My Second Life as a High-Society Disaster

Chapter 2: The Ice Queen's Visit

"Can I go back to the cracker? I think I preferred the cracker."

Leo didn’t even look up from the closet, his hands moving through a row of suits with the speed of a seasoned card dealer. "The cracker is gone, Julian. Burned in the trash along with your dignity and that vintage Ferrari. Now, stand up. We have exactly twelve minutes before the next disaster arrives, and I’d prefer you weren't wearing a hospital gown when it happens."

Raka groaned, peeling himself off the cold marble floor. "Twelve minutes? Who else is coming? Is there a line forming outside? Do I need to issue tickets for the 'Watch the Billionaire Have a Mental Breakdown' show?"

"Not a show. A funeral. Yours, metaphorically speaking," Leo said, tossing a charcoal-grey blazer onto the bed. "And stop calling yourself a delivery driver. If the board hears that, they won't just fire you; they’ll have you committed to a private asylum in the Swiss Alps. Trust me, the food there is organic, but the walls are very padded."

"I’m telling you the truth, Leo! I don't know how to be a billionaire! Do I... do I just act like a jerk? Is that the secret?" Raka asked, fumbling with the buttons of a shirt that felt like it was woven from the clouds themselves.

"You’ve mastered that part for twenty-four years, so it shouldn't be hard. Just keep your mouth shut and try not to fall over," Leo replied, stepping over to adjust Raka’s collar. He paused, squinting at Raka’s face. "Wait. You’re... you’re not sneering."

"My face doesn't do that naturally," Raka muttered. "It’s more of a 'please don't give me a one-star rating' kind of face."

"Fix it," Leo hissed. "Look arrogant. Look like you own the air everyone else is breathing."

Raka tried to narrow his eyes and jut out his chin. He ended up looking like he was trying to solve a very difficult math equation while smelling something faintly unpleasant.

"Close enough," Leo sighed, checking his watch. "She’s here."

"Who? Sarah again? I don't think my heart can take another round with the woman in the red suit."

"No. Sarah is the family's legal shark. She’s the one who keeps you out of jail," Leo explained, ushering Raka toward the living area of the penthouse. "The person at the door is Suthida Anong. Your actual fiancée. The one your father chose to merge the Thorne empire with the Anong shipping fortune."

Raka froze mid-step. "Wait, I have two fiancées? Is that even legal? Is this a billionaire thing?"

"Sarah is a 'contractual' fiancée—a legal placeholder to satisfy the board of directors. Suthida is the real deal. And unlike Sarah, she doesn't want to fix you. She wants to delete you."

Before Raka could process the logistics of having a tiered system of fiancées, the elevator at the far end of the room chimed. The doors slid open to reveal a woman who made the morning sun look dim.

Suthida Anong didn't walk; she glided. She was dressed in a tailored cream-colored dress that screamed quiet, untouchable wealth. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, low bun, highlighting a face that was perfectly symmetrical and utterly frozen. If Sarah Vance was a wildfire, Suthida Anong was a glacier.

"Julian," she said. Her voice was cool, precise, and devoid of any warmth.

"Uh... hey. Suthida, right? Good to see you. You look... very symmetrical," Raka blurted out.

Suthida stopped five feet away, her eyes raking over him with a flicker of confusion that lasted only a fraction of a second. "Symmetrical? Is that the new slang you picked up at whatever gutter you crawled out of last night?"

"It’s a compliment! It means your face is... balanced?" Raka tried a weak smile.

Suthida turned to Leo, her expression hardening. "Is he still under the influence? I was told he was conscious."

"He’s... transitioning, Miss Anong," Leo said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "The accident was quite jarring."

"The accident was a choice, Leo. Don't romanticize his stupidity," Suthida said. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a slim, leather-bound folder. "I’m not here for the 'recovering Julian' tour. I’m here because my father is tired of seeing our family name dragged through the mud every time you decide to test the laws of physics with a luxury vehicle."

Raka scratched the back of his head. "Look, I get it. I’ve been a bit of a handful. But maybe we could sit down? Can I get you a drink? I think there’s some very expensive juice in the fridge."

Suthida stared at him as if he had just suggested they go play in the mud. "A drink? Julian, the last time we spoke, you told me my personality was as 'flat as a budget sparkling wine' and then tried to bet my engagement ring on a horse race."

Raka winced. Wow, the old Julian was a real piece of work. "Did the horse win?"

"It tripped at the start," Suthida snapped. She stepped forward, placing the folder on a glass coffee table between them. "Sign it."

Raka leaned over, looking at the document. "Dissolution of Engagement and Mutual Release of Liability? You want to break up?"

"I want to surgically remove you from my future," she corrected him. "You keep your inheritance—if your father doesn't strip it first—and I keep my sanity. It’s a win-win. Well, a win for me. You’ll probably be broke and in a ditch by Christmas, but that’s no longer my concern."

