Chapter 2
I lowered my eyes, staring at the sizzling eggs in the pan, trying hard not to let the sudden welling of tears fall. These tears were for the love that had died before it could even begin in this life, and for this sister who had become a complete stranger before my eyes.
"Berenice," I tried to keep my voice calm, wanting to make one final confirmation. "When we were kids, you protected me so much, but I, in my past life…"
"Stop with that useless talk!" She waved her hand impatiently, cutting me off, her tone becoming sharp and utilitarian. "What's done is done! The point is now! This time, you need to help me properly, to make up for your mistake!"
She looked at me, her eyes filled with undisguised superiority and command. "Candice, you will help me! This time, you absolutely cannot betray me again! Help me pick the best clothes, do the most perfect makeup, so I can conquer that billionaire at first sight!"
My hands trembled slightly.
Help you become perfect, to go meet the love of my past life?
But I owed Berenice too much. Those childhood kindnesses, I could never repay them. Perhaps, this was the only way for me to atone.
"Berenice, do you… remember how we died in the end, in our past life?" I asked softly, my voice almost inaudible.
I wanted to remind her that besides wealth, there might be more important things in life.
Berenice's expression froze for a second. I saw a shadow pass through her eyes, but it was quickly covered by a stronger, more fervent for this second chance.
"That's all in the past!" She waved her hand forcefully, her voice turning cold and resolute. "In this life, everything will be different! I will become Adrian Mitchell's wife, the wife of Hollywood's richest producer! This is what I deserve!"
She looked at me, her gaze sharp as a knife. "And you, this time, you are not allowed to betray me again! You are not allowed to steal what's mine!"
I took a deep breath. She was right. I was the one who betrayed first. I shouldn't overanalyze her motives. I just need to repay my debt.
"I understand, Berenice," I raised my head, forcing the moisture back from my eyes, making my voice sound obedient and firm. "I will help you get ready. I will focus on my painting, mind my own business. I won't… betray you again."
"That's more like it!" Berenice patted my shoulder, the force so strong I almost stumbled. "Remember, this time I'm taking back everything that belongs to me!"
The sunlight outside the window streamed into the small apartment, illuminating Berenice's face, glowing with excitement and desire, and also illuminating the world within my heart that was quietly fading into silence.
I knew, from this moment on, I had to personally bury the most precious memories of my past life. I had to watch her walk toward the man I had once deeply loved.
But this was the punishment I deserved.
After all, I was the betrayer.
That night, I barely slept. At three in the morning, a strange sound woke me. Not a dream murmur, nor the sound of someone turning over, but a deliberately hushed voice from Berenice's room next door, sounding like she was reciting something.
I held my breath, listening carefully.
"Van Gogh's sunflowers represent hope... Picasso's Cubism broke tradition..."
It was Berenice's voice. The tone was flat, carrying a kind of rote-memorization seriousness I had never heard from her before.
Compelled by some unseen force, I quietly got up and tiptoed barefoot to her door. Light seeped out from under it. I cautiously peered through the narrow crack.
Her room was brightly lit. Printed materials and a few art history books—clearly just borrowed from the library, their covers still new—were scattered on her desk. She was practicing something in front of her full-length mirror, her expression so intensely focused it was almost distorted, as if performing a daunting task.
She was rehearsing for today's date.
My heart felt gripped by an invisible hand, the pain so sharp I could barely breathe.
"Remember, I like you for who you are, not your money," she repeated this line to the mirror. Each repetition sounded stiff and unnatural, like reciting an awkward, impersonal incantation.
Then, she suddenly stopped, ruffling her hair in frustration and muttering a complaint under her breath.
The crack was too narrow to hear everything, but a few key words pierced through clearly: "...so cheesy... but the research said... really gets to him... gotta endure it... Birkin... Beverly Hills..."
In that instant, I felt my blood run cold.
I scrambled back to my room like a fugitive, sliding down with my back against the cold door. I forced myself to take deep breaths.
It's fine, Candice, it's fine. I returned the "opportunity" to her. How she uses it is not for you to judge. If Berenice had gone to see Adrian in the past life, the tragedy wouldn't have happened. You were just an accident, a mistaken usurper.
But why... why did hearing her cold rehearsals and utilitarian complaints hurt my heart more than dying in my past life?
The next afternoon, I sat in the comic studio, trying to numb myself with work.
But the charcoal pencil in my hand refused to obey, scratching out crooked, meaningless lines on the paper.
I wanted to draw a new chapter of The Dreamers, but my mind was filled with last night's images from the door crack: my sister's rigid expression as she practiced before the mirror, and that muffled mention of a "Birkin."
"Candice, are you okay?" Maya came over, looking at me with concern. "You look terrible, like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," I forced a smile. "Just... didn't sleep well last night." Had a nightmare about a fake performance, I added silently.
Maya peeked at the chaotic lines on my drawing paper and frowned. "This isn't like your style. You rarely draw something so... abstract and depressing."
I looked down and started. Unconsciously, I had drawn a heart tightly bound by icy chains, shattering into pieces, surrounded by scattered ornate masks and broken feathers.
"Maya," I couldn't help but ask, my voice dry as sandpaper. "If the person you... care about most is going to meet someone else, and you know that person... might not truly like him for who he is, would you bless them?"
"What?" Maya's voice rose an octave. "Candice, what are you talking about? That sounds complicated and terrible!"
"I mean... if that was the arranged, 'correct' choice," my voice was as light as a sigh.
"Correct?" Maya looked incredulous. "Since when does love have right or wrong? But sincerity and pretense are different! If you're approaching someone for something else, that's not a blessing, it's... it's being an accomplice!"
I shook my head with a bitter smile.
Some things she wouldn't understand. Some debts had to be repaid. Even if... the price was being an accomplice. I couldn't say more.
At one PM, my phone buzzed.
A message from Berenice: [Candice, the hunt begins! I'm going to meet JustDreaming_LA now! Wish me luck!]
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, stiff for a long time. I couldn't type the word "blessing." Finally, I managed two difficult words: [Good luck.]
But the moment the sent notification chimed, an uncontrollable impulse seized me.
I wanted to see.
Not to ruin anything. I just... just needed to see for myself. To confirm if Adrian would really be fooled by such a rehearsed yet clumsy performance?
Or... in the deepest, darkest corner of my heart, was there a tiny, unacknowledged desire: a hope that he wouldn't be fooled?
I needed to go, to make myself completely give up.
I grabbed my jacket and practically fled the studio.