That lost star was the most beautiful of all, a shining legend across the skies.
––
“Sophia, did you ever love me?”
His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, trembling at her ear like a fading plea.
“Sophia, tell me you love me… please…”
His words kept slipping away, and even his lips, once warm, were now cold and still against her skin. The last thing she could make out was a soft murmur, “My little star... the most beautiful... mine...”
Everything in front of her was tainted red. The man holding her was slowly going cold, growing stiff.
It felt like her heart was wrapped tightly in thorny vines, stabbing deeper with each second. Her tears wouldn’t stop.
“Alex…”
She tried to call out, but her voice was long gone, destroyed in the fire. No sound came out. Only the silent confession played over and over in her mind.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you...”
She’d told him so many times. But it never reached him.
Her star... She’d lost him again.
~
“Alex—!”
With a loud cry, Sophia jolted awake, gasping for breath as if she’d just drowned. Her chest rose and fell sharply, eyes wide and unfocused, still haunted by that blood-red nightmare.
That suffocating feeling of death still lingered.
Then—a sharp tap on her head.
“Seriously? Playing dead now? You know you can’t act to save your life, right?”
Sophia turned her head in a snap, and her eyes locked on the woman beside her.
Her pupils shrank.
Curly ponytail, black business suit, and that ever-exasperated expression—Emily Carter.
Her manager. Her only real friend.
But hadn’t Emily already been dragged down with her? Falsely accused of leaking company secrets, thrown in jail…?
Sophia’s lips trembled. “…Emily?”
Emily rolled her eyes like usual and pulled her up. “You good now? The glam team’s here. Get ready. Tonight, we’re turning heads—make those haters choke on their words!”
Sophia let herself get yanked upright, her head throbbing like crazy.
She looked around, confused.
A basic dressing room. Stylists weaving around her, helping her change, discussing outfits, asking for her opinion.
Everything felt like a blur, a quiet buzz against her ears.
Then someone nudged her toward the mirror.
The second she saw herself, her eyes shook hard.
A soft pink strapless gown, fairy-tale style.
Layers of sheer fabric floated like clouds, the skirt embedded with twinkling crystals, sparkling like tiny stars.
Her shoulders were slender and pale, her long black hair curled slightly, flowing down in glossy waves.
The girl in the mirror looked impossibly young—long lashes, arched brows, clear deer-like eyes, a delicate nose, soft pink lips.
Sophia raised trembling fingers to her cheek.
No makeup yet, her skin was a little pale, but it was smooth and flawless.
No scars. No burns.
The realization hit like a truck. Her lashes fluttered violently.
Tears spilled down. Unstoppable.
She was twenty-two again.
And that dress... she remembered it clearly.
She’d worn this exact couture gown at an award ceremony when she was 22—spent every penny she had just to buy it.
Three million bucks, gone in one night.
Because after that night, Alexander Quinn—back then her arch-nemesis—ripped it clean in half.
They hated each other. And after that? She hated him even more. Like, wish-he’d-drop-dead kind of hate.
Her breaths came fast and shallow.
Was this a dream?
Or… had she come back?
Someone nudged her back into the makeup chair, the process picking up speed. Stylists fixing her hair, makeup blurring onto her skin.
All chaotic yet perfectly synchronized.Emily Carter leaned in close and whispered, “You gotta perk up for the red carpet later. Sure, we’re not getting any awards tonight, but you can’t let that stepsister of yours have anything to laugh about, right? Otherwise what’s the point of shelling out all that cash for your dress?”
The so-called stepsister she mentioned was Isabella Collins—Sophia Collins’ half-sister on their dad’s side, adopted into the Collins family.
Both sisters debuted in the same film, sharing the lead roles. But the one who ended up nominated for Best Actress? Isabella. Rumor had it she was pretty much guaranteed to win too.
Emily figured Sophia was still in a mood over that, explaining the distant, spaced-out look on her face.
“And hey,” Emily added, “land a good impression tonight and maybe some director or producer spots you. We might have a shot at something big down the line, you get me?”
But Sophia couldn’t hear a word of it. Her mind was a mess, entirely somewhere else, just staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.
So young. So beautiful.
She looked like a stranger, enough to make her eyes sting with tears.
She was really back.
Back from hell, literally.
The way it all felt—like she'd dreamed an entire lifetime of suffering—and now finally woken up.
Was it some kind of miracle? Someone up there realizing how unjust her and Alexander’s deaths were, and giving her another chance?
Lost in thought, Sophia didn’t snap back to reality until they were heading downstairs toward the waiting area outside the awards red carpet.
She was walking in with the cast, which meant she’d be right beside Isabella.
That was why Emily kept pushing her to pull herself together—no way they were letting Isabella outshine them on a live broadcast.
By the time Sophia arrived, Isabella was already chatting it up with the director and producer, laughing like they were all lifelong friends.
The mood shifted the second they saw Sophia. The smiles twitched, conversations faltered, and their eyes carried a hint of scorn.
