Queen of the Ashes

Before the company went public, the intern suggested serving boba tea to our foreign investors. My boyfriend said, That's creative. Stop crushing new talent.

The shareholders chimed in, Boba tea is so down-to-earth. It's not like the investors are royalty.

I didn't say a word. I just quietly swapped it for black tea and a fruit platter before the meeting started.

The deal was a success, but she went on a livestream, crying that I had bullied her and stolen her credit. My boyfriend's silence was his agreement. The live comments were a storm of ridicule, and the trending hashtag was everywhere: "Audrey Collins, get out of the business world."

I was murdered with a can of gasoline. My mother died of a heart attack. My father was killed in a hit-and-run, and no one dared to help him.

Reborn into a second life, I just nod. "Fine. Just remember to add extra sugar."

Then I turn around, quit, and take every single investor with me.

1
“I just think, for the investor reception, we don’t have to be so… formal.”

Chloe’s voice was soft as she stood before the conference table, a tablet cradled in her hands. She wore a simple white dress, her eyes wide and clear.

“Something like artisanal boba… it’s a local, trendy brand that’s relaxed but also has a strong identity. It could reflect the young, vibrant atmosphere of our company.”

As she spoke, she swiped through her presentation. Images of colorful boba teas flashed across the screen, paired with macarons and miniature cupcakes. It looked less like a pitch for serious investors and more like a mood board for an office party.

I stared at the screen, my face a carefully composed mask of neutrality. Underneath the table, my fingers slowly curled into a tight fist.

I had been in this meeting before. In another life.

The last time she suggested boba, I shot it down immediately. I pointed out that one of the key partners from Dalton Capital had Type 2 diabetes and another had a severe dairy allergy. She had teared up on the spot. “Does Audrey… not like me?”

My boyfriend, Ethan, had given me a cold look. “Don’t be so petty, Audrey.”

Later that night, she went live on Instagram, sobbing to her followers about how I used my power to crush her ideas. That video got over a million views.

And when the deal finally closed—thanks to my back-breaking work—she got all the credit. I was branded the toxic, creativity-killing female executive.

Then came the breakup with Ethan. The systematic purge from the company I helped build. The relentless, suffocating wave of online hate.

And then, the gasoline.

I died in a blaze so hot it left me unrecognizable.

When my father came to identify the body, he collapsed on the spot. A fatal brain hemorrhage. My mother, upon seeing the single, sterile line of text on the cremation certificate, suffered a massive heart attack. A neighbor found her hours later, long after her last breath had passed.

And Chloe? She took everything that was mine, walked onto a stage in a custom couture gown to accept an award, and said, “I want to thank Audrey for teaching me what it means to be a professional.”

I am reborn.

Reborn in this conference room, as she says the words again, proposing boba tea for our most important investors.

I watched the corner of her mouth. That faint, almost imperceptible smirk. She was waiting for me to object, just like last time.

But this time, I didn't give her the satisfaction.

“I think it’s a great idea,” I said, my voice cutting smoothly through her presentation. I smiled. “Boba is young, it’s trendy, it’s creative. Chloe, you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

She froze.

A strange, heavy silence fell over the room.

“When you’re hosting executives,” I continued, my smile unwavering, “you want to show them who you are.”

Ethan glanced at me, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle, pleased curve. As if he was finally seeing the compliant woman he always wanted me to be.

“Well, if Audrey’s on board, then let’s move forward with the plan,” he said.

The room exhaled. A chorus of agreement followed.

“The younger generation just gets it.”

“Right? We don’t always have to do that stuffy English high tea thing.”

“Who doesn’t love boba?”

I let my gaze drift over the faces of my old friends around the table. The same ones who held my feet to the fire in my last life, all while claiming it was for the good of the company.

This time, I’ll let you burn yourselves.

I excused myself from the room and pulled out my phone, dialing a number from memory.

“Noah,” I said, my voice low. “You told me once that you had a standing offer for me. Senior partner, equity, full decision-making authority… is that still on the table?”

There was a pause on the other end, then a rich, knowing laugh. “Always. For you, Audrey, my door is always open.”

“Good,” I said. “Then let’s talk.”

2

In my last life, Chloe stood in the center of this same room. White dress, ponytail, tablet in hand, selling her boba tea gospel with a pure smile and a gentle voice.

