Life After Death by Ice Cream

The next morning started with a rude awakening. I was pulled from my dreams by the shrill, grating sound of an alarm that I hadn't set. My eyes shot open, and there it was the system, back from its little vacation and looking angrier than I'd ever imagined a bodiless, glitchy voice could be.

["Amara! Wake up, you walking disaster!"] the system screeched, its voice echoing inside my head like nails on a chalkboard. ["I leave for a few hours, and already the heroine hates you? What kind of incompetent villain are you?!"]

I groaned, rubbing my eyes. "Good morning to you too," I muttered, my voice thick with sarcasm. "So glad you're back. I missed your delightful company."

["This isn't the time for jokes!"] the system snapped, its voice going from irritated to full-on meltdown mode in record time. ["You had one job , ONE JOB! and now Elara's favorability with you is already in the negatives! I'm gone for a bit, and you've managed to become public enemy number one!"]

I sat up, wincing as the system's words hammered at my already fragile nerves. "I didn't do anything!" I protested, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "She saw me once , ONCE! And suddenly I'm the Wicked Witch of the West? How is that my fault? I haven't even done anything villainous yet! I'm on my best behavior!"

["Your best behavior clearly needs work."] The system's voice was dripping with disdain.

["Do you understand what's at stake here? You're supposed to protect Elara from every danger, inside and outside this story. Not make her hate you! And don't even get me started on Erik—"]

I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, let's not get started on Erik. The less I think about that walking red flag, the better."

The system ignored me, as usual.

["Your mission is to keep Elara safe and out of that backstabbing scoundrel's clutches, not to make things worse! And speaking of missions, you do remember what you're supposed to be doing, right? You've got to get Elara into your family's company, Lyselle Media, so she has a safe, stable place to work. Not only that, but you also need to convince your parents that you've turned over a new leaf."]

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I sighed, flopping back down on my bed. The memory of my real mission hung over me like a storm cloud. Convincing my parents that I was done obsessing over Erik was going to be a Herculean task. They knew the old Amara too well she was the epitome of stubborn, obsessive, and reckless, especially when it came to that no-good, two-faced Erik.

My parents weren't just going to believe that I'd suddenly found religion and decided to work at the family business. No, they'd think I was plotting something. And, okay, maybe I was, but it was a good kind of plotting! For once, I was trying to do something right.

"What am I supposed to do about Elara, huh? Give her a gift basket with a 'Sorry I exist' card?" I huffed, kicking my blankets off. "I don't even know what I did wrong!"

["You don't have the luxury of figuring it out slowly,"] the system snapped back.

["Your window to fix this mess is closing fast. You need to make progress, starting with Lyselle Media. If you can get Elara into the company, you'll have a better chance of protecting her and steering her away from Erik."]

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "So, you're saying I need to grovel to my parents, convince them I've turned over a new leaf, and then somehow convince the heroine who already hates me to join my family's company? Simple."

["Glad you're catching on. Now get moving."] The system's voice pierced through my grogginess, and I groaned, burying my face deeper into the silk pillow.

Two days. It had only been two days since I woke up in this body the body of Amara Lyselle, former rich girl disaster and current ticking time bomb. I still wasn't used to how heavy this life felt. The mansion, the constant pressure of being someone important, the whispers of my past self's obsession with Erik, and, worst of all, my parents.

And today, they were coming home.

["You have six days left to get Elara into the company,"] the system chimed in, as if I could forget.

["And, as a reminder, no one knows what you're really planning. So keep it that way, genius."]

"Yeah, thanks for that," I muttered, sitting up. My hair was a mess another reminder that this body seemed to require high-maintenance care just to function. I had maybe an hour before my parents showed up, which meant I needed to pull myself together fast.

Not for Erik. Ugh, no. They probably still thought I was lying in wait, pining for him like a damsel in distress. But that was the old Amara, and this new version of her me had better things to do. Like convincing them I wasn't a complete trainwreck.

I dragged myself into the shower, scrubbing away the panic. I couldn't even tell Mira what I was planning, not that I knew how to explain it. The system had dropped me into this insane situation and expected me to fix someone else's mess in less than a week. Did they teach crisis management in history grad school? No. But here I was.

After pulling on something that looked fancy enough for a "casual" family chat (a burgundy blouse that screamed 'I'm responsible now'), I hurried downstairs.

The mansion echoed with the sound of my footsteps high ceilings, endless marble floors, and enough chandeliers to make Versailles jealous. Who even needs this much space? The Lyselle family, apparently. It was like living inside an ego.

I had just reached the bottom of the staircase when I heard the unmistakable sound of the front doors swinging open.

