The Cold-Hearted CEO's Reborn Lover

“Now that’s the spirit, girl!” she exclaimed, her voice alive with excitement. “Getting into the spotlight won’t be easy. Start with backstage work for now, while I comb through potential brands. Securing even a few good ones will give your debut a real edge.”

“Okay thanks Katie”

Moments later, Cleopatra hugged Katie tightly before reluctantly letting go, their whispered goodbyes laden with unspoken words.

At 10 pm, Cleopatra retired from her work and rushed back to her apartment.

Pausing at the keypad, doubt flickered would the old password still work?

She entered the code.

The door unlocked.

Stepping inside, she froze. Nothing had changed. Nostalgia hit her all at once, followed by a sudden, chilling realization.

‘If I’ve truly been reborn… then I have the upper hand,’ she mused, her eyes widening with realization. ‘My life has been reset. If I can foresee every pattern, I can defy the fate that once shattered me.’

“Holy moly!” she gasped, her breath catching. “I can rebuild my career and save Calvin from dying”

A spark of determination ignited in her eyes as she lunged for the calendar, scanning it frantically.

January 3rd, 2018.

She grabbed her bag and pulled out her phone. The glowing screen confirmed the date.

Her heart thundered. Nearly a whole year lay ahead of her, a chance to rewrite fate and prevent Calvin’s death.

Her thoughts churned like a raging storm. She needed a solid plan to deal with Guinevere and Anthony.

“This time, I won’t be naïve,” she sneered, contempt filling her gaze. “I’ll break every wall and go all out. It’s my turn to drag you out from behind your masks and destroy you both.”

She suddenly unlocked her phone and checked her serving schedule.

“If today’s the third, that means I’ve already served Anthony twice,” she muttered. “Before the third time, I should run into Calvin.” Her breath caught. “Bloody hell, yes. That’s why I ran into Katie today. It’s like I’m reliving my past.”

In a flash she shook her head sharply. “No. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I’ll wait and see how things unfold.”

Even so, a decision had already taken root in her heart. After work tomorrow, she will go to INK’s Model Agency to see him. She only needed Katie’s help to come up with a convincing excuse.

In a fleeting moment, a thought struck her like a spark. She rushed to the table, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out a notebook. Sitting down, she flipped it open and began sketching her plans. The once-blank pages quickly filled with bold notes: debuting as INK’s model, sabotaging Guinevere’s gigs, and exposing Anthony’s fractured personality.

Once the decision was made, there was no turning back. Fate had already begun to shift.

Eventually, the next day arrived. Cleopatra rummaged through her wardrobe, pulling out outfit after outfit, but none of them felt right.

“I can’t wear any of this,” she muttered, hands planted on her waist as she stared at the clothes scattered across the floor. “I’ll stop by the department store and pick up something better after I finish work.”

“This time, I’ll come to you Calvin,” she whispered softly. “Just wait for me.”

Without a second thought, she grabbed her bag and dashed out, racing toward work. As she arrived at the gates of the Atelier, something strange made her pause. The workers moved with eerie precision, every motion sharp and perfect, as though an unseen force were directing them.

She brushed it off as she entered the club building and made her way toward the changing room.

The instant she pushed the door open, she froze.

A flicker of wonder passed through her chest as her fingers tightened around the doorknob. Inside, voices clashed with the sharp click of heels, while the scent of perfume and hairspray thickened the already tense air. A petite girl darted past, nearly colliding with her, and the room buzzed with electric energy.

“No… no! My skirt, it’s torn. Why today of all days?” the girl cried, her voice trembling.

Another voice snapped back, impatient. “Just wear a gown!”

“No!” she barked, yanking the fabric from the girl’s hands. Her cheeks burned with frustration, eyes blazing. “I wanted a skirt. It’ll be easier to seduce him that way.”

Her words crackled through the room, turning heads, but she didn’t care.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the silence of the hallway.

Their hearts racing, everyone surged toward the source of the scream. When Cleopatra arrived, she came to an abrupt halt, paralyzed by what she saw.

