In my past life, my cousin was brutally bullying an old woman. I stepped in and saved her. As a token of her gratitude, the old woman gave me a seemingly ordinary trinket known as the Siren's Tear. Riding on the breathtaking, supernatural beauty that pearl granted me, I blew up on social media, became an A-list influencer, and eventually married into one of the country's wealthiest legacy families. But in this life, my cousin beat me to it. She snatched the Siren's Tear right out from under me. She smirked, triumphantly declaring that everything that was supposed to be mine would now belong to her. What she didn't know was that the so-called Siren's Tear was actually a magnet for pure nightmare. Becoming the flawless, adored darling of the world wasn't her ticket to paradise. It was the beginning of a very short, very tragic life. 1 When my consciousness slammed back into my eighteen-year-old body, my cousin Jessie was just driving her designer boot into a janitor's frail ribs. "Are you completely blind? You splashed dirty mop water all over my new skirt! Do you have any idea how much this costs? You couldn't pay for it if you worked for a hundred years!" It was the exact same scene from my past life. The janitor was a silver-haired older woman. The sharp tip of Jessie's shoe had caught her shin, and dark blood was welling up from the cut. Terrified of losing her minimum-wage job, the old woman didn't dare fight back. She just kept her head bowed, muttering apologies in a thick, raspy accent. Jessie let out a disgusted scoff and spun on her heel to leave. In my previous life, I couldn't stand watching it. I ran to a nearby drugstore, bought antiseptic wipes and bandages, and even grabbed a hot coffee for the old woman. After I handed those over, she wiped her teary eyes, called me a sweet girl, and dug into her faded uniform pocket to pull out a single bead. It was a mesmerizing, iridescent thing, but the material felt cheap. It looked like glass or resin, something you could buy a handful of for a few bucks at a flea market. "This is the Siren's Tear," the old woman had whispered. "Once it claims you as its master, you will become the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth." Back then, I thought she was just an eccentric lady telling fairy tales. But after that day, I began to bloom. It wasn't a sudden, drastic plastic-surgery change. My bone structure stayed the same, but my features grew impossibly refined. My skin turned to flawless porcelain, my hair thickened into a cascade of midnight silk. Everyone who looked at me said I possessed an ethereal, intoxicating aura. Soon after, a few casual selfies went viral, and I skyrocketed to the top of the influencer food chain. Luxury brands begged me to be their ambassador, big-shot directors offered me leading roles, and trust-fund billionaires threw mansions and sports cars at my feet just to win a single smile from me. I never expected to open my eyes and find myself back at the exact moment the janitor was bleeding on the mall floor. Only this time, after kicking the old woman, Jessie froze. She whipped her head around, her eyes wide with a mix of utter shock and manic ecstasy. My stomach dropped. She had been reborn, too. Suddenly, Jessie swallowed her arrogant sneer. She practically scrambled to help the old woman up, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. "Oh my god, ma'am, I am so, so sorry! It was a total accident," she cooed. "Are you thirsty? Are you hungry? I have a fresh artisanal pastry right here in my bag, please take it!" The old woman kept her head down, completely ignoring Jessie's frantic brown-nosing, and tried to limp away. Seeing that the nice act wasn't working, Jessie immediately dropped the facade. She snapped her fingers. The two high school boys who had been carrying her shopping bags instantly stepped up, grabbing the old woman by both arms and pinning her in place. I watched as Jessie aggressively dug her manicured hands into the janitor's pockets until she found that iridescent bead. I took a step forward to stop her, but the two boys immediately blocked my path, puffing out their chests. With a wicked grin, Jessie slipped the pearl onto her wrist using a piece of string. The glass bead emitted a brief, blinding pulse of light before dimming back to normal. It had bonded with its new master. Jessie strutted over to me, her face flushed with the ultimate victory. "Well, Sydney, looks like the golden ticket is mine this time. Let's see how you compete with me now." 2 Jessie and I were technically cousins, but we grew up under the same roof. After my parents passed away in a car crash, my