0006: Same Script, New Director

ANGELA’S POV

I sat across from Mr. Smith, my fingers circling the rim of my teacup without thought. My mind would not settle. The story he had told me before kept pushing in, like it had waited all night to strike, and the worst part was how close it felt to my own truth… my secret, the thing I could never say out loud.

“Why the sudden curiosity?” Mr. Smith leaned back, folding himself into that casual pose he always used when he wanted answers. His eyes were sharp, too sharp. “Last time, you did not seem so interested. Now you are asking questions.”

I gave a weak smile, though my chest was a storm. “I have been… thinking. About choices. About what someone might do differently if life handed them another chance.”

His brow lifted, the corner of his mouth tugging like he was amused. “Sounds like something heavy is weighing on you.”

My throat tightened. I almost told him everything, how I was not just speaking in riddles, how I was proof that a second chance existed. But the thought of him laughing, or worse, deciding I had lost my mind, kept my mouth shut. No one would believe me anyway.

So I swallowed it down. “I was wondering,” I said carefully, keeping my tone light. “That woman in your story. The one who had a second chance… did she succeed? Did she change her fate, or did she fall back into the same mistakes?”

His expression softened, the lines of his face folding deeper with memory. “Her,” he murmured. “Well… depends who you ask. Some say she lived better the second time. Wiser, stronger. Others say fate circles back no matter how hard you fight it. In the end, it was her choices.”

That word clung to me. Choices. Like it wanted to crawl into my skin and stay there.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you ask? Do you think you would do something different if you had another chance?”

I opened my mouth, then stopped. I imagined telling him the truth. I am terrified of repeating old mistakes. Terrified that even with this chance, I will fail again. But fear held me still.

I forced a little laugh instead. “Curiosity,” I repeated. “That is all.”

Inside, though, my chest ached from the silence I was forcing.

I sipped my tea, using the pause as a shield. The warmth did not calm me, not at all. His eyes never left me, and I swear it felt like he could peel me open with a look.

“You know,” he said at last, his voice softer now, “second chances… people think of miracles or time bending. But really, it is about the small moments. The little choices that steer everything.”

The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. “But what if… someone did get another chance? Literally.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as if I had said something odd. “Literally? That would be something. But even then, the danger stays the same. Same fears, same habits, same heart. Circumstances change, Angela. But the question is, do you?”

I stared into my cup, the steam twisting like it wanted to answer for me. That was the question, was it not?

“You sound like you have been thinking about regret,” he added.

The word slipped out before I could stop it. “Maybe.”

He nodded, almost like he had expected it. “Regret is heavy. But it can guide you, too. Shows you where you do not want to return.”

The urge to confess clawed at me again, harder this time. I have lived this already. I have seen the ruin. I do not want it again. But fear pressed down. So instead, I gave him a crooked smile. “You talk like you have lived ten lives.”

His chuckle filled the space, warm but edged. “Perhaps. Or maybe I have just watched enough to know the patterns. People do not change as much as they think. That can comfort you… or haunt you.”

A clock chimed somewhere in the background, pulling me back. I blinked, surprised by how late it was. My stomach knotted with guilt, not hunger. I needed to be home.

I stood, brushing at my skirt as if dust clung there. “I should go. I promised my mom to be home by lunch time.”

He gave me that long, measuring look again but did not push. “Very well. But Angela… if life hands you another chance, do not waste it by standing still. Make it count.”

The words sank into me, heavy as stones dropped into a pond. I thanked him, forced a smile, and left. Outside, the air was sharper than I expected.

But his voice followed me all the way home. Do not waste it hesitating.

And that was exactly what I feared I was doing.

When I stepped through the front door, she was there. Kimberly. Sitting in the living room, smile neat and practiced, like she had always belonged. My mother must have let her in without a thought. Why would she not? Kimberly was my best friend… or she used to be.

Back then, I was blind. I trusted her, believed she would stand beside me no matter what. Until she proved me wrong. Until she took my husband and murdered me and the child I carried.

Now here she was again. Same smile, same false warmth, same act. But I was not that naïve little girl anymore. And above all, I knew why she had come. Tomorrow was the Clarkson twins’ birthday celebration at the Gamma estate.

Ella and Isabella turning eighteen, with all the pomp. Alphas, Betas, Gammas, every heir and child of rank would be there. Everyone except Kimberly. Omegas were not invited unless they came with someone who was. That was why she was here now. Acting like she had dropped by for nothing special, when I knew exactly what she would suggest.

And right on cue, she said it. “Hey, Angie,” her voice soft, her hand tucking hair behind her ear. “I heard about the party tomorrow… do you think I could come with you? Like, as your plus one?”

I nodded slowly, pretending to think it over. But I already knew this script. In my past life, she had played it the same way. We went shopping, picked matching gowns for the masquerade theme.

I paid, of course. Then, the night of the party, she betrayed the plan. She wore something elegant and understated while I showed up in glitter, head to toe, looking ridiculous. She claimed she had told me, and I had not listened. A setup.

I can still hear the whispers. The laughter. The humiliation burning into me while she basked in the glow of attention. Julius’s attention too. I remember running home in tears, completely broken.

But not this time. This time, I smiled sweetly. “Of course you can. We will go shopping tomorrow. Make a whole day of it.”

Her eyes lit up, delighted, no idea the rules had changed. This time, the fool will not be me. This time, she will be the one they laugh at.

Let the game begin.