Whitaker Scarlett was woken up by the sound of crying.
She remembered leading her team to successfully complete a highly challenging acquisition case. Afterwards, she attended a celebration party, where, under her subordinates’ persistent persuasion, Whitaker Scarlett drank too much.
However, she wasn’t completely intoxicated. On her way home, she overheard her new assistant talking on the phone with her boyfriend:
“I’m escorting Ms. Whitaker home. She lives alone. Yeah, yeah, she’s not married… You know, what’s the use of her earning so much money as a single woman? She still hasn’t gotten herself married.”
Half drunk and half awake, Whitaker Scarlett didn’t confront her assistant about it.
No matter how successful a woman’s career is, without the embellishment of marriage, people are always quick to gossip about her. Especially someone like Whitaker Scarlett, who had a strong personality and average looks. People at the company would gossip behind her back, saying she was unattractive, too old, and had standards that were too high. “It would be a miracle if she ever got married!”
Whitaker Scarlett didn’t bother with people commenting on her personal life, but her new assistant had a loose tongue and a slow brain. Thinking Whitaker Scarlett was drunk, she dared to gossip about her boss openly.
In a few days, she’d transfer her and get a new assistant.
When she got home, Aunt Grace, the housekeeper she hired, nagged her about drinking too much and advised her to take better care of herself as a woman.
Whitaker Scarlett threw herself onto her soft bed and immediately fell asleep.
She had a strange dream. In the dream, she became someone else, and the setting was in the 1980s. Some unpleasant things happened in the dream, and, in a fit of anger, she hit her head against a pillar. Whitaker Scarlett found it amusing—she was not the type to commit suicide! Based on her years of starting from scratch and fighting her way up, the problems in the dream were trivial in comparison.
But the dream was so clear.
Whitaker Scarlett could hear the faint sound of a woman crying, the noise making her head throb.
Her quilt felt damp and uncomfortable as if it were soaked in sweat. Struggling to open her eyes, she was startled by a haggard, dark-skinned face!
“Scarlett, you’re awake? You scared your mother to death… sob, sob… Scarlett, does your head still hurt?”
The face was dark and yellow, and the woman had such a frail, thin figure that she looked as if a gust of wind could knock her over.
Whitaker Scarlett thought to herself, *Why am I still not waking up from this dream?!*
The woman’s tears flowed uncontrollably. “Scarlett, promise me you won’t do anything foolish again, okay?”
Whitaker Scarlett nodded absentmindedly. The woman wiped her tears with her sleeve, her grief-stricken face showing a hint of relief.
“Let me make you something to eat. Wait here!”
The woman closed the door behind her. Whitaker Scarlett, enduring a splitting headache, took a good look around the room. The bed was made of dark wood, and every movement caused the straw mattress underneath to rustle noisily. The yellowed mosquito net was rolled up and hooked onto the bedposts on both sides. The faded quilt had four patches stitched on it, and beside the bed, a thin cord dangled, connected to a crude electric light.
Whitaker Scarlett gave the cord a tug, and the light turned on. It was probably less than 15 watts because the room was still dim.
Fighting her headache, she got out of bed. The only decent piece of furniture in the room was a vanity table by the window. In the mirror, she saw a delicate face: a sharp chin, large eyes, and a straight, elegant nose—every feature was beautiful! Her head was still wrapped in a blood-stained white bandage, adding a fragile and pitiful charm.
Whitaker Scarlett gasped sharply. This was what people often referred to as the classic “enchantress” face!
This was definitely not her face!
If Ms. Whitaker had even a third of this beauty, people wouldn’t gossip about her behind her back.
Whitaker Scarlett smiled, and the person in the mirror smiled back. Her eyes sparkled, capable of melting hearts. She then pulled a funny face, but even then, the reflection remained stunning—it refused to look ugly no matter what! This was almost unfair. Scarlett thought back to her original appearance. To call it “plain” was being generous. Without spending a fortune on grooming and styling, she was actually quite unattractive.
Of course, the world didn’t revolve entirely around looks. The higher up the ladder, the more people valued capability.
But she came from humble beginnings and had no external help. The early years of her career were exceptionally hard. While she burned the midnight oil learning professional skills, her prettier colleagues in sales—without any real expertise—could sweet-talk their way into securing deals. Scarlett, on the other hand, couldn’t even get a meeting with a decision-maker.
If she had been just a little more attractive, perhaps she wouldn’t have had to work tirelessly for almost 20 years before finally tasting success.
The house, the car, the savings, the position—everything she had painstakingly built—she hadn’t even enjoyed for long. Yet, after a single night’s sleep, she had somehow become a completely different “Whitaker Scarlett.” Living in the year 1983, freshly turned 18, with an exceptionally beautiful “enchantress” face but a baffling desire to commit suicide by hitting her head on a pillar!