Uncle Robert and Aunt Martha only took me in because they didn't want the rest of the family gossiping about them. Growing up, Jessie hated my guts. I always got higher grades, I was better at piano and art, and during parent-teacher conferences, the teachers praised my intelligence while subtly hinting at Jessie's lack of focus. Jessie's only weapon was her looks. I was aggressively average. I hid my face behind thick, heavy black frames and wore baggy hoodies. Jessie, on the other hand, was the undisputed queen bee of our grade. She obsessed over makeup and fashion, shining like a diamond among the drab, exhausted student body. Whenever the extended family got together for Thanksgiving, the nosy aunts would always point at us and laugh. "Our Sydney is going to be a hard worker, but our Jessie? Jessie is going to marry rich." Every time she heard that, a smug little smile would tug at the corners of Jessie's lips. To her, busting your ass for a paycheck was for losers. Marrying into billions was the real flex. So when I, the ugly duckling, stumbled upon the Siren's Tear and transformed into a world-class beauty who could print money just by looking at a camera, Jessie absolutely lost her mind. I had become an untouchable goddess, existing in a realm a regular pretty girl like her could never even dream of reaching. I don't know if she made a deal with the devil or found some dark glitch in the universe, but she managed to drag us both back to our senior year of high school. This time, with the pearl on her wrist, Jessie's transformation began almost immediately. When we returned to school after the winter break, every eye in the hallway tracked her every move. Her skin was luminous. Her dark hair flowed like spun silk, and her eyes held a misty, seductive depth. When the sunlight hit her just right, she looked like a masterpiece painted by a Renaissance master. You could practically hear the hearts of every boy in school flatlining. They swarmed her like bees to honey. Some offered to carry her books, others ran to buy her iced lattes, begging to save her a seat in the cafeteria. Jessie soaked up the attention with soft, teasing laughs. Then, she parted the sea of boys and walked right up to my locker. She slung an arm over my shoulder, leaning in close so only I could hear. "I remember every single one of these guys begging for your number in our past life. How does it feel, Syd? Break's over, you don't have your little magic pearl, and you're right back to being the pathetic, unloved ugly duckling." I adjusted my thick, black-rimmed glasses and looked at her with a deadpan expression. "Having a horde of desperate stalkers isn't exactly the flex you think it is, Jessie." Jessie had been waiting to see me cry, to see me crushed. When my words hit her, her smile vanished. She took a step back, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. A second later, a malicious spark ignited in her gaze. Without warning, she threw herself backward. She tumbled down the short flight of stairs behind her, hitting the linoleum floor with a loud thud. Before anyone could process what happened, Jessie grabbed her ankle, tears streaming down her flawless cheeks. "Sydney, I'm so sorry! I know you're mad that the choir teacher gave me the solo instead of you, but I swear I didn't ask for it! You didn't have to push me!" It took me a second to realize what she was talking about. I had been the lead soloist for the winter concert, but when the principal found out local politicians were attending, the choir director quietly replaced me with Jessie. He had pulled me aside, looking genuinely guilty. "Sydney, your voice is miles better, but we need stage presence. Jessie just... looks the part for the front row." I hadn't cared. Honestly, less rehearsal time for me. But Jessie had logged it into her mental ledger as a massive victory over me. Right now, she was sitting in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, looking fragile, delicate, and devastatingly beautiful. A crowd was already forming. With her slender hands clutching her ankle, her brows knitted in pain, and a single tear clinging perfectly to her long lashes, she looked like a fallen angel. The murmurs in the crowd quickly turned into daggers aimed at me. "What the hell, Sydney? If you're bitter about the solo, go cry to the teacher. Why assault Jessie?" "Did you think breaking her ankle would magically put you back on stage?" "She's always been an arrogant know-it-all. God forbid someone gets something instead of her." The venomous whispers echoed in the stairwell. Jessie looked up at me with those big, tear-filled eyes. If beautiful people