Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

Riri's voice cracked, her stress evident in the tightness of her expression.

She must be in no mood right now, probably because she didn't have a date.

Around us, the other cast members were either whispering frantically or staring at their phones as if willing Sophie to materialize from thin air.

The class president was pacing near the stage, muttering under her breath, her face flushed with frustration.

I clenched my fists, trying to keep calm. Of course, Sophie would pull a stunt like this. The girl who loved basking in the limelight—until it required actual responsibility.

She had always been the type to think the world revolved around her whims. Now, her absence threatened to drag all of us down with her.

"Well," I said, taking a deep breath, "if she doesn't show up, we're going to have to figure something out. We can't let her ruin this for all of us. Our grades are at stakes here."

Riri stared at me, wide-eyed. "You mean go on without her? How would that even work? Cinderella is the main character, and we can't exactly perform Cinderella if she's not here!"

"I don't know," I admitted, my mind racing. "But we'd better start thinking fast, because one way or another, this show is going on."

The tension around us thickened as the minutes ticked by. And deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that Sophie wasn't just late—something bigger was at play.

"We have no choice. We need to replace Cinderella," the president declared, her voice laced with frustration. Experience more content on empire

A murmur rippled through the group like a gust of wind unsettling leaves.

"Who's going to replace her?"

"Does anyone even know Cinderella's lines?"

"How can anyone possibly pull this off with so little time?"

Questions flew from every direction, their sharp edges cutting through the tense atmosphere. The president rubbed his temples, clearly overwhelmed, as his gaze darted among the cast and crew.

At the edge of the group, Lily raised her hand, her expression shy. "I could do it," she offered, glancing at Daniel, who was too absorbed in his script to notice the storm brewing around him.

I glance at her. I knew Lily's motives weren't purely altruistic. Her eyes weren't on the role of Cinderella—they were on the prince. Daniel. This was her chance to share the stage with him in the most romantic way, and she wasn't about to let it slip by.

Look like Daniel's rejection did little to make her back off.

"No," the president said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "You're the Fairy Godmother. If you take over as Cinderella, we'll need to replace you, and we don't have time to deal with that mess."

She scanned the crowd again, his eyes landing on the props team. "What about someone from backstage? Any of you know the script?"

The prop team exchanged blank stares, clearly uninterested. They were too wrapped up in their tools, paints, and last-minute fixes to care about stepping into the limelight.

They chose to be on the backstage prop team because they had no interest in performing on stage. Who would willingly take on such a nerve-wracking role? Definitely not them.

The president's shoulders sagged, her composure fraying. The clock was ticking, and we were spiraling toward disaster.

Then Riri's voice cut through the chatter. "What about Eve?"

My head snapped toward her, my eyes wide with disbelief. "Huh?!"

Riri crossed her arms, her expression determined. "You've been rehearsing with Sophie this whole time. You know the lines. You can do it."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Are you out of your mind? I don't know Cinderella's lines! I barely remember my own!"

"Exactly," Riri said, stepping closer. "You don't need to know everything. You've been in all the rehearsals. You've heard Sophie's lines a hundred times. It's in your head, even if you don't realize it yet."

I opened my mouth to argue, but her words hit something in me—an unsettling truth. Sure, I'd been there for every run-through, watching Sophie stumble through her lines with barely half the effort the role deserved.

Could I really step into her glass slippers on such short notice?

"Then why don't you do it?" I asked Riri. "You're one of the evil stepsisters too, so you already know the lines."

Riri immediately shook her head. "Cinderella is supposed to be beautiful, and I've already failed that part. Besides, we can just make do with one evil stepsister and one evil stepmother to bully Cinderella—it will work!"

The president looked between us, her face a mixture of desperation and hope. "Riri's right. You're the only one who even has a shot at pulling this off, Eve. We can work with one evil stepsister if it comes to that. The show must go on. Our grades depended on it!"

Panic twisted in my chest, but I couldn't ignore the expectant stares of my classmates. The stakes were higher than just a failed performance—this was our final grade, and everyone was counting on me not to repeat senior year.

I exhaled sharply, trying to steady the nerves clawing at my throat. "Fine," I said finally, my voice firmer than I felt. "But if this goes horribly wrong, don't blame it on me. Blame it on the one who didn't show up."

At the mention of Sophie, a wave of disdain rippled through our classmates, their sneers and frowns painting a clear picture.

"What happened to Sophie?" someone muttered.

"Typical of her to vanish without a word," another scoffed.

"Doesn't she care that our grades are on the line?"

"What a selfish brat."

Though the tension hung thick in the air, I couldn't help but feel a small flicker of satisfaction. If there was any silver lining to this chaos, it was that Sophie's reputation was taking a well-deserved hit.

Yet, even as the others vented their frustration, a gnawing unease settled in my gut. I didn't know why Sophie was absent, but something about it felt off. My instincts prickled, a warning crawling up my spine.

Whatever the reason, it wasn't normal—and knowing Sophie, she wasn't the type to leave things like this because she wasn't an idiot not to know about the backlash it would create.

No, she was plotting something. I just didn't know what.