Chapter 3

It wasn't until I'd been insulted from head to toe that the production assistant finally came to greet me:

"Ms. Hayes, you're over half an hour late. You can't do that next time!"

Brittany Blackwood skipped over to me as well:

"So you're Ms. Hayes! You really are a beauty! Let's get along well these next few days!"

I looked at the woman whose smile didn't reach her eyes.

I scoffed.

In my previous life, when I was cyberbullied, I sent her countless messages asking for help, but they all fell on deaf ears.

I commented under her TikTok, but within seconds, my comments were deleted, and I was blocked.

I went to her agency, but they simply handed me a cease and desist letter, demanding I shut up.

In desperation, I could only plead with Chloe, my best friend in the city, to meet her in person.

Chloe waited for a long time and finally saw Brittany Blackwood, heavily disguised, at the city airport.

She quickly FaceTimed me, and I used all my strength to shout to her:

"Ms. Blackwood! I'm the person involved in the cookie incident! Please release a statement for me, I really can't go on!"

The woman, her face completely obscured by a mask, paused, turned, and looked at me.

In her eyes was a coldness and disgust I would never forget.

As if I were some dirty thing, and even a few seconds of contact with me repulsed her.

Then, her bodyguard rushed over and smashed Chloe’s phone. In the lingering fragments of our call, I clearly heard a sneer:

"She didn't think about the consequences when she was spewing insults, and now she wants help? Dream on!"

"You poor people are truly desperate for fame, even trying to use our Brittany for clout. Look at yourselves! How dare you ask for help? Humph!"

That was the most condescending tone I had ever heard.

Chloe grew anxious:

"She's already been punished, isn't that enough? Do you really need someone to die to be satisfied?"

The other side impatiently tutted, then spoke with a tone of false generosity:

"It's her own problem if she can't cope; why blame us for that?"

"Alright, alright, fine, we'll help her find a good therapist. We'll even cover the costs, how about that?"

Then she turned and walked away.

But I never saw any "therapist" until the day I died.

Are our lives, the lives of ordinary people, truly so insignificant?

That was the question I wanted to ask her most in my previous life.

But this time, the question I wanted to ask had changed.

Brittany Blackwood, do you truly think we're all just scum in your eyes?

The camera stood between us, waiting for my outburst of fury.

But I didn't get angry. Instead, I smiled and took Brittany Blackwood’s hand:

"I'm alright, not exceptionally beautiful, but definitely better than a face that's been under the knife and still looks like nothing."

The smile instantly vanished from her face:

"Ms. Hayes... what do you mean by that?"

She recoiled, like a startled deer.

Tears welled up in her eyes:

"I know you've always had some misunderstandings about me, but I genuinely want to get along with you."

"But you're right, because of my issues, I've caused you trouble, and I'm willing to apologize."

Saying this, she bowed to me, about to stand up.

However, I suddenly reached out and pressed down heavily on her back:

"Hey, an apology needs sincerity. I haven't forgiven you yet, why are you getting up already?"

Brittany Blackwood’s carefully cultivated look of grievance almost crumbled.