were the main characters of the universe, then these bystanders were just mindless NPCs programmed to defend her. Suddenly, the crowd parted. Danny, the star quarterback, stepped through. Danny was the boy Jessie had been obsessively crushing on since freshman year. But he was notorious for being cold and unattainable. Jessie had slipped love letters into his locker three times, and he had thrown every single one in the trash. Yet, in my past life, after the Siren's Tear changed me, this exact same icy untouchable boy had shown up at my door with a birthday cake, nervously asking if I would wear his jersey to the Friday night game. It was the ultimate humiliation that had driven Jessie insane with jealousy. But right now, the boy who once swore he'd love me forever shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. He knelt down, scooped Jessie up into his arms in a bridal carry, and held her tight against his chest. "I'm taking you to the nurse," he said softly. The entire hallway erupted in dramatic swoons and cheers, eating up the high-school movie moment. Jessie's face flushed a deep, pretty pink. The blush made her look even more radiant. She buried her face into Danny's chest, throwing a triumphant, mocking glance at me over his shoulder. As Danny carried her away and the crowd dispersed, I stood alone in the hallway. Honestly, I had considered warning her about the pearl. I wanted to tell her that the Siren's Tear wasn't a blessing. It was a curse wrapped in a pretty bow. Whatever worldly benefits it gave you through beauty, it demanded back a tenfold price in blood and terror. If Jessie hadn't dragged us back in time, there was a very real chance my past life would have ended with me brutally murdered on a private island. But watching her giggle in Danny's arms, I swallowed my warning. Karma had set the table. Let her eat what she served. 3 Truthfully, I loved my life without the magic pearl. In my past life, the intoxicating rush of sudden fame completely derailed me. I drowned in the glitz and glamour of being a mega-influencer, and my grades flatlined. Uncle Robert and Aunt Martha, smelling the cash, pressured me to monetize my face immediately. They signed me up for endless brand deals, forcing me to hustle from one exhausting photo shoot to another. Billionaires invited me to their exclusive private dinners, treating me like a shiny new hood ornament to show off to their business partners. Looking back, the nights I spent draped in couture, stepping out of limos into VIP lounges, must have made Jessie want to claw her own skin off. She used to stay up until 3 AM reading the millions of comments worshipping my "god-tier genetics," wishing she had been the one to help that dirty old janitor. But she didn't know the reality of that life. I bombed my SATs. Uncle Robert told me college was a waste of time when I was already making millions. The grueling schedules and the internet trolls spreading vicious, fabricated rumors about my sex life destroyed my mental health. I relied on heavier and heavier prescription pills just to sleep for four hours. At those exclusive dinners, middle-aged CEOs made a game out of getting me blackout drunk, waiting until I was too dizzy to push their sweaty hands off my thighs. An Oscar-winning director sent me a script for a blockbuster movie, but folded inside the pages was the keycard to his hotel room. My aunt and uncle knew exactly what it meant, yet they pushed me to go. They even considered slipping something into my drink to make me compliant. Jessie knew none of this. She was too busy swiping my credit card, living like a royal in the Beverly Hills mansion I bought, whining about how unfair it was that I was the famous one. This time, I refused to let history repeat itself. I realized the hard way that beauty without power is just bait in shark-infested waters. But real knowledge? A degree? Skills? That was armor no one could strip away. So, I buried myself in my textbooks. Without photo shoots and stalkers distracting me, my intellect sharpened into a weapon. A week later, at the winter concert, Jessie stood center stage in a stunning white tulle dress. Under the soft blue spotlights, she looked like a pristine white swan gliding over a lake. She couldn't hit a high note to save her life, so the choir director had secretly pre-recorded my voice and let her lip-sync. She had even wrapped a thick, dramatic bandage around her perfectly fine ankle, making sure to limp tragically when she bowed. What's more captivating than a beautiful swan? A beautiful, wounded swan. The school was completely under her spell, which meant the hostility toward me