress. It was barely a handful of sheer fabric. The sight of it made her stomach churn, and she gagged. I hissed immediately, [Don’t you dare throw up!] [Showing weakness is the cardinal sin of acting. Do what I say. Smile. Take it. Tell her you love it so much you want to sleep in it.] My mother hated every second of it, but she forced a stiff smile and took the dress. "Thank you... I love it. It’s a very... airy design." Tiffany sounded delighted and hung up. The second the screen went black, my mother bolted for the bathroom and retched. She leaned against the wall, staring at her bedraggled self in the mirror, her eyes filling with humiliation and hatred. She was remembering the last life—the cold, the pain, the betrayal. She grabbed the "Fallen Starlet" dress, ready to tear it to shreds. [Hey, hey! Stop! Don't throw it away.] My mother froze. "But... this is the evidence of how they killed us." I raised a mental eyebrow. [A good tool should be used where it hurts most. Sometimes, poison is the only way to break a stalemate. Go get your eyebrow scissors.] My mother walked to the vanity, confused. [See the side seams on that dress? Use the scissors. Snip the threads every few inches. Make it so that a stiff breeze—or a gentle tug—will make the whole thing fall apart. Remember, a prop only has value when it fulfills its destiny.] My mother’s eyes lit up. She delicately picked at the seams, weakening the structural integrity of the gown. [Perfect. Now it’s a dress with a mission. Next prop: that diamond necklace Tyler gave you.] [The idiot tried to save money by taking the diamonds off your old jewelry and putting them on a new chain, but he forgot one thing: the clasp on that pendant is actually a high-end micro-recorder you bought years ago for your acting classes.] Understanding my plan, my mother dug through the bottom of her jewelry box. ... By evening, my "dear" father, Tyler West, was home. The moment he walked in, he saw my mother in that black "warrior" dress. I didn't miss the flicker of disgust in his eyes, but I kept my mouth shut. His hand slid over her waist, his fingers lingering meaningfully over the weakened seams. "Honey, you look stunning," he murmured. "Don't drink at the party. Take care of yourself." Following my instructions, my mother lowered her head, a perfect flush of "shyness" on her cheeks. "I’ll be there. I won’t let you or Tiffany down." Tyler smiled—the smile of a hunter watching his prey step into a snare. Right then, her phone shrieked. Caller ID: Mother-in-Law. Her "good" mother-in-law was always on time. [Mom, put it on speaker.] Beatrice’s scream erupted instantly. "Jade Montgomery! If you dare step foot in that trashy club tonight, don’t you ever think about stepping foot back in this house!" My mother’s eyes turned red instantly. Tears rolled down her face—she had truly mastered Rule Number Two. "Mom, Tyler and Tiffany really want me to go... I’m too scared to say no..." Before she could finish, the doorbell rang. Tiffany was here to pick her up, swaying in a long white silk gown, looking like a literal angel. She walked right into the middle of the mother-in-law showdown. "It’s just a party, what’s the big deal?" Tiffany’s eyes flashed with disdain as she snatched the phone and hung up on Beatrice. "Why do you listen to that old bat? You’ve got Tyler and me. Who could possibly hurt you?" My mother smiled but said nothing. Just before walking out the door, she clipped the diamond necklace around her neck. The click of the clasp sounded like a gavel hitting a bench. [Mom, remember. Tonight, you are the director—and the only lead actress.] 3 The music in the ballroom was deafening. Tyler’s arm was clamped around my mother’s waist as he introduced her to the crowd. "This is my wife, Jade." But his eyes were constantly drifting past her, exchanging secret glances with Tiffany, who was dressed as an elegant jasmine flower in the middle of the crowd. Seeing the room that looked exactly like the one from her memories—the place where her nightmare began—my mother nearly faltered. I cleared my throat mentally. [Mom, stop shaking. Confidence is the first requirement of a lead! Straighten your back. Channel that old-money Montgomery energy. Imagine you’re a queen inspecting the peasants.] My mother took a deep breath, and her tremors miraculously stilled. Tiffany glided over, holding two glasses of red wine, her smile sweet and venomous. "Jade, you look so pale. Are you feeling okay? Why don't I take you upstairs to a private room to rest for a bit?" My mother’s body stiffened. She instinctively wanted to refuse. I cut in. [Go with her. The recorder is running. You can’t catch the tiger if you don’t enter the den. Move.] My mother nodded and let Tiffany lead her toward the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, the mask slipped. Tiffany’s face twisted with malice. "Jade, why do you insist on playing the victim?" She leaned into my mother’s ear. "You’re a useless waste of space who was born into the right family. You don’t deserve Tyler. Don't you feel disgusted, hogging the title of Mrs. West?" "But it’s fine. After tonight, you won’t be the high-and-mighty Jade Montgomery anymore." She giggled, a sharp, piercing sound. "Can you guess tomorrow's headlines? 'Socialite's Secret Life of Sin: Caught in Bed at a Wild Party.' Doesn't it sound spicy?" She gestured excitedly. "By tomorrow, you’ll be a branded adulteress. The shame of the West family!" I couldn't help but laugh mentally. This bitch was as dumb as she was cruel. [Mom, you don't have to hold it in anymore. Give her the full 'weak and helpless' performance!] My mother let herself go. Her body shook violently, large tears spilled over, and her lips trembled so hard she couldn't speak. Her fear was half-acting, half-PTSD from her previous life. It was a perfect blend of Method and Meisner. Tiffany was ecstatic seeing her like this. She didn't notice my mother’s hand gently pressing the clasp of her necklace. "Yes! That’s the face! Keep that expression for when the reporters burst in!" Tiffany laughed, patting my mother’s pale cheek. "Cry harder. It makes it more believable." Ding. The elevator reached the 18th floor. Tiffany dragged my mother down the hall to Room 1808. She pulled out a keycard and waved it mockingly. Beep. The lock clicked. Her smile turned demonic as she shoved my mother from behind! My mother stumbled into the darkness of the room. Click. The door was locked from the outside. Inside, the heavy scent of alcohol was overwhelming. A tall silhouette rose from the sofa, his voice thick with confusion. "What the hell? Why was she shoved in?" "Aaaah!" My mother’s scream shattered the silence of the room. The man froze. [Now! Improv Rule Number Six: A great actor knows how to create a highlight! Tear the seams! Cry! Cry like the world is ending!]
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