Raka felt a strange pang in his chest. Back in his real life, he’d never even had a girlfriend, let alone a fiancée who looked like a literal goddess. And here he was, being dumped before he even knew her favorite color.

"Do we have to do this right now?" Raka asked, picking up a gold-plated pen from the table. "I’m having a really weird day. I died, I woke up in a stranger's body, and I really, really want some noodles."

Suthida’s eyes narrowed. "What is this, Julian? A new tactic? The 'vulnerable and confused' routine? It’s pathetic, even for you."

"I'm not being pathetic! I'm being honest! I don't even remember your favorite flavor of ice cream!"

"I hate ice cream. It's inefficient," she said coldly. "Sign the papers. I have a board meeting in twenty minutes, and I’d like to celebrate my freedom with a glass of something that costs more than your car."

Raka sighed, looking down at the signature line. Julian Thorne. He tried to remember how a billionaire would sign his name. Probably something grand and loopy. He gripped the pen, his hand shaking slightly.

"Is there a problem?" Suthida asked, leaning closer.

"No, just... my hand's a bit stiff," Raka muttered. He lowered the pen to the paper.

In his old life, Raka’s handwriting was famously terrible—a jagged scrawl that looked like a spider had dipped its legs in ink and had a seizure. As he began to write 'J', his brain short-circuited. He didn't know the Julian Thorne signature. He just knew how to sign for a delivery package.

He managed a shaky 'J' and an 'u', but then his nerves got the better of him.

"Why are you holding the pen like a toddler?" Suthida asked, her voice hovering right over his shoulder.

"I'm... I'm re-learning motor skills!" Raka squeaked.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a tall glass of chilled pomegranate juice that Leo had placed on the table earlier. His elbow, seemingly possessing a mind of its own, bumped the glass.

Time slowed down.

The glass tipped. The deep red liquid leaped into the air like a bloody tidal wave, arching perfectly over the coffee table and landing directly onto the crisp, white pages of the dissolution contract.

"Oh no," Raka whispered.

"Julian!" Suthida screamed, jumping back to save her dress.

The contract was ruined. The ink bled into a purple smudge, and the expensive paper began to wrinkle and dissolve under the weight of the juice.

Raka scrambled to pick up the papers, but his wet hands only made it worse. "I got it! I got it! I'll just... I'll lick it off! No, wait, that's gross. I'll wipe it!"

He grabbed a silk decorative pillow from the sofa and started frantically dabbing at the contract, effectively rubbing the red stain deep into the fibers of both the paper and the pillow.

"Stop! Just stop!" Suthida shouted, her composure finally breaking. She looked at the soggy, red mess that used to be her ticket to freedom. "You did that on purpose."

"I didn't! I'm just clumsy! Ask my old landlord, I once dropped a whole gallon of paint down the stairs!"

"You’re lying," Suthida said, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and something that looked suspiciously like shock. She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "You’ve been trying to avoid this signing for months, but this? This is a new low. You’re pretending to be an incompetent buffoon just so I can't leave?"

"I’m not pretending! This is my natural state!" Raka protested, holding the dripping wet contract up like a trophy. "Look, it’s mostly dry now. We can still read the... 'Diss-o-lution' part?"

Suthida looked at the ruined document, then at Raka, who was currently covered in pomegranate stains and looking genuinely distressed. A strange silence fell over the room. For a moment, her cold exterior cracked, and she looked at him not with disgust, but with a bewildered intensity.

"You really think this will work?" she whispered. "You think if you play the fool, I’ll stay? That I’ll feel sorry for you?"

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," Raka said, his voice dropping. "I just... I don't know who I am right now. And maybe signing a giant legal document while I’m covered in juice isn't the best idea?"

Suthida took a deep breath, smoothing her hair back. The glacier was back, but there was a new spark in her eyes—a competitive, dangerous spark.

"Fine," she said, snatching her handbag. "You want to play this game, Julian? You want to be 'clumsy'? We’ll see how long you can keep up the act."

She turned toward the elevator, her stilettos clicking sharply against the floor.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she called out over her shoulder, the doors beginning to slide shut. "And I'm bringing a waterproof contract. Let's see you spill your way out of that one."

The elevator chimed, and she was gone.

Raka slumped back onto the sofa, the ruined pillow still in his hand. He looked at Leo, who was staring at the juice-stained carpet with the expression of a man who had just witnessed the end of the world.

"Well," Raka said weakly. "That went better than the cracker incident, right?"

Leo slowly turned his head to look at him. "Julian... she didn't just look angry. She looked interested. And in my experience, when Suthida Anong gets interested in something, it usually ends with someone being liquidated."

Raka looked down at his juice-stained hands and sighed. "I really need those noodles, Leo. The expensive ones. With the little gold flakes. I think I'm gonna need the extra energy for tomorrow."