Switched Lives

In my previous life, my teammate joined a renowned director's crew, while I got stuck with a ragtag team of rookie filmmakers.

She locked herself away for three years, filming day and night, only to end up with a mere ten-second scene.

Three years wasted, her popularity faded, and she became her agent's secret mistress.

Meanwhile, I landed a perfect role, skyrocketing to fame and fortune overnight with tens of millions of fans.

Later, consumed by jealousy, she tricked me into going to the dorm, set the place on fire, and perished with me.

This time, she grabbed the rookie director's hand and said, "Frank, I'm looking forward to our collaboration. Together, we'll make waves!"

But she had no idea what price she'd pay for the fame she chased.

1

"Both of you need to think carefully about which director you'll choose." The agent's hushed reminder echoed in my ears from before we entered.

In the quiet meeting room, my teammate and I stood, reliving that fateful day.

It seemed like a choice for both of us, but my teammate had already gotten the agent's instructions.

Today was all about setting her up with Colten.

Colten, a veteran filmmaker with a stellar reputation, was a resource the agent had pulled strings to secure.

I stood to the side, silently awaiting the same outcome as my past life.

The old man in a sharp suit sat before us, his piercing gaze flicking between us, fingers lightly tapping the table.

His critical eyes sized us up.

I knew my teammate would pick him.

Suddenly, she shoved me aside and rushed to someone by the door. "Frank, I'm looking forward to our collaboration! Together, we'll make waves!"

The agent's face fell, and he yanked her aside, whispering harshly, "Are you out of your mind? This is the film deal I worked so hard to get you, and you pick that broke director?"

Frank looked up, stunned, disbelief written all over his face.

He was a rookie director with no notable work and barely any funding.

He'd come today hoping for a long shot, never expecting someone to ditch a big name like Colten for him.

My teammate just smiled smugly, glancing at me.

Her expression threw me off.

In my past life, she chose Colten.

Could it be?

Had she been reborn too?

2

In her last life, Isabella picked Colten.

She thought she'd get her big break in his film, breaking into the movie industry.

Even as a minor fourth lead, it was a prestigious debut for a newcomer.

Colten was a legend, known for crafting iconic roles.

His films were critical and commercial hits, sweeping awards and opening doors in the industry.

With his connections, getting in with him meant smooth sailing in the film world.

But Colten was notoriously strict, often taking years to perfect a single project.

For six months, he had Isabella up at dawn for vocal training and practicing martial arts in the afternoