Spoilt Princess Reincarnate As a Waitress

Alexia's POV

I drifted into sleep, the world around me melting away as the darkness swallowed me whole. I wasn't sure when it happened, but somewhere between the muffled sound of rain outside and the heavy weight of my own exhaustion, my mind decided to take me somewhere else. Somewhere familiar.

A grand hall. Marble floors. Tall windows letting in soft sunlight that shimmered across the gold-rimmed furniture. The scent of roses and expensive perfumes filled the air. And there, standing before me, was a man.

He looked up at me, his face pale and submissive, as I leaned back in my seat, the weight of my royal attire heavy on my shoulders. The lavish silk robes, embroidered with golden thread, were the kind of thing a princess like me would never have to lift a finger to wear all by myself. After all, that was the point. I was royalty. I was the Princess Alexia, and the world was meant to revolve around me.

I let out a dramatic sigh, my fingers lazily tapping on the armrest of my seat. "What are you standing there for?" I sneered, my voice dripping with disdain.

The servant—a man in his early twenties, dressed in the livery of my house—took a hesitant step forward, his hands trembling slightly. He was trying to hold himself together, but I could see the fear in his eyes. Good. He should be afraid. After all, I was the princess.

"I-I'm sorry, Your Highness," he stammered, his voice low and pleading. "I've failed you. Please, forgive me."

Failed me? This pathetic fool? I rolled my eyes, flicking a strand of my perfectly styled hair over my shoulder. "You dare come to me and ask for forgiveness?" My voice was cold, cutting through the air like a knife. "You're supposed to be serving me, and yet, you can't even do that right. You're a disappointment."

He knelt before me, lowering his head to the marble floor in a show of complete submission. "I beg of you, Your Highness, please forgive me. I will do anything to make it right." His voice was strained now, a mixture of desperation and shame.

I leaned forward, my lips curling into a wicked smile. "Anything?" I asked, my voice laced with mock sweetness. "How typical. You know, I think you're nothing but a worthless servant who thinks he can redeem himself with a few words."

His eyes shot up at me, desperate and pleading. "Please, Your Highness, I truly am sorry. I've failed you and I understand the consequences. Just… please don't punish me."

I scoffed. "Punish you?" I said, leaning back in my throne again, eyes narrowing. "You think you deserve anything less than my absolute disdain? You think that just because you beg, I'll show you mercy?" I paused for a moment, letting the tension hang in the air before I added, "Pathetic."

He trembled before me, but his gaze never faltered. There was a fire behind his eyes that I hadn't expected. A trace of defiance mixed with his desperation, and for a split second, I saw something that reminded me of a time long ago.

Who was this man?

Before I could explore the thought further, I snapped, "Leave. Now. And don't come back until you've learned your place."

The man slowly stood, bowing his head once more, and walked out of the room. I watched him go, a sickening satisfaction curling in my stomach. I'd always had that effect on people—making them beg for my forgiveness, making them feel small and useless.

But then something shifted. It was subtle, like a fleeting breeze brushing against my skin, but it hit me like a slap to the face. The echo of something familiar. A memory I couldn't quite grasp.

As the servant reached the door and turned back to give me one last look, I froze. He didn't look afraid anymore. His expression was hard, like a man who had been broken but now stood tall, carrying the weight of something greater than just a servant's duty. His gaze didn't waver from mine, and suddenly, it wasn't just the servant standing there—it was him.

Him.

The memory flooded back. The man who had become a thorn to my side. 

Mr. Almond Milk—the name echoed in my head, and suddenly the vision of the servant wasn't so distant. That face—the face of someone I had treated with such disdain in my past life. He was there. A servant. Always obedient, always in the background, never asking for anything in return. He was the one I had ignored and belittled without a second thought.

And now—now he was the man who had ruined my current life in this universe. The man who had cost me my job. The man who had almost run me over with his stupid car. Mr. Almond Milk, the one who treated me like I was nothing but a thing that wasted his time.

I snapped awake, my heart pounding in my chest. My eyes flew open, and the dull room around me came into sharp focus. It was just me—alone in my tiny, rundown apartment. The remnants of the dream still clung to my thoughts like cobwebs.

That face. It had been him.

Mr. Almond Milk. The same man had once been my servant in a life that seemed like a distant, twisted fairy tale. And yet, in this new life, he had no memory of me. No trace of that history, of the way I had treated him or did he?

It was too much to process. Too much to want to process.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to shake the strange, overwhelming feeling that had come over me. Was this some kind of twisted cosmic joke? I was forced into this pitiful existence while he—he had the life of luxury. He was a rich, entitled jerk, and I who had been nothing but a bratty, spoiled princess who had treated him like garbage was now the filthy beggar.

But now?

Now I had to live with the consequences. The universe had set us on these different paths, and I had no idea why. But one thing was clear—I needed answers. I needed to figure out why Mr. Almond Milk—was the same man who had once been my servant.

Was this rich fucking jerk—Mr. Almond Milk—the same man who was once my servant, involved with my death?

The thought made my stomach churn. If he remembered his previous life like I did, could this be some elaborate plan for revenge? The pieces didn't add up, though. Why on earth would he want to marry me if he remembered how awful I had been to him? Why not just ruin me completely?

The memory of that dream still clung to me, vivid and raw. I could see his face so clearly, the same but different, younger but unmistakably him. And now, in this new life, he was rich, powerful, and cold. The opposite of the loyal servant I remembered.

My mind raced with the possibilities. Maybe this was a trap. Maybe he wanted to marry me only to humiliate me, to make me pay for every insult I'd thrown his way in our past life. If the roles were reversed, I couldn't say I wouldn't do the same. Hell, I was awful to him. No, not just awful—I was downright cruel. And now? Now he had all the power.

Still, something about it didn't feel right. The way he had proposed—or demanded—marriage felt strange. It wasn't romantic or emotional. It wasn't even calculated or spiteful. It was... businesslike.

What if he didn't remember?

No. I couldn't let myself believe that. It felt too convenient to assume he had forgotten, while I was stuck remembering every detail of my golden life and the cruel, inevitable end that brought me here.

I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair as I paced my tiny, miserable apartment. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, suffocating me with my thoughts.

"Great. So now I have to get married to a guy who might be plotting to kill me—or worse." My voice echoed in the silence of the room, bitter and laced with sarcasm.

What choice did I even have, though? This wasn't some fairy tale where I could just say no and walk away unscathed. If I wanted answers I had to play the game at least play dumb until I know what he was playing at. And let's be honest, my life right now was a joke. Poverty had made a fool of me, and the universe seemed to be in on it, laughing at my every failure.

So yeah. I guess I would be getting married, whether it was a trap or not.

At least if it was a trap, I'd have a front-row seat to the game. And if I played my cards right, I might just figure out the truth behind all of this— who was behind my death, and why this rich asshole seemed so intent on tying me to him.

If it was revenge he wanted, well... he wasn't the only one with old grudges.

Marriage vows here I come..... Now what's left is reaching out to him yuck.