I couldn’t help but offer a word of caution. “We’re hosting the executive partners from Dalton Capital, not a panel of TikTok influencers.”

She flinched. Her lips trembled. “Does Audrey… not like me?”

Ethan, sitting right beside her, shot back at me, his voice sharp. “Are you targeting her?”

I was stunned into silence.

“You’re just jealous,” he’d said, his voice dropping, “that she’s young, charming, and that people actually like her.”

The room was silent. Then, one by one, the other partners chimed in. “What’s wrong with a little creativity? Maybe we’re just too old to get it.”

In that moment, I understood. It didn’t matter if you were right. If you weren’t fragile and doe-eyed, if you didn’t know how to play the victim, no one would ever take your side.

And she played it perfectly.

That night, she went live on Instagram. The title of the stream was:
【I was bullied into silence at my dream internship today 】

She sat in what was clearly a staged, poorly-lit corner of her apartment, her clothes artfully damp, her eyes red and puffy. She cried as she spoke.

“I suggested using a local boba brand for a reception, and my boss, the VP… she called me an idiot in front of everyone… I just don’t understand. Are young people not allowed to have ideas?”

The comments exploded.

【Who treats an intern like that in 2025?】
【This is a textbook case of workplace abuse. That VP is toxic.】
【I’m reporting Audrey Collins. She has no right to be in a leadership position.】
【Sounds like she’s just threatened by someone younger and more creative.】

I had just gotten out of a late-night meeting. I opened Twitter to see my name trending for all the wrong reasons.

It was my birthday.

I opened my private social media, and a new post was at the top of my feed. It was from Ethan.

【Hoping every intern with a good idea gets to see it through without being maliciously shut down.】

The picture was a cup of boba tea, held next to Chloe’s tear-stained face.

I texted him immediately. What the hell is this?

His reply was instant. Figure it out yourself.

It was followed by a voice memo, his tone cold and detached. “Audrey, I don’t think this is working anymore.”

I drove to his office like a madwoman. I just wanted to ask him, “What did I do wrong?”

He sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable. “The deal is done. Chloe’s concept was a hit with the secondary investors. Right now, the company needs a symbol, a fresh face. It doesn’t need your… emotional volatility.”

“A symbol?” I gritted out. “After five years of building this company with you, I’m just a ‘symbol’?”

“Can you please be rational?” He sounded annoyed. “Look at yourself right now. You’re hysterical.”

I was fired the next day. A termination letter was slid unceremoniously across my desk.

I became the poster child for toxic female leadership. The media invented stories about my “chaotic personal life,” my “abusive management style,” my “pathological need for control as an aging woman in tech.” Someone went to my parents’ small town and filmed a vlog outside the community clinic where my mother worked, narrating, “What kind of person could come from a family like this?” My father tried to stop them and the stress of it all sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.

The day they threw the gasoline on me was two days after Christmas.

They cornered me outside an old warehouse. A group of them, their faces twisted with self-righteous anger. They called me a “corporate monster,” a “parasite who kills the dreams of the young.” They shoved me to the ground and emptied a canister of fuel over me.

“Did you drive Chloe to suicide?” one of them screamed.

“How dare you still show your face?”

I struggled, shouting back, my voice raw with terror. “You’re insane! She’s not dead! She’s lying to you!”

No one listened.

“Light it.”

Someone struck a match.

As the flames consumed me, my last coherent thought was of the new beige trench coat I was wearing. My mother had saved up for months to buy it for my birthday.

In the final second before the fire melted my skin, my phone screen lit up. It was the last voice message my father ever sent me.

“Pumpkin, Daddy’s on his way to bring you home.”

But he never made it. On his way to me, he was killed instantly by a driver who ran a red light.

And my mother, when she heard the news of my death, locked herself in the bathroom that night. She slit her wrists in the bathtub and never woke up.

No one dared to claim my body from the morgue. It was three days before the county officially processed me as an unclaimed Jane Doe and sent me to the crematorium.

“No name necessary for this one,” they’d said.

Chloe’s livestream tears earned her millions of followers and the title of “the ultimate survivor.”

Ethan took full control of the company, hailed as a hero for “purging the toxic elements from his leadership team.”

