Against fate : rebirth of the stubborn heiress

The atmosphere shifted the moment Summer stepped through the glass doors of the lecture hall. Her presence was like a ripple in still water—unmistakable, undeniable.

Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even those who had never spoken to her could feel the shift in air pressure.

She wasn't trying to be intimidating. Her oversized white sweater hung off one shoulder, paired with a plaid skirt and knee-high boots. Summer was the very picture of elegance.

But it was the way she carried herself—head high, back straight, eyes cool and disinterested—that made the crowd subconsciously shift away, giving her a clear path.

Her aura was suffocating yet magnetic, wrapped in an invisible shield of superiority one could neither touch nor ignore.

A queen didn't need a crown to be recognized.

Seated in the middle row, Marina's jaw clenched the moment she caught sight of Summer's figure striding down the aisle. A flash of hatred crossed her heavily made-up face.

She couldn't hold it anymore. Slamming her book down dramatically, she stood up. "Some people... really think money solves everything," she said, loud enough for the entire hall to hear.

A few gasps. A few phones lifted—recording, naturally.

Summer tilted her head, still perfectly composed. "Hm?"

"I worked for that audition spot!" Marina's voice trembled with fake hurt. "I practiced for weeks. But certain people just walked in and..." Her voice cracked. "...and the director immediately changed his mind! How is that fair?"

A chorus of supportive murmurs filled the room.

Rosa narrowed her eyes. "The audacity..."

Summer leaned back, toying with the edge of her phone case. "Oh? That's strange," she said softly, voice sweet like sugar and laced with poison. "I didn't know auditions worked like first-come, first-served."

Marina blinked, stunned. "What?"

"Didn't know you could rehearse your way into being... talented." Summer's lips curved up lazily. "Sweetheart, if hard work was all it took, ants would rule the world."

The entire hall fell silent. Even the professor, who had just walked in, paused.

Flustered marina shot a quick glance at Ciara seated not too far behind, but Ciara pretended not to notice her—her fingers clutching her phone tightly, face pale. This wasn't supposed to go this far.

"Professor...!" Marina's voice echoed through the tense silence, breaking it like glass. She stood abruptly, deliberately loud so every head could turn her way. "Before the class starts, I demand justice. I believe the school should be made aware of the kind of person Summer Bellani truly is."

Whispers erupted immediately.

"Is she really going there?"

"No way... bold move."

Summer didn't react. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor as she reached the front, her face completely indifferent. Calm. Detached.

The professor, an older man in his mid-50s, blinked in confusion. "Marina, what is the meaning of this? This is a classroom, not a court."

Marina puffed her chest, feigning a look of injustice. "I cannot sit and watch injustice thrive, Professor. Summer Bellani used her family influence to force me out of the lead role in the school's upcoming stage production.

I worked hard for that part, yet... she—" her voice trembled dramatically, "—she just walked in and took it. How is that fair? Is this the kind of behavior our institution promotes?"

Gasps filled the air. Phones came out, ready to record. Drama was currency on campus.

From the back, Ciara subtly tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. If this played out as planned, Summer's name would be dragged through the mud for a while, whether or not it was true. The perfect consequence for daring to humiliate her back home.

Summer finally stopped by the professor's desk, setting her pristine leather bag down gently. She turned, scanning the room like one would examine a crowd of ants.

"Finished?" Her voice was calm. Smooth. Deceptively sweet.

Marina faltered. "What... what do you mean?"

Summer tilted her head, one hand resting casually on the desk, the other slipping her phone from her bag. "I asked... are you finished embarrassing yourself?"

The students collectively inhaled.

"Summer... is this true?" The professor adjusted his glasses, trying to maintain neutrality despite the tension.

Summer chuckled lightly, a sound both melodious and chilling. "Professor, may I ask... since when did hard work alone determine the results ? even still you have to figure out if you're eligible for the role in the first place. "

She slowly paced to the center, every step deliberate. Her gaze swept over the crowd, landing briefly on Ciara, whose fake calmness was beginning to crack.

A murmur stirred. No one expected that.

Summer smiled, but her eyes were devoid of warmth. "Let's be clear—I earned that role, fair and square. Marina here... submitted a falsified portfolio." She tapped her phone a few times before looking up. "Would you like to see the evidence?"

Marina's face drained of color. "What... w-what evidence?"

With a flick of her fingers, Summer turned her phone to the screen at the front of the room, where the professor had already connected it for presentations. Instantly, a series of screenshots displayed:

Photoshopped certificates.

Voice recordings of Marina bribing a backstage coordinator.

A bank transaction dated two weeks ago—ten thousand euros transferred to the coordinator's account.

All this had been neatly compiled and delivered to Summer's inbox just an hour ago—courtesy of her brother Travis, whose efficiency was as frightening as his dispassionate nature.

Silence.

Complete.

Deafening.

The professor's face contorted with rage. "Marina! Is this true?!"

Marina staggered backward. "N-No... I... This isn't what it looks like...!"

Summer crossed her arms, tilting her head, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Oh, but darling... it looks exactly how it should."

The class broke into frantic murmurs.

Ciara gripped her phone tighter, her knuckles whitening. Her task... had failed.

The system's voice buzzed in her head, cold and robotic: [Host has failed Task #003: 'Destroy Summer's Reputation. Penalty: Mental backlash + deduction of favorability points.]

A sharp pain shot through her temple, forcing her to bow her head, pretending to search her bag to hide her trembling hands.

"You dare accuse me... publicly... when you knew you were standing on broken ground?" Summer stepped forward, her eyes sharp enough to slice. "I could sue you for defamation, Marina. But I won't. Because you... are insignificant."

Her gaze swept the crowd again. "Let this be a lesson. Never mistake someone's silence for weakness."

Turning to the professor, her voice softened. "If you don't mind, Professor, we have a lecture to begin. I dislike wasting my morning on... trash."

The professor coughed, nodding rapidly. "Y-Yes... Yes. Everyone sit down!"

Marina collapsed into her seat, trembling, while her so-called friends subtly moved away from her, as if proximity alone would damage their reputations.

As Summer glided elegantly toward her seat—right in the middle row, by the window, her usual spot—students unconsciously shifted to create space for her. An invisible throne. No one dared share her air.

She sat, crossing her legs, flipping open her notebook with practiced grace as if nothing had happened. Her lips curved slightly. Satisfied.

From the back, Ciara could only stare daggers into her back, chest tightening not just from the mental penalty but from the seething hatred boiling inside her. Why... why does she always turn the tables? Why can't I win, even with the system?

As the lecture began, students kept glancing her way. Not with scorn—but with awe. Reverence.

A queen wasn't someone you liked.

She was someone you respected—or feared.