Spoilt Princess Reincarnate As a Waitress

Alexia's POV

Remember how I said something about tomorrow being a new day? Yeah, scratch that. Today is stupid. Scratch that again—today is stupid with a capital S.

It started with a rude awakening. At seven in the morning. SEVEN.

The kind of morning where the landlord bangs on your door like he's trying to break it down. And no, I wasn't up, thank you very much. Why should I be? It's not like I had a job to rush off to anymore.

I shuffled to the door, groggy and half-asleep, only to have my day ruined before it even started.

"I'm raising the rent," he said, as if he was announcing a goddamn holiday.

I just stared at him, my brain struggling to comprehend. "What?"

"The rent's going up. You've got till the end of the month to adjust. It's the market," he said with a shrug, like it wasn't the dumbest thing I'd ever heard.

Adjust? The market? Was this a joke? I looked at the peeling paint, the cracked ceiling, and the floorboards that creaked like they were trying to write a sad song every time you stepped on them. This place wasn't even worth what I was paying now. If anything, he should be paying me for not reporting him to whatever agency deals with health hazards.

But there he was, standing in my doorway, smug as a cat that just stole your dinner.

"You've got to be kidding me," I finally said.

"Take it up with the economy," he said before turning and looking away like he'd just delivered the Gospel of Rent.

I paid the stupid rent—barely—and slammed the door in his stupid face for good measure. It was petty, but it felt good. For about two seconds. Then I realized I only had five bucks left to my name and an empty fridge to boot.

FIVE. BUCKS.

That wasn't going to feed us for two days. Maybe not even one. What was I supposed to do? Split a can of beans and some tap water with my drunken mother? Gourmet dining, right?

So here I am, out job hunting like a desperate lunatic. Again.

And let me tell you, people do not sugarcoat their rejections these days. "We're not hiring." "We'll call you if something opens up." "Do you have any experience?" Blah, blah, blah.

You know what I do have? A very short temper, five bucks, and a lifetime's worth of frustration. But apparently, none of those qualify me for employment.

At this point, I'm not even mad about the jobs anymore. No, now I'm mad at the universe. Because clearly, someone up there has it out for me. Like, what's the deal? Is this karma? Was I too spoiled in my last life?

Speaking of my last life, how's this for a thought: what if dying again gets me reincarnated somewhere better?

No, seriously, hear me out. What's the probability that I could get a better roll of the dice next time? Maybe I'll come back as the daughter of a tech mogul or a famous actress. Or maybe even a queen again! This time with longer reign years and fewer betrayals.

Because honestly, what do I even have to lose? A collapsing apartment with a rent hike? A mother who can't go a single night without embarrassing herself at the local dive bar? Yeah, I'd be sad about leaving my "priceless" collection of ramen noodle packets behind. Oh, and the five bucks. Let's not forget that.

The only thing I'd really regret is not finding the bastard who killed me when I was rich and living the high life. That's still at the top of my to-do list, if the universe would just cut me some slack for once.

I was mid-rant in my head, crossing the street, when I heard it: a loud horn blaring right at me.

My eyes shot up just in time to see a stupidly luxurious car barreling toward me at full speed. Shiny black, with tinted windows, and going way too fast for a city street.

Great. This is how I die.

Again.

I blame myself, really. I tempted fate by thinking about death too much. That's how this works, right? You think about dying, and the universe just goes, "Oh, you're ready? Cool, let me help with that."

And as if ready to celebrate my death it started raining light showers.

And of course, it has to be this car. Not a clunky old beater. No, I get the rich-people-mobile to finish me off. Just another reminder that wealth and privilege are always out to crush me—literally this time.

The sound of tires screeching filled the air, but it was too late. I braced myself for the impact.

If I survive this, I'm suing the driver. If I don't survive, I'm haunting them. Forever.

So yeah, there I was, hoping that if there's a next time—because, let's face it, I'm dangerously close to clocking out of this life—I want to come back as the president's daughter. Or, better yet, as a president myself. Go big or go home, right?

But as luck would have it, the car stopped just inches from turning me into roadkill. Inches!

The driver, a guy who looked to be in his mid-thirties, practically flew out of the car, his face a mask of panic. "Miss, are you okay?" he asked, rushing toward me.

I blinked. Did he just call me Miss? Okay, not gonna lie, that felt good. Really good. There was something about the way he said it—like I was important or something. What? Call it nostalgia.

Though, let's be real, it would've been even sweeter if he'd addressed me as Your Highness or My Princess, like they used to in my golden life. Oh, those days of grandeur and respect. People used to bow when I walked into a room. Now? Now I get splashed by passing cars and fired from diners.

But I digress. There I was, relishing the rare moment of feeling like a person again, while this guy—Tobias, as I later learned—was practically tripping over himself, asking if I was okay.

That's when the back window of the car rolled down, and my moment of grace shattered into a million pieces.

Because who should appear but him.

Mr. Almond Milk Guy.

The bane of my existence. The jerk who cost me my job and my dignity all in one fell swoop.

"Tobias, if you didn't hit anything, let's go. I'm running late," he said, his stupid, cold, unamused tone slicing through the air like a knife.

Excuse me? Hit anything? Like I'm some thing?

Tobias squeaked a "Yes, sir" and turned to get back into the car, leaving me there like I was invisible.

Oh, hell no.

If it had been just Tobias, I might've let it go. Tobias seemed nice. Tobias seemed like the type of guy who might actually feel bad about almost hitting someone.

But now that I knew the Almond Milk Guy was involved?

No. Freaking. Way.

This man had already ruined my life once. First, he got me fired from my job—granted, I did splash him with coffee, but still—and now he was trying to almost kill me and then brush it off like I was nothing?

Absolutely not.

I stomped forward, ignoring the way the rain was soaking through my already pathetic outfit. "Hey!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the noise of the rain and the city.

Tobias froze, halfway into the driver's seat, while Almond Milk Guy didn't even flinch. Of course he didn't.

"Hey, Mr. Fancy Pants!" I shouted again, louder this time. "You're just gonna sit there like nothing happened?"

Finally, he turned his head, his expression the epitome of I can't believe I have to deal with this.

"What exactly do you want?" he asked, his tone flat and bored, like I was a pesky fly buzzing around his head.

"Oh, I don't know," I said, dripping with sarcasm. "How about an apology for almost turning me into a speed bump?"

Tobias looked mortified, but Almond Milk Guy? He just sighed. "Tobias didn't hit you. So, as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing to apologize for."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, leaning back in his seat like this whole thing was a waste of his precious time.

I was seeing red. This man—the audacity of this man!

"You think this is just about your car not hitting me?" I snapped. "What about the emotional damage? Huh? Do you have any idea how traumatizing it is to almost die? And don't even get me started on the fact that this is the second time you've ruined my life!"

"Second time?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, second time! You're the reason I lost my job! And now you're the reason I'm standing in the rain, soaking wet, probably about to catch pneumonia!"

He stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to my utter disbelief, he smirked.

"Are you done?"

That was it. That was the moment I snapped.

"No," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "I'm not done."

Before he could respond, I reached down, grabbed a handful of the mud that the rain had turned the street into, and hurled it straight at the car and his fucking face.

It splattered across the door and some on his stupid face, a glorious, filthy mess that perfectly matched my mood.

Tobias gasped. Almond Milk Guy's smirk disappeared faster than my last paycheck.

"Now I'm done," I said, turning on my heel and stomping away, leaving them to deal with their stupid luxury car and their stupid rich-people problems.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but grin. Sure, I was soaked, broke, and jobless. But at least I got the last word.

For once.