Spoilt Princess Reincarnate As a Waitress Chapter 4: Google and Rage

Alexia's POV

Fucking bastards.

How dare they forget ? How dare they look better off than ? Arrrgh! It's like the universe decided to double down on screwing over. First, it rips out of my golden life, throws into this pigsty existence, and now it lets them waltz around in luxury without a single mory of the sister they used to adore.

And what's worse? They laughed at . My own flesh and blood, standing there, making jokes like I was so lunatic off the street. Unbelievable.

I stomped my way to the nearest cyber café, my head spinning with rage. There was no way I was letting this go. Oh no, not . If the universe thought it could serve injustice and get away with it, it clearly hadn't t Princess Alexia.

As soon as I got to the cyber, I slapped a few coins on the counter and grabbed a seat. The computer was ancient—probably from the Stone Age—but it worked well enough. I opened the browser, cracked my knuckles, and typed in their nas.

"Mike, Luke, Martin, Henry."

My fingers hit enter with the kind of vengeance that should've shattered the keyboard.

And there they were. All four of them, right at the top of the search results. The Black brothers. Apparently, they were the heirs to Black Corporation, one of the biggest conglorates in the world. Real estate, tech, luxury goods—they had their hands in everything.

"Oh, of course," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. "Of course the universe hands them the golden ticket. Why not? It's not like I was the one who actually lived as royalty or anything."

I clicked on the first article and started skimming. Henry, the oldest, was the CEO—practically a billionaire in his own right. Luke was a lawyer with a penchant for winning impossible cases. Martin ran the charitable wing of the company, loved by the dia for his "kind heart." (Barf.) And Mike? Oh, Mike was so kind of social dia influencer-slash-venture capitalist. Because of course he was.

anwhile, I was here, working double shifts to keep a roof over my head, with barely enough money to afford instant noodles.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why did they get the red carpet treatnt while I got stuck in this dumpster fire of a life? And how in the world did they not rember ?

I dug deeper, scrolling through interviews, pictures, anything that might give a clue. Their past was spotless. Privileged upbringing. Ivy League educations. Success, fa, and wealth at every turn. It was like history had erased entirely, and now fate was taunting with their perfect new lives.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

"So much for being my brothers," I muttered bitterly, clicking through another article.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at their smiling faces on the screen. They looked so happy. Carefree. Like they didn't have a single worry in the world.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

But if they thought I was just going to sit here and accept this, they clearly didn't know who they were dealing with.

"Alright, Black brothers," I said, my voice low and full of determination. "You can forget all you want. But I'm not letting this go. Not until I get answers."

I logged out of the computer and left the cyber café with a plan forming in my mind. If they didn't rember , I'd make them rember. One way or another.

The universe might hate , but it had underestimated one very important thing: I don't give up without a fight.

After venting to so very unsympathetic pigeons in the park (seriously, they didn't even coo in support), I decided to head back to the diner. The rent was due tomorrow, and no matter how much I hated budgeting my microscopic inco, I needed the job to survive.

So, I sucked it up. Swallowed my pride. And let tell you, pride tastes like raw kale and despair.

By the ti I walked in, the place was quieter than usual, and I imdiately knew sothing was wrong. My boss was waiting near the counter, arms crossed, her face the color of an overripe tomato. Not a good sign.

The four idiots—my beloved brothers from another lifeti—were gone. Even Mr. Almond Milk was nowhere to be seen. For a brief mont, I felt a flicker of relief. Maybe I could sneak in, act like nothing had happened, and avoid whatever storm was brewing.

But of course, life doesn't work that way. Not for .

"You!" my boss barked the mont she saw . Her voice could've shattered glass. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Oh boy. Here we go.

"Uh... cleaned the floors? Delivered orders?" I tried, my most innocent smile plastered on my face.

"Wrong!" she snapped, slamming a hand on the counter. "You splashed hot coffee on influential people and were rude to the richest man in town—no, scratch that, the richest man in the world!"

I froze. Richest man in the world? Who—oh, crap.

Mr. Almond Milk.

I winced as the realization hit like a brick. "Wait, wait, wait," I stamred, holding up my hands. "Rude? ? I wasn't rude to anyone—"

The look she gave could've lted steel. "Don't play dumb, Alexia! I'm talking about Mr. Aiden!"

Oh. My. God.

Not only had I dumped ice at his feet and stord off, but I'd also completely blown off one of the world's most powerful n. Great. Just great.

"Look," I started, my voice weak. "That wasn't my fault! He was being a jerk, okay? And besides—"

"No excuses!" she cut off, jabbing a finger in my direction. "This is the fifth ti you've ssed up. Five! I've had it with you. You're done here. Pack up your things and go."

And just like that, my last shred of dignity went up in flas.

I tried to argue, but what was the point? She was right. I'd screwed up. Again. Poverty just isn't for , and clearly, neither are minimum-wage jobs. Honestly, the feeling is mutual. These jobs don't want , and I sure as hell don't want them.

So, I took my asly paycheck for the month—barely enough to cover rent and food for a week—and walked out of the diner, head held high.

Well, okay, not that high. More like half-high.

Once I got outside, I let out the loudest groan I could muster. "Ughhhhhh!"

Back to square one. No job. No plan. Just , my crappy apartnt, and the ever-present threat of eviction looming over my head.

I glanced up at the sky, hoping the universe would offer so kind of sign or help. But nope. Just clouds. Typical.

"Seriously," I muttered to no one in particular.