Pitch Perfect Fanfic

I was a top-tier heart surgeon. The kind they gave a government-issued black SUV with diplomatic plates—armored, red-light-skipping, cleared-for-anything kind of ride. I parked it at my fiancé Marco Varonetti's place so he could keep it in shape. Bad call. One day, I got an emergency call: heart transplant for the Chancellor—yeah, that Chancellor, the one with state secrets ticking inside him. I rushed over to Marco's to grab the car. Right as I was about to leave, some rando slid into the back seat like she owned it. "Mall first. I need a mani," she barked. "Then get the ice cream Marco ordered. If it melts, I'll kill you." Excuse me? "This is my car," I said, trying to stay chill. "I've got a critical airport run. You need to get out." She rolled her eyes. "You're just the driver. Open those eyes and check the plate." Then the maid chimed in. "Everyone knows Mr. Varonetti takes Ms. Caro out in this car. Nobody says a word." I froze. Marco used my federally issued SUV... to chauffeur her? This wasn't just messy. This was criminal.

In my previous life, I was betrothed to my childhood sweetheart, Zachary York, yet he fell for our junior, Tracy Graham, and planned to elope with her. I told his parents of their plan and asked for canceling our engagement. Yet, under their "persuasion", I lay with Zachary while he was unconscious from the drug's effects. That very night, Tracy, who had waited for him at the station, was murdered by a vagrant. I thought Zachary would rage against me. However, he merely said everyone was tied to their own destiny. He even proposed marriage to me at once. I was ecstatic, but on the night I had longed for most, he shoved me into a room filled with men. I begged him desperately to let me go, but his face twisted with hatred. "You should taste the suffering that Trace endured. If not for your jealousy, she would be my bride now!" In the end, I was brutalized to death. Because of Zachary, I was marked as the vilest woman in Riveria, denied even a shred of honor after death. Reborn, I wake to find myself on the very day of their planned elopement. This time, I'm not exposing their plan to elope. I'll even lend them a helping hand.

My mom decides to implement an income-based rationing system. Everything at home is delegated to everyone based on their income. At a holiday dinner, I decide to grab myself an extra helping of pasta. As soon as I fill up my plate, my mom snatches it from my hands. "Hold on. Just look at the spread on the table. The sea bass is already worth 180 dollars. The scallops are worth 200, whereas the lobster goes for 300 dollars. "You only earn 3,000 dollars per month. If you want a second serving, you must pay up first. I'll charge you based on the family rate. It'll be three dollars, thank you very much." My mom sticks out three fingers while smiling at me.

The night I brought my boyfriend home to meet my parents, my dad insisted on playing cards with some relatives. When he came back, he collapsed to his knees in front of me, crying. Not only had he lost half a million dollars, but he had even gambled away my boyfriend to my cousin. He slapped himself and begged me for forgiveness. However, instead of yelling at him, I helped him to his feet. Then, I took out the savings I’d set aside for my future wedding and the deed to my house. “Let’s gamble one more time.”

An employee blasted me on TikTok, accusing me of not approving her wedding leave. Ainsley Castillo ranted, "Our marriage rates are low; birth rates are low. It's all because of toxic capitalists like you! You won't even approve my wedding leave. In your eyes, am I just a workhorse? Not even a person? I believed your nonsense about building an all-women company and a women-friendly workplace. Now your true bloodsucking capitalist face is showing!" The video blew up instantly, and countless young people empathized with her hardcore. They piled on online, cursing me, even doxxing me and sending razor blades. As the boss, I went live and confronted her head-on. "Sorry, but I can't approve her wedding leave. She can quit and go through labor arbitration, or sue me, but her wedding leave is out of the question." The live stream exploded in views that day. Among the supporters for her, some claimed to be lawyers, offering to sue me pro bono. But Ainsley looked troubled. "I just want my wedding leave. I never thought about quitting, let alone suing her."

The appointment of Susan Moore as the Broadcasting Channel's executive director has forced out the station's more valued news anchor, sparking heated discussions throughout Hayworth. Susan herself is standing before me right now. She wants to sell her jewelry. As the manager of a luxury boutique store, I'm here to inspect the goods. "These are pieces my partner commissioned for me. I have so many that I'm tired of them." One of them is a diamond-encrusted necklace, featuring a pigeon-blood ruby in the center, worth a few million. There are also several similar gifts on the table, with the crocodile skin bag the least eye-catching one. I smiled. "Your husband must really love you." I set about verifying the purchaser's ID and signature as part of a routine procedure. However, I freeze in place at the sight of the name. "I'm not his wife," she replied, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. "We're just each other's first loves. He said he missed out on 15 years of my life, so he gave me 15 gifts. Isn't that romantic?" It is romantic, indeed. However, it's my father's signature. For 30-plus years, I assumed that my father was a dull man who had never once surprised my mother.