"Great," I muttered to myself. Showtime.

My parents swept in with all the elegance and intimidation of two corporate titans returning from battle.

My father, Gerald Lyselle, looked like he'd been carved out of granite tall, broad-shouldered, with slicked-back silver hair and eyes that could pierce straight through you. He had the permanent air of someone who had no time for nonsense, which was unfortunate, because I had plenty of nonsense in my life.

My mother, Helena Lyselle, was equally terrifying in her own way. She was wearing a sleek, perfectly tailored cream-colored dress that looked like it cost more than a small country's GDP, and her dark hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon. Her gaze landed on me immediately, sharp and assessing, like a hawk spotting prey.

"Amara," she said, voice cool, eyebrows raised. "You're awake."

"Look who's so observant this morning," I replied, trying to sound casual. "What tipped you off, Mother? The fact that I'm standing here in front of you, or was it the fact that I'm not still in bed at noon?"

She gave me a thin-lipped smile, one that barely reached her eyes. "You seem… refreshed."

Oh no, that's code for 'you don't look like you've been pining over Erik for once.' I could practically see the gears turning in her head.

["Careful,"] the system warned, ["they'll think you're up to something. Stay focused."]

"Refreshed, sure," I said, forcing a smile. "That's one word for it."

My father, who had been silently observing like a general sizing up a battlefield, finally spoke. "You're not usually up this early, Amara."

I shrugged. "I thought I'd try something new. You know, being awake before noon very edgy."

"Edgy?" My father's brow furrowed. "I don't think waking up at a reasonable hour is exactly 'edgy,' Amara."

I could feel my patience slipping. "Well, it's edgy for me. You know how much I love my beauty sleep."

That earned a snort from my father, but my mother remained laser-focused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned my face. "What's going on with you?" she asked, voice deceptively light. "Two days ago, you were… well, you were you."

I stiffened. Right. Two days ago, the original Amara had been lounging around, doing whatever it was she did to avoid her responsibilities. I had to keep playing it cool, or they'd know something was off.

"Well, people can change, Mother," I said, hoping the sarcastic edge would throw her off the scent. "Maybe I had a revelation. Maybe I've decided to turn my life around and stop being the family screw-up."

My father folded his arms, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "That's a tall order, Amara. You haven't exactly shown much interest in turning anything around before."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Real inspiring stuff."

"Oh, don't be dramatic," my mother said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's just… surprising. You've never been interested in the company before. And we all know how you've…" she trailed off, her gaze flicking to my father as if they had some unspoken agreement not to mention the name of he-who-shall-not-be-named.

"Ugh, for the last time, this isn't about Erik!" I snapped, throwing my hands in the air. "God, can we not? I swear, every time I try to do something, you both act like it's some kind of ploy to get his attention. Newsflash, I'm not the Erik-obsessed gremlin you think I am."

My father raised an eyebrow. "A gremlin?"

"Yes, a gremlin. Or maybe a troll. Pick your monster of choice."

"Language, Amara," my mother warned, though there was a faint hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

I groaned. "Fine, fine. But seriously, this isn't about him. I'm over it. The guy's a walking red flag with hair gel. You were right, okay? Happy now?"

They both stared at me, clearly trying to figure out if I'd been replaced by an alien in the last 48 hours. Which, in a way, I had. The old Amara was gone, and now it was just… me. But I couldn't exactly explain that.

My father finally spoke, his voice more cautious. "So, if this isn't about Erik, what is it about?"

I straightened up, taking a deep breath. "It's about the company. I've been thinking, and I want to be part of it. I know I've been a disaster in the past, but I'm ready to step up. I want to help. I can contribute."

Both of my parents blinked at me, completely blindsided. They were used to me being a lazy, irresponsible heiress who barely understood how stocks worked. Now I was talking about contributing to the company like I had a clue. Of course they were confused.

"Amara…" my mother began cautiously, her voice soft but skeptical. "What brought this on?"

["Careful now,"] the system whispered. ["Don't overplay it."]

I plastered a confident smile on my face. "What can I say? I had an epiphany."

"An epiphany," my father repeated, his tone utterly deadpan. He clearly didn't believe me for a second.

"Yep. You know, life is short, and it's time I start taking responsibility. Lyselle Media is our family legacy, and I want to be part of that."

They both stared at me as if I'd suddenly grown a second head.

"Well, at least she's consistent with the drama," my father muttered.

"Oh, come on!" I threw my hands up in frustration. "Can't a girl just grow up without getting accused of plotting something?"

"Darling," my mother said, still looking at me like I was a puzzle she couldn't solve, "with you, there's always a plot."