reached a fever pitch. Jessie struck while the iron was hot. She began leaking little sob stories to her orbiters. She claimed I was pathologically jealous of her looks, constantly lying to our aunt and uncle to get her grounded. She blamed her failing grades on me, telling people I deliberately gave her the wrong study guides. After her tearful confessions, she would always add, "But please don't be mean to Sydney. She's my cousin. I forgive her." It was a masterclass in manipulation. The boys' protective instincts went into overdrive. They became crusaders for their fragile, innocent goddess, determined to punish the wicked witch. Thumbtacks and dead insects started appearing in my locker. I came back from the bathroom to find my backpack thrown out a third-story window. Someone spray-painted "SYDNEY IS A DIRTY TRAMP" in neon red letters on the brick wall by the gym. Whoever bullied me the most got the ultimate reward: a soft, teary-eyed smile from Jessie and a whispered, "Thank you for protecting me. You're so brave." When no one was looking, she'd turn to me with a wicked smirk. "Look at that, Syd. I don't even have to lift a finger to ruin your life." Of all my tormentors, Danny was the most vicious. In my past life, I had asked him what he liked about me. He had looked me dead in the eye and said, "I love everything about you, Sydney. Your brain, your humor, your kindness. Everything." He never mentioned my looks. Now, my brain, humor, and kindness were exactly the same. Yet Danny ordered his football buddies to shove me onto the wet tiles of the locker room. He stepped on my hand with his heavy cleats, grinding down hard. "If I hear you even look at Jessie the wrong way," he growled, "I'll snap your fingers." Through the blinding pain, a dark, cynical laugh forced its way out of my throat. "Do you really love her, Danny?" He blinked, thrown off by the question, before sneering. "Obviously." "What do you love about her?" He paused, then echoed his words from another lifetime. "I love everything about her." I laughed so hard tears pricked my eyes. Oh, Jessie. Beauty is the ultimate blindfold. Whoever wears it can never see the world for what it truly is. When I got home that day, Jessie noticed my bruised, swollen hand. She sipped her green juice and smiled. "How does it feel? You were so in love with Danny in the last life. Getting stabbed in the back by your soulmate... hurts, doesn't it? Tell me all about it." She was starving for my misery to validate her choices. I didn't say a word. I just dropped my gaze to the pearl resting on her wrist. She noticed my stare and yanked her arm back. "Don't even think about stealing it. You know damn well it won't work." I knew. Once the Siren's Tear bonded, it was locked to the host's soul. I knew this because Jessie had tried to steal it from me in the past life. She had drugged me, cut the string, and taken it, but the moment she walked out the door, the pearl materialized right back on my wrist. But I didn't want it back. I was looking at the mesmerizing, swirling colors inside the glass. A faint, jagged black vein had appeared in the center of the bead. It was the mark of the curse, the physical manifestation of impending doom. And it was getting darker by the day. Jessie followed me up the stairs, still taunting me, right up until I pulled an envelope out of my battered backpack. It bore the crest of Columbia University. In my past life, I never made it to college. This time, my early acceptance letter was in my hands. "Oh, look at that," Jessie scoffed, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her eyes. "Going to an Ivy League. I guess without your magic cheat code, you have to grind yourself to the bone just to end up as some corporate drone making a flat salary. I'll make your yearly income in one sponsored post." Jessie was desperate to be famous. Her big break came sooner than expected. The school was filming a promotional video, and the principal, still mesmerized by her concert performance, personally selected her as the lead. In the video, Jessie wore a simple varsity jacket, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. But her devastating, unearthly beauty pierced right through the screen. She looked like the purest, most unattainable fantasy of youth. The video hit TikTok and YouTube. It exploded. Overnight, she was crowned the internet's newest "It Girl," gaining millions of followers in a matter of days. Agents, talent scouts, Hollywood producers, and luxury brands flooded her DMs. Jessie eagerly dove headfirst into the life I had lived. But she quickly hit a brick wall: the reality of the work. To shoot a high-end