Reborn To Ruin My Traitorous Ex-Fiancé

Three days later, Sera arrived at the Los Angeles International Airport VIP lounge. It was the designated assembly point for the production crew before meeting the cast. She walked through the sliding glass doors wearing oversized black sunglasses, a sleek designer trench coat, and carrying a single, highly practical canvas duffel bag. Dominic Wells, the show's stressed-out lead director, looked at her bag in genuine surprise. He had fully expected the notorious Sera Beaumont to arrive with a mountain of Louis Vuitton luggage and a screaming assistant. Dominic cleared his throat and handed her a thick, heavy binder. "This is the Team Manager handbook. It contains all the logistical nightmares, budget constraints, and emergency protocols." Sera took the binder. She flipped through the dense pages, her eyes rapidly scanning the text. Her brain automatically memorized the daily budget limits, the emergency contact numbers, and the hotel layouts. A nervous production assistant named Brenda rushed over. She clipped a small wireless microphone to the lapel of Sera's trench coat. The tiny red light blinked on. The behind-the-scenes cameras were officially rolling. Dominic crossed his arms, looking directly into the camera lens. "Your job, Ms. Beaumont, is to serve the guests. You manage their schedules, you handle their luggage, and you ensure everything runs smoothly. Understood?" Sera turned to face the camera. She tilted her head and offered a sweet, completely fake, plastic smile. "Of course, Dominic," Sera chirped, her voice dripping with artificial enthusiasm. "I'm going to be very, very helpful." The crew boarded a short domestic flight to a luxury desert resort in Nevada, the staging ground where the cast would gather tonight before flying to Europe. During the flight, Sera sat in the window seat. She pulled out her encrypted tablet, shielding the screen from the cameras. She ran a rapid, deep-dive background check on Ethan Vance's current financial status. The data loaded quickly. Ethan had heavily leveraged his personal assets to invest in a tech startup. He was drowning in hidden debt. His public image on this reality show wasn't just for fame; it was a desperate bid to secure more investors. She then accessed the production team's unsecured scheduling server, a laughably simple task for someone with her background. With a few rapid keystrokes, she altered a single entry on Ethan Vance's digital call sheet, cleanly changing his assembly time from 5:00 AM to 6:00 AM without leaving a digital footprint. Sera locked the tablet. Her mind immediately began formulating a dozen different, highly effective ways to trigger a catastrophic public relations disaster for him. The production team arrived at the Nevada hotel by late afternoon. As they checked in, the grand lobby lights flickered ominously for a long moment, a clear sign of the aging hotel's occasionally unreliable power grid, before buzzing back to full brightness. They converted a section of the lobby into a chaotic command center. Dominic tossed Sera a master keycard. "You have access to the entire fifth floor. The guests arrive tonight. Your first job is managing their 5:00 AM wake-up calls tomorrow." Sera reviewed the final guest roster on her phone. Felicity "Fifi" Lowell. Diana Lane. Sterling Rhodes. And Ethan Vance. At the bottom of the list, a fifth name was heavily blurred out, simply labeled: Surprise A-List Guest. Sera ignored the blurred name entirely. Her focus was locked onto Ethan's room assignment: Suite 504. Sera took the staff elevator up to the fifth floor. She needed to scout the hallway layout, memorize the blind spots, and locate the security cameras before tomorrow morning. The carpeted hallway was dead quiet. She walked slowly, her eyes tracking the black domes of the cameras mounted on the ceiling. She spotted an unattended room service cart piled high with used dishes and discarded linens. Tucked discreetly on the bottom shelf was a large, industrial metal ice bucket, half-melted but absolutely perfect for her needs. With a quick, tactical glance to ensure no one was watching, she lifted it from the cart and smoothly stashed it in a nearby alcove just outside Suite 504 for later. Gary, the cameraman assigned to shadow her every move, was loudly complaining about a dead battery pack and had just gone back down to the lobby to get a new one. This gave Sera a precious window of absolute privacy. As she passed the elevator bank, she noticed another large room service cart left unattended against the wall. It was cluttered with dirty plates and several half-empty glasses of red wine. The elevator bell chimed softly. The metal doors slid open. Kian Sinclair IV stepped out. He was wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, attempting to stay incognito. Sera froze. The pieces clicked together instantly. Kian was the network's "Surprise A-List Guest." But something was horribly wrong. Kian's face was unusually pale, a sickly gray color. He took one step out of the elevator and stumbled heavily. His broad shoulder crashed into the room service cart. A half-empty wine glass tipped over, shattering loudly against the floorboards. Kian didn't even flinch at the noise. He collapsed back against the wall, his hands flying to his throat. He clawed at his collar. His chest heaved violently, but no air was entering his lungs. Sera's tactical instincts flared. She recognized the immediate, terrifying signs of severe anaphylactic shock. It wasn't intoxication. He was suffocating. Sera dropped her aloof, fake persona instantly. She sprinted down the hallway toward him as his knees buckled and he slid down the wall to the floor.