Reborn from heartbreak; Soraya's story.

SORAYA The steering wheel was still warm from my hands even after I parked in front of my house. My pulse hadn't slowed. Today was a lot for me.  From the rebirth to the auditions to almost making out with Zayne... Zayne... His breath on my cheek... His hand on my waist... The way he paused, like kissing me would've been a mistake he'd make twice. I swallowed, leaning back. Get it together, Soraya. You're not here for romance. You're here for revenge. Inside my living room, the silence wrapped around me like a blanket I didn't trust. I picked up my phone, scrolled through and saw one name: Attorney Lawson. Dad's oldest friend. His lawyer too. The only one I wasn't sure had been compromised. My thumb hovered. A second of hesitation. Then two. Then I finally hit call.  He picked up after the line rang twice. "Soraya? Are you alright?" My throat tightened. "No. But I will be." A beat of silence carried the unspoken questions. "I need someone who sees deeper than the surface," I said quietly. "Someone I can trust." "You can trust me," he said firmly. "Tell me what's going on." Not yet. Not until I had solid proof. "Soon," I whispered. "I promise." I ended the call before he could pull me into more emotion. If I'm going to win this, I can't fight alone. But I have to choose my allies like I choose my weapons, very carefully.  --  It's been two weeks now; I still haven't heard any news from the audition, but there isn't a "no" message. That's something positive to hold onto. Besides, I believed in myself and I did very well in the auditions, plus my memory is very correct.  I didn't get the role in my past life; Marissa did in place of me. This time, I'm winning the audition for sure. I stepped out onto my balcony for some air; a familiar black car slowed in front of my gate. My heart kicked. Zayne. He wasn't coming to me, no. He didn't even know I lived here. But as he spoke to someone through the open window, his voice carried up the quiet street. "I don't tolerate incompetence," he said, tone sharp and controlled. "Fix it. Tonight!" The command in his voice vibrated through me. His shoulders were relaxed but ready, like a man used to handling problems without raising his voice. When he ended the call, he glanced up the street by chance. His eyes met mine across the distance. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. He didn't call me over. He didn't speak. He just looked... like he already knew I was on the same path he was. And then he drove off. He doesn't just talk power... He moves like someone who owns it. I hated how much I noticed that. The next morning, I left the house earlier than usual and headed toward Dad's real estate firm building. The sky was still pale, barely awake. Perfect. They weren't expecting me. The security guards bowed slightly when they saw me. They were polite... but cautious. Ever since Dad died, everyone in this building moved like they were walking on cracked glass. I didn't bother heading to my usual office. I took the long hallway instead, the one wrapped in thick glass that reflected my silhouette back at me. I looked calm. Unbothered. But inside? Every step felt like loading a gun. Just as I approached the west wing, I heard it: whispers. Sharp, hurried, and annoyingly familiar. I slowed down. The door was slightly open. Enough for sound to leak out. Marissa's voice cut through first. Cold. Irritated. "She's getting restless," she muttered. "We need her distracted." Restless? Of course she would be talking about me. I almost laughed out loud. The audacity. If only she knew how deeply I'd been studying her. Her patterns, her pride, her obsession with winning. Reid's voice followed, lower than hers, almost strained. "Just... don't underestimate her." I felt my lips curve. Interesting. So he was starting to feel it. The shift. The fact that I wasn't the quiet, grieving girl they thought they could manoeuvre around anymore. Marissa scoffed, pacing. "She's emotional. That's her weakness." I blinked slowly. Emotion wasn't my weakness. It was my weapon. I leaned closer, careful not to make a sound. My heart wasn't beating fast; it was steady. Steady in a way that told me I was exactly where I needed to be. They kept talking, throwing out little details. Minor plans, minor lies, and small manipulations – they wanted to slip into place over the next week. Pathetic. They thought they were plotting. They were just exposing themselves. Good, I thought. Keep underestimating me, both of you. Let's see how far that gets you. I stepped back, heels silent against the floor, and walked away before they sensed anything. By the time I reached the elevator, my pulse had finally picked up from the thrill of being several steps ahead of them.    ---  I had different meetings. All discussing with the shareholders and higher executives in the firm how the ownership of the firm would be transferred to me. Marissa's facial expressions were a true sight to behold. Back in my car, I didn't even turn on the engine. I just locked the doors, slid into the seat properly, and pulled out Dad's old leather notebook, the one he never went anywhere without. Found it in his drawer. Lucky for me, no one saw it while clearing my dad's stuff from his office. The moment it touched my palms, the world outside went quiet. This is where the real war started. I flipped to a fresh page and tapped my pen against the paper, steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat syncing with my thoughts. I replayed everything from the hallway earlier. Marissa's impatience. Reid's uncertainty. The cracks are forming between them. Every detail mattered. My mind mapped out the battlefield: Pressure points - Marissa's ego, Reid's lack of confidence, their need for control. Weaknesses - their overconfidence, lack of subtlety, and desire to push me out quickly. Predictable habits - they moved fast when scared, sloppy when overconfident. Possible allies - Zayne... maybe. If I could trust him. Attorney Lawson. Possible traps - anything involving my emotions, my routines, or my father's legacy. Step one: make them stumble. Step two: gather proof. Step three... strike. A targeted hit, clean and precise. Something they wouldn't recover from. I drew a small box around one phrase on the page: "Control the narrative." If they thought they could spin stories behind closed doors, I would open every door and make the truth echo. I shut the notebook with a soft click and leaned back, inhaling deeply. For a moment, my reflection in the car window held my gaze. My eyes looked... different. Sharper. Focused. Alive in a way I hadn't seen since Dad smiled at me the last time. "I can't fight this alone," I whispered into the quiet car. "But I refuse to lose." The old Soraya died the day Marissa pushed me down the stairs. This one? This one is ready to burn their entire plan to the ground and rebuild everything they tried to take.