Spoilt Princess Reincarnate As a Waitress

 Alexia's POV:

That's the thing about my life now—it's a chaotic balancing act between survival and not losing my mind completely. Some days I crush it. Other days? Not so much.

Like today, for example.

I was halfway through my shift, wiping down the same sticky table for the third time, when the door jingled, and in walked him. Tall, dark, and douchey. He had the kind of smug grin that screamed, I think I'm better than you, paired with a watch that probably cost more than my entire life.

He took a seat in my section, of course, because the universe hates me. I grabbed my notepad, braced myself, and walked over.

"Hi, welcome to O'Hara's. What can I get you?" My voice was so fake-sweet it could've given someone diabetes.

He looked me up and down like I was a vending machine that just ate his dollar. "Do you have almond milk?"

I blinked. "No, but we have regular milk. From a cow. You know, the normal kind."

He sighed like I'd just told him I ran over his dog. "Fine. Black coffee, then. And make it quick."

Ah, yes. The entitled jerk trifecta: picky, impatient, and rude. I could already feel my blood pressure rising. But I smiled anyway, because professionalism or whatever.

"Coming right up," I said, spinning on my heel and heading to the kitchen.

Here's the thing. Moments like this? They make me miss my old life so much. Not because I was a perfect person back then (spoiler: I wasn't), but because no one would've dared to talk to me like that. As Princess Alexia, I ruled with a golden scepter and a healthy dose of side-eye. People bowed. They groveled. They did not order me around like I was some kind of servant.

But this life? It's one big slap in the face after another. And the worst part? There's no escape. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried.

When I first "woke up" in this new body, I thought it was some kind of dream. A really, really bad dream. But nope. It's real. All of it. The crappy diner. The tiny apartment. Brenda.

Speaking of Brenda, she had another one of her "episodes" last night. Came home plastered and yelling about how I'm ungrateful, how she's done everything for me (sure, Brenda, if "everything" includes nothing), and how I need to "stop living in the past."

I wish I could stop. I really do. But how do you let go of a life that was ripped away from you? A life where you mattered. Where you were loved. Where you had purpose.

Now I'm stuck in this endless loop of waiting tables, paying bills, and dreaming of a day when I might actually feel like myself again. And yeah, I know how it sounds. Bitter. Self-pitying. Maybe even a little pathetic. But you'd feel the same way if you went from princess to pauper overnight.

The universe screwed me over big time, and I'm not about to forgive and forget.

I finally made it back to Mr. Almond Milk with his coffee. He took one sip, grimaced, and waved me over like I was some kind of errant dog. "This is too hot," he said.

"It's coffee," I replied, keeping my smile firmly in place. "It's supposed to be hot."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have ice?"

"We do," I said through gritted teeth.

"Well, go get some," he said, leaning back in his chair like he'd just conquered the world.

Let me tell you, the temptation to "accidentally" spill that coffee all over his designer suit was very strong. But I didn't. Because I'm trying to be a better person. Or at least a slightly less homicidal one.

"Right away," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm he didn't even pick up on.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder: is this my punishment? My penance for being a spoiled brat in my past life? Or is it something else entirely?

I don't know. But what I do know is that I'm not giving up. Not yet. Because somewhere out there is the person who killed me. And when I find them? Let's just say, revenge will be served hotter than this guy's coffee.

So, there I was, bowl of ice in hand, heading back to the table of Mr. Almond Milk (a.k.a. the King of Entitled Jerks), when my world stopped. Completely.

Four guys had just walked into the diner, and I swear on every throne I've ever sat on, they looked exactly like my brothers. My brothers from my past life. Same faces. Same stupid confident swag. Same energy that screamed we own the world. My heart practically leapt out of my chest.

In my shock, I dropped the entire bowl of ice.

"Hey, sweetheart, you okay there?" one of them asked, stepping closer. His voice—it was warm, concerned even—but it hit me like a freight train. It was Mike. The youngest. My brother.

Before I could even process it, Mr. Almond Milk decided to chime in, standing up with a face redder than a tomato. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he barked. "I told you to get me some ice, not throw it at my feet!"

Apparently, some of the ice had landed on his precious designer shoes. Probably worth more than my entire hypothetical college tuition. Did I care? Not. At. All.

Because they were here.

"Mike! Luke! Martin! Henry!" I practically shouted their names, my voice bubbling over with excitement. For a moment, I forgot about the stupid diner, the jerk, and my miserable life. I felt like a little girl again, running into their arms after some stupid royal event.

But then something weird happened. Instead of being excited to see me, they just… stared. Confused.

"Mike, is she one of yours or Lucas's?" Henry asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Wait. What?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I snapped, feeling my excitement immediately turn to rage. "You don't greet your long-lost sister like this!"

"Not me," Lucas said, shaking his head and holding his hands up like I was a bomb about to go off. "She's definitely not mine."

"I think she might be Lucas's type," Martin added with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself.

And that's when it hit me. They didn't recognize me. Not even a little. Worse, they thought I was some random girl trying to hit on them.

"The fuck is wrong with you guys?!" I shouted, my voice reaching a pitch even I didn't know I had. "I wouldn't be caught dead with you jerks! I'm your sister, for fuck's sake!"

And you know how they responded? By looking at each other and then bursting into laughter. Actual, full-blown, bent-over, tears-in-their-eyes laughter.

"This is a new one," Lucas managed to choke out between laughs. "Girlfriend? Yeah, we get that a lot. But sister? That's a whole new level of crazy!"

I swear, I saw red. The audacity! The sheer, unfiltered nerve of these idiots. My blood was boiling, my hands were shaking, and I knew—if I didn't leave right now, I was going to do something I'd regret.

But then I thought, Screw it.

Without a second thought, I grabbed Mr. Almond Milk's steaming cup of coffee from the table and turned toward my so-called brothers.

"Here's your fucking welcome back!" I yelled, throwing the coffee straight at them.

It wasn't my finest moment, but damn, it felt good.

The cup hit Martin square in the chest, splashing onto Henry and Mike in the process. Lucas managed to dodge most of it, but the look on his face was priceless.

"What the hell?!" Mike roared, shaking his hands like they were on fire. "Are you insane?!"

"Yes!" I shot back. "I'm insane because you idiots don't even remember your own sister! Me! Princess Alexia of Epheffestus! Does that ring any bells, or is your memory as useless as your personalities?"

They all froze, staring at me like I'd just sprouted a second head.

For a second, I thought I'd finally gotten through to them. Maybe they'd start to remember. Maybe they'd finally take me seriously.

But nope.

"Princess who?" Martin asked, wiping coffee off his shirt. "Is that, like, a TikTok thing or something?"

That's it. I was officially done.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, throwing my hands up in defeat. "You know what? Forget it. Forget I even said anything."

I turned to walk away, but not before giving Mr. Almond Milk one last glare. "Your ice is on the floor," I snapped. "Have fun picking it up yourself."

And with that, I stormed into the kitchen, grabbed my stuff, and walked straight out of the diner.

I didn't care if I got fired. I didn't care if Brenda yelled at me for quitting. All I cared about was getting as far away from those jerks as possible before I did something truly catastrophic.

Like strangling them.