The entire internet celebrated my death. They said I deserved it.

I died worthless.

And now, I am back. Back, listening to her say those same words one more time:

“I propose we serve boba tea to the investors.”

I look at her, and I smile. “I love it. Let’s do it.”

3

“Audrey, are you sure you want to sit this out? This presentation is critical.”

My assistant, Maya, stopped me in the hallway, her arms full of binders.

I pulled on my black trench coat, my expression serene. “Didn’t Chloe say she wanted the chance to lead a major client-facing event? Let’s give her the opportunity.”

Maya gave me a complicated look, then lowered her voice. “Mr. Henderson is backing her so openly… people are whispering. They’re saying you’re being sidelined.”

A small smile touched my lips. “Sidelined? He can try.”

I pushed the door open and walked back into the conference room.

Chloe was already standing at the front, dressed in a pale pink pantsuit. “This is our big chance to connect with the partners at Dalton Capital,” she said, her voice bright. “I’ve outlined the full hospitality plan for your review.”

The first slide of her PowerPoint deck was a single, massive title:
“A Gen-Z Inspired Hospitality Initiative”

Below it was a high-resolution logo of a trendy boba chain, so bright it was almost blinding.

“My plan is to set up a custom boba bar during the break. We’ll have flavors like Jasmine Green Tea, Peach Oolong with Cheese Foam, and Grapefruit Green Tea, with fully customizable sweetness levels. For food, we’ll have lava cakes and candied orange peels to really showcase our team’s energy.”

As she spoke, she glanced back at me. It was part boast, part challenge.

I sat in the back row, sipping a glass of warm water, calmly flipping through a prospectus.

“One of the senior partners at Dalton has advanced Type 2 diabetes. Are you planning on displaying the exact sugar content for each drink?” I asked coolly, not bothering to look up.

Chloe faltered for a second. “Well, they can order a zero-sugar option.”

“A ‘zero-sugar’ boba that still uses a fructose-based powder and a sweet cream foam for the topping. Are you going to stand there and explain the glycemic index of every ingredient to them?”

“I…”

“The primary contact for this deal is their Singapore division. Culturally, they lean Western. Do you think they’ll appreciate fruit-flavored sugar water?”

“I… I can make a special note of it in the briefing,” she said, her posture stiffening. “And besides, not every single investor will refuse boba. We can always offer a second option…”

“Chloe has prepared a comprehensive plan,” Ethan interrupted, his tone a clear defense of her. “We shouldn’t be so quick to tear down a junior team member’s ideas.”

I finally looked up at him and offered a small, knowing smile.

“So, Audrey, what’s your final opinion?” Chloe asked, biting her lip, her eyes wide and pleading.

I looked right at her, my smile slow and deliberate.

“My opinion is,” I said, letting my gaze sweep across the room, my voice soft, “the plan is excellent. Very creative. If no one else has any objections, I say we proceed exactly as she’s outlined.”

A palpable wave of relief washed over the room.

Someone whispered, “Wow, Audrey’s really mellowed out.”

“Yeah, she’s not as intense as she used to be.”

“You have to give the kids a chance to shine…”

What they didn’t understand is that I simply had no interest in cleaning up their mess this time.

After the meeting, I walked to my office and locked the door. My phone buzzed with a text from Noah.

【Got the files. We’re running the framework by the board. We can greenlight as early as next week.】

I sent him the business plan I had been working on for months. The name on the cover wasn’t Audrey Collins. It was Nexus Strategy Group, a new boutique consulting firm I’d quietly registered. And just this morning, the firm’s ownership structure had been transferred to a blind trust. On paper, it was anonymous. In reality, I controlled everything.

Down the hall, Chloe was still in the conference room with the events team, laughing and coordinating her “boba bar.” She looked like a blooming flower.

That evening, a text came in from Ethan.

【Chloe is still a little naive. She gets nervous easily. As a senior leader, you should guide her a bit.】

I laughed out loud. He wanted me to mentor Chloe? Did he want her career to implode even faster?

I texted back a simple, “Okay.”

Then I opened my laptop, compiled her entire history of breaking company policy—her undeclared influencer side-gigs, the times she’d used company resources for personal projects—into a single, anonymous document, and sent it straight to the Ethics & Compliance department’s whistleblower email address.

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