The sleek brown coffee table on the patio was supposed to be an aesthetic viewpoint in the house. It featured prominently in all the real estate photos and even had its own Pinterest board. But now? It looked like the site of a caffeine-induced crime scene.
On it sat approximately eleven coffee mugs, a cold half-eaten slice of pizza, a crumpled to-do list, and a very zombie-like Esha, wrapped in a blanket burrito with dark circles so prominent they looked like war paint.
The culprit? The system.
In its infinite wisdom—or perhaps cruelty—it had decided to issue her second task at exactly 2:47 a.m., when any normal person would be dreaming about mango smoothies or tax-free shopping. The task? Dress a celebrity in system-produced clothes and acquire 100,000 like points.
"One hundred thousand?!" Esha had screeched at her invisible tormentor. "You gave me 100 points last time, and now you've jumped to 100k? What is this, economic inflation?!"
"The tasks are assigned based on environmental factors and host potential," the system had chirped calmly. "And as you know, data is never wrong."
"Oh, shove that data where the sun doesn't shine," Esha grumbled now, glaring at her coffee like it owed her money.
Alana and Evelynn, entering the patio half-asleep, nearly screamed.
"She's possessed!" Alana yelped, grabbing a spatula.
"She's just having one of her bad days," Alana reassured Evelynn, though her voice cracked halfway through. "It's... normal. I think."
Esha flopped back against the couch like a drama queen who had lost all hope in humanity. "System, do I look like someone with celebrity contacts? I may look like someone influential—this face doesn't quit—but I have the networking skills of a houseplant!"
Out loud, to everyone else, she was just muttering incoherently and dramatically switching expressions from constipation to despair to bitter betrayal.
Evelynn, ever the composed influencer, calmly sipped her smoothie bowl like a legal queen watching courtroom drama unfold in real life.
⸻
The next seven days were, frankly, unhinged.
Esha became a full-blown stalker. Her screen time hit new records. She DM'd every celebrity she could think of. Bollywood stars. K-pop idols. Obscure indie artists with twelve followers. She tried sob stories. Fan letters. Even thirst traps—though those tragically backfired.
The result? Zero replies. Two ghostings. One block. And three new bald patches.
"Seven days down," she sobbed into her notebook. "Thirteen to go. I'm going to die single and system-cursed."
It was during one of these depressive spirals that Evelynn walked into the apartment. Her outfit? A nude silk skirt, dark brown ribbed top, and a white shirt layered like she'd just stepped out of a Vogue shoot. Hair? Flawless. Makeup? Divine.
Esha blinked. "She's... a goddess."
Then something clicked.
"System," she whispered. "Does Evelynn count as a celebrity?"
"Yes, host," the system replied. "Her social media reach and online influence meet the task criteria."
"Oh my god." Esha sat upright. "All this time, the celebrity I needed was living in my house wearing face masks and silk pajamas."
⸻
Esha's new mission? Get Evelynn to wear the clothes.
Her approach? Fashion show chaos.
For the next three days, Esha walked around the house like a Vogue model doing laps on a runway. She wore everything from embroidered trench coats to dramatic slit skirts to avant-garde tops that made Alana question reality.
It was like living with a malfunctioning AI programmed by Paris Fashion Week.
Finally, Alana snapped.
"Sister," she said, dramatically putting down her economics textbook. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Esha replied, twirling in a satin wrap dress.
"Don't lie to me. I saw you Googling 'how to look effortlessly iconic while doing dishes.' Spill it."
After hearing Esha's dilemma, Alana facepalmed so hard the sound echoed.
"You idiot. You could've just asked her. It's called communication. Try it sometime."
Esha winced. Asking for help was... not her thing. Years of growing up in an orphanage had conditioned her to never be a burden. Favors meant debts. And debts? Well, they could eat you alive.
But Alana? She had no such trauma. "Let's go ask her now," she said cheerfully, dragging Esha like a reluctant toddler.
⸻
Evelynn opened the door in pink satin pajamas and a matching pink headband. She looked like a Barbie princess about to drop a skincare routine.
Alana and Esha, both in mismatched T-shirts and last year's shorts, instantly felt like cave-dwelling gremlins.
Evelynn smiled. "What's up?"
They settled into the patio again—less zombie apocalypse this time, more sisterhood of secrets. Alana, being the designated spokesperson, explained everything. The made-up clothing house. The desperate need for a celebrity. The dream to promote through livestreams.
Evelynn listened quietly. Then she tilted her head. "So that's why you were wearing those outfits around the house?"
"You noticed?" Esha felt her face burn hotter than a toaster on overdrive.
"They were beautiful," Evelynn said honestly. "I just didn't get why you wore them to make instant noodles."
Alana wheezed.
Esha looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.
But the mood had shifted. Something softened between them.
Later, the three sat cross-legged in Esha's room as she opened her "clothing vault"—a.k.a. the giant closet that looked like a portal to Milan. Evelynn was visibly impressed.
"These are incredible," she murmured, running a finger over a pearl-detailed jacket. "These materials... they're on par with luxury houses."
Esha, trying to act cool: "Heh, I dabble."
Alana: "She saved a rich kid from drowning, got rewarded by his billionaire family. Very novel-like."
Evelynn blinked. "What?"
"True story," Alana confirmed. " She dove in like a soggy superhero."
"Okay, that explains the closet," Evelynn said, nodding slowly. "Some of these pieces aren't just rare—they're unicorn-level."
"Want to borrow them?" Esha offered. "As long as you don't scratch them. Not even emotionally."
"Deal," Evelynn said solemnly. "I'll treat them like my children."
"I'll treat them like my parents," Alana said proudly.
There was a long pause.
Esha and Evelynn looked at her like she had grown a second head.
"What?" Alana asked, frowning. "Parents are sacred!"
⸻
Pizza was ordered. Ice cream was shared. And Alana, self-appointed bonding queen, initiated an icebreaker session.
Esha went first. "I'm 21. College graduate. Orphan Saved a rich kid. Got rich. Now I just want to sleep."
"Iconic," Evelynn said.
Then Alana: "You know me."
They both turned to Evelynn.
"Well," she began, "I'm Evelynn Black. Twenty-three. Degree in pharmacy. Full-time influencer. Raised by a single mom."
Standard stuff. Esha and Alana nodded along.
"But," she added casually, "what people don't know is that I'm the illegitimate daughter of Sebastian Black."
The room went silent.
As in, hear-a-pin-drop, plot-twist-in-a-drama silent.
"The Sebastian Black?" Alana gasped.
"The billionaire CEO?" Esha choked on her soda.
Evelynn shrugged. "Yup."
Alana: "Girl. You're the celebrity!"
Esha: "System, give me the damn like points now!"