Tall, impeccably dressed bodyguards swept through the corridor, their perfectly tailored suits, sharp haircuts, and disciplined strides clearing a pathway with military precision. Their broad shoulders gleamed under the lights.

Completely unbothered, Cleopatra dismissed the commotion, assuming the girls were squealing over yet another boy-band idol hardly worth her notice.

But then something shifted.

It wasn’t the bodyguards that made her pulse falter.

It was the man walking behind them.

A young, breathtakingly handsome figure emerged, dangerously elegant. His marble-carved jawline, styled dark hair, and russet, custom-fitted suit gave him a sculpted, commanding presence.

With every step, a soft, commanding echo rolled across the tiles, his black shoes gleaming in the light with deliberate precision. The air itself seemed to crackle with energy, as though the hallway acknowledged his presence.

Cleopatra’s gaze locked onto him, unblinking, as if the world around her had ceased to exist.

He walked down three slow, deliberate paces each one echoing like a command before Alvin practically flew toward him.

“Good evening, Mr. Ink. This way please,” his voice trembling with the kind of politeness that bordered on fear.

At the same moment, one of the workers rushed by and accidentally collided with the girls standing in the queue, sending a ripple of movement through the crowd.

Cleopatra stumbled and collided with him.

He instinctively reached out to steady her, unaware it was her and in that instant, their eyes met. Recognition ignited between them like a bolt of lightning.

Both froze, caught in an invisible force that seemed to pull them together, impossible to break.

“Cleopatra,” Calvin whispered, his deep voice carrying a weight that could make anyone fall under its spell.

“Uh… ah… sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you,” she stammered, barely able to catch her breath.

Instantly, Alvin stepped forward, trying to draw Calvin’s attention away from Cleopatra.

“It’s an honor to have you visit Atelier Club, Mr. Ink,” Alvin said, smiling like a man who just discovered gold in his backyard. “Opportunities like this are extremely rare. We’ll take excellent care of you with our most beautiful escorts—”

Cleopatra cut Alvin off instantly.

“I will serve him, sir,” she said abruptly.

At that very moment, Alvin flustered, trying to push her away, but Cleopatra refused to budge. Calvin’s eyes widened, stunned by her sudden interest.

“Let her serve me,” he commanded, his gaze locked firmly on her.

Without delay, Alvin led him straight into one of Atelier Club’s most luxurious VIP rooms, the kind reserved for people whose names opened doors on their own. Calvin entered with the quiet dominance of a man who didn’t need to announce his power every breath he took announced it for him.

Alvin hovered anxiously. “How’s the air conditioner, sir? Too cold? Too warm?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, voice level and dangerously indifferent.

As Alvin scanned the room again, restless. “Should I bring in some air freshener? Something citrus? Floral? Whatever you like”

Calvin didn’t bother speaking. A simple lift of his eyes, and His secretary stepped forward.

“Mr. Alvin, please bring citrus freshener,” Smith said smoothly.

“Yes, right away!” Alvin whispered to a worker, panic sharpening his movements as the door slammed shut behind him.

The door swung open again, and Cleopatra glided in, pushing a cart adorned with glittering wine and meticulously plated gourmet dishes. With practiced, almost hypnotic precision, she arranged everything before pouring a glass of wine and presenting it to Calvin

All the while, Calvin’s gaze remained fixed on her, unblinking.

“Here’s your wine, Mr. Calvin,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on his face as a sweet smile curved her lips.

“Mr. Calvin?” he murmured, his fingers grazing hers as he accepted the glass.

A faint smile curved her lips.

“Then may I call you as I always do?”

Sliding close, their bodies nearly touching, she tilted her head and murmured, ‘Cal,’ the word dripping with a sultry allure, waiting for nothing in return yet daring him to respond

“Cal,” she called again, this time her voice softer and warmer, almost impossible to resist.

Right there, she inched closer, their skin grazing in the slightest touch, and a shiver of anticipation raced between them, electric and unspoken.

Calvin’s thoughts lingered on Cleopatra’s behavior. Cal; that single name was enough to draw the past back into his heart.

“What else may I serve you, Cal?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.