So that’s where it all went wrong—it was the system she used.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day Scarlet first asked to perm her hair like mine.
——
The sound of a camera shutter broke the silence, followed by a flash. Scarlet, who was secretly taking pictures again, quickly hid her phone.
Beside me, my friend Sabrina Kaye leaned over and whispered in my ear:
“Celeste, want me to check if she’s taking photos of you? Lately, I always catch her pointing her phone at you—she’s like an obsessed fan. I really can’t take it anymore.”
I shook my head and gestured for her to ignore it.
In my past life, I’d confronted her—demanded she hand over the photos.
But her phone was empty, and I ended up being accused of bullying her.
That same night, her previously straight hair was suddenly permed to match mine—same color, same curl, same length.
After that, even my friends began mistaking her for me from behind.
Remembering the system she mentioned, I texted my personal stylist:
“Sis, I’m tired of my curls. Design me a hairstyle that’s so unique no one can copy it. Do it well, and I’ll give you a bonus.”