Isabella tilted her head toward Sophia, eyes briefly flicking over her pink gown before curving her lips into a sugary smile, voice just as sweet: “Sister, you’re finally here. Only two groups ahead of us—I almost thought you weren’t gonna make it.”
Emily rolled her eyes dramatically but kept her tone polite, throwing out some quick apologies to the crew.
Sophia’s eyes narrowed the second she saw Isabella. Her hands clenched without her meaning to.
This girl—this sister—
She took everything.
Her parents. Her friends. Her fiancé. She even set that fire that burned Sophia’s face and stole her voice.
She framed Emily. Got her locked up. And worst of all, she used Sophia to get Alexander killed.
Sophia's eyes burned red, tears threatening to fall.
She shut her eyes tight.
The red carpet turn came fast.
Isabella suddenly linked arms with her, putting on a fake sisterly act as they stepped into the blinding lights with the rest of the cast.
Cameras clicked like crazy, most of them aimed straight at the two sisters. Or maybe just them.
Isabella wore her usual sweet smile, waving at the cameras like a seasoned pro.
She had on a custom-made pink tulle gown too, just without the shimmer. Her hair was styled into a princess bun and topped with a dainty crystal tiara.
Her makeup was light and sugary-cute.
Viewers online were freaking out: “Princess Isabella!” they squealed. “Too sweet, I’m gonna melt.”
Next to that, even though Sophia was objectively more stunning—
With her wavy hair up, clear eyes, red lips, sculpted features—
Her makeup was just as light, but she had this natural glow that couldn’t be covered.
The pink dress gave her a soft, dreamy edge—sweet, sultry, and innocent all in one.
But her face was blank, her whole vibe cold and numb. Her eyes? Lifeless.
The audience commented: “Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but no soul.”
Others chimed in: “Does it matter how pretty someone is if they’re that toxic?”
“She bullied our baby Isabella for years just 'cause she was adopted. Gross. Isabella’s still so kind to treat her like a real sister.”"Anyone calling Sophia a beauty clearly hasn't seen old pics of her and Princess Bella when they were teens. She looks way different now—totally had work done."
"Why are we wasting today's red carpet hyping up that clout-chasing fake? It’s Isabella’s big night; she might even take the crown!"
"After tonight, Bella’s not just a princess—she’s queen, period."
"Shhh, keep it down. She hasn’t won yet, but let’s be real, the others don’t stand a chance."
After the photo op on the red carpet came the interview session. While the director and producer were answering questions, Isabella leaned toward Sophia and whispered, “Tomorrow Mom, Dad, and Daniel are throwing me a party—for winning Best Actress.”
Sophia kept her gaze low, saying nothing.
Isabella smiled, voice hushed, “You really think that wearing some princess gown still makes you the princess? You’ve been kicked out, remember? Don’t you get it yet?”
Sophia’s lashes fluttered. Slowly, she turned and rasped, “Isabella.”
Isabella tilted her head, flashed a saccharine smile. “What?”
Sophia raised her hand—smack! The slap rang loud and clear across her sister’s cheek.
The world paused.
Isabella clutched her face, her fake sweetness cracking like glass.
Even the flashing cameras seemed to freeze.
The host who had just lifted a mic to interview the sisters stood frozen mid-motion.
The livestream chat stopped for a beat.
Then all hell broke loose.
Cameras fired nonstop; reporters swarmed, all pointing lenses at the two women.
Isabella snapped out of it, pain burning across her face, fury boiling beneath the surface. She wanted to rip Sophia apart, but here? On camera? No way.
So she played it up: big teardrops rolled down her cheeks. “Sister, why? Did I upset you somehow?”
People around them sprang to Isabella’s defense, questioning Sophia’s sudden outburst.
But Sophia didn’t respond.
Her gaze was locked on something else—someone else—beyond the carpet.
The moment she’d slapped Isabella, a sleek silver Rolls-Royce pulled up along the edge of the red carpet.
Its door opened automatically.
A tall man stepped out, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. His features sharp, every line cut like stone. The tailored silver-gray suit hugged his lean frame perfectly; broad shoulders, narrow waist—he made standing still look like dominance.
He didn’t even blink at the chaotic scene in front of him. His eyes only moved when they found Sophia.
And in that instant, Sophia looked back.
Their eyes met—and her heart clenched, brain short-circuited.
His voice echoed in her ears—hoarse, pleading:
“Sophia, did you ever love me?”
“Sophia, love me… okay?”
“My little star... the most beautiful, mine…”
Alex. Her Alex.
All of it faded—noise, people, lights—until only he remained.
Everyone watched as the empty look in her eyes disappeared, replaced by a bright spark that lit up her whole face.
She lifted the hem of her gown, eyes locked on him, heels clicking against the carpet as she ran toward him without a second thought.
Flashbulbs exploded.
And then—she was in his arms.
Arms wrapped tightly around his trim waist. She held him like he was the only real thing left in the world.
Shaking, she pulled him close and kissed him hard.
And just like that, tears slipped down her face.
Across two lifetimes, through all the pain, she finally whispered the words he never got to hear:
"Alex, I love you..."