commercial, she had to stand in six-inch stilettos for fourteen hours straight under blistering studio lights, holding a frozen smile while a director yelled at her. Movie sets were worse. Being forced into freezing water tanks while on her period was the baseline. Creepy producers cornered her in trailers, heavily implying that her career would disappear if she didn't sleep with them. For someone determined to build an empire, this was just the price of admission. But Jessie refused to suffer. In her mind, a true beauty was meant to be pampered, kept in a velvet box, and fed peeled grapes. She broke down crying to Aunt Martha and Uncle Robert. "Working hard is for losers. I don't want to do this anymore! Why should I kill myself working when I can use this fame to catch a billionaire?" Since Jessie was their biological daughter, they didn't treat her like the cash cow they had turned me into. They stroked her hair and fully supported her plan. Jessie began meticulously filtering through her wealthy suitors. A high school star like Danny was practically a peasant to her now. She was fending off advances from platinum-selling artists, tech CEOs, and old-money aristocrats. I already knew exactly who she was going to pick. Sure enough, weeks later, the tabloids exploded with leaked paparazzi footage of Jessie dining with Preston Kensington, the second son of the notoriously powerful Kensington empire. In the video, Preston—usually known for his icy, ruthless corporate persona—was practically a golden retriever around her. He opened her car door, draped his bespoke suit jacket over her shoulders, and held her hand as they walked into a Michelin-starred restaurant, gazing at her like she was the only woman on earth. At that exact moment, I was sitting in a quiet, sunlit library at Columbia University, scrolling through the article on my laptop. A group of girls at the next table were whispering excitedly. "Oh my god, Preston Kensington. He's literally American royalty. Yale grad, trust fund baby. Jessie is living the dream." One girl rolled her eyes. "She's just an Instagram model with a pretty face. No way a Kensington actually puts a ring on that." Another quickly shot back, "Are you blind? Look at her! Men would start wars for a face like that." I closed my laptop. People were so delightfully naive. In my past life, I was the one holding Preston Kensington's hand. The day our relationship went public, Jessie locked herself in her room and smashed every mirror, perfume bottle, and piece of electronics she owned. She felt she had definitively lost. No matter what she did, she could never marry a man more powerful than Preston. The old family prophecy—that she would marry rich while I worked hard—felt like a cruel joke. It was during my romantic "getaway" with Preston that Jessie somehow found the loophole to rewind time. ... Even though Jessie had been nothing but a nightmare to me, I genuinely owed her a massive thank you. Because if she hadn't reset the timeline, I would have died a horrific, bloody death at Preston's hands on a private island in the Caribbean. ... Because of that unintentional rescue, I decided to give her one final warning. During the summer break, as Jessie was excitedly packing her Louis Vuitton trunks to move into Preston's cliffside mansion, I leaned against her doorframe. "Rich people don't get rich by being stupid, Jessie," I said quietly. "At their level of power, beauty isn't a scarce resource. They can buy any model on earth. Think about it for a second—why would Preston Kensington actually marry you?" The words barely left my mouth before—smack! Jessie slapped me so hard my glasses flew off my face. "Who the hell do you think you are, Sydney?" she shrieked, her face twisted in ugly rage. "Are you implying I'm not good enough for him? You're just sick to your stomach because I'm getting the billionaire and you're getting a student loan!" I rubbed my stinging cheek. I wanted to tell her that Preston never planned on marrying me, either. In my past life, I always had a gut feeling something was off about him. But his family's conglomerate owned the parent companies of half my brand deals. If I dumped him, my career was over. So, when he asked me to fly to his private island in the Caribbean for a "romantic vacation and exclusive photoshoot," I went. By the time the alarm bells in my head got loud enough for me to try and run, it was too late. A needle plunged into my neck. I woke up strapped to an altar in a damp, stone cellar under the island estate. I was stripped bare, surrounded by chanting figures in robes. ...
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