When my husband, Austin Hart, and I participated in the earthquake disaster relief, he discovered the corpse of his first love, Stacy Deleon, in the collapse zone. That night, Austin left a suicide note behind before jumping off the building with our son, Clifford Hart, in order to reunite with Stacy in the afterlife. Only then did I realize that both Austin and Clifford never cared about me, to begin with. When I was reborn, I returned to the moment when Austin first asked for a divorce. This time, I agreed to the divorce immediately. I even gave the custody of the three-year-old Clifford to Austin right away. Five years later, we meet again at an auction. Austin laces fingers with Stacy while taking Clifford's hand with the other. He mocks me, "It's only been five years, Kendra. You're really that shameless now, huh? You can't wait to latch onto me again now that you've found out I'm here!" Clifford mocks me as well. "Mom… Wait, you should be Ms. Powell to me now. You should stop pestering my dad already. My parents and I are living a very happy life right now." I just ignore them. Instead, I grab my daughter, Faye Gilmore, who has been sneaking food off the table, and steer her back to our seats. But Austin flies into a fit of rage instantly. A vein pops out of his hand, which is still laced with Stacy's fingers. "You really are shameless, Kendra Powell! We've only been separated for five years, yet you already have a daughter that old? I can't believe you're willing to resort to such despicable methods just to make me jealous! Which bastard did you have that bastard child with, huh?"

On my thirtieth birthday, Gideon Salton told me to meet him at city hall. He made sure I wore a wedding dress and brought my papers, hyping it up as a huge birthday surprise. But when I showed up, all dressed up, he turned to his trashy crew and laughed. "No way—she actually did it. Dress, docs, the whole thing. Pay up, fifty bucks each." Then he looked at me. "Come on, Madison. You didn't seriously fall for that?" I didn't answer. He smirked. "If you're that thirsty to get hitched, go inside and grab some rando to register with." His friends cracked up. They called me Gideon's loyal simp, his forever backup plan. Said I'd never end up with anyone else. But when I came out with my husband and a legit marriage certificate, Gideon just froze—pale, silent, wrecked.

On the very first day Jason and I made our relationship official, he insisted on handing over his salary for me to manage. He said marriage was only a matter of time and that he trusted his future wife to keep the money safe. On the day of our engagement, Jason demanded that I hand over the $960,000 in salary I had “kept” for him over the past four years. “Each month, I gave you $20,000. In four years, that’s $960,000. After expenses, there should be at least $800,000 left, right? I can’t bear to make my parents empty their savings for my marriage. We will use my savings for the wedding, $600,000 as the down payment for the new apartment, and the remaining $200,000 will be my wedding gift to you.” I froze. “But there isn’t a single dollar left!” Jason exploded. “You wasteful woman! You spent all the money?!” His mother also erupted. “So much money, and you squandered it all! What shameful acts have you been up to?! This marriage is off!” Jason demanded to see the accounts. I immediately pulled out the records in front of everyone. Seeing this, Jason’s mother panicked.

On my way to work, I came across a livestream from an influencer who posted about her relationship, tagged at my company’s location. She was talking about her office romance with the CEO of a major corporation. But wasn’t the CEO of her company my husband? I clicked on her profile and saw that it was full of wedding-prep posts. The man never showed his face, but his build looked almost exactly like my husband’s. So I left a comment in the livestream: “I heard the CEO of Gibson Corporation has been married for a long time. So what does that make you...?” The streamer muted me, then instantly burst into tears. “The internet isn’t lawless. If you keep spreading rumors and calling me a mistress, I’m calling the police.” Her fans immediately swarmed me. “You’re probably the other woman yourself. That’s why your mind went there.” “I checked her profile. She’s some woman in her thirties. She’s obviously jealous because the streamer is young, pretty, and has a rich, powerful boyfriend who dotes on her.” “The account’s brand new. She’s obviously just a troll.” I tried to say more, only to realize I had already been kicked out of the livestream, and my account had been reported until I couldn’t even log back in. I stared at the proof of our marriage in the drawer for a long moment. Then I raised my hand and smacked my sleeping husband awake. “Exactly how many wives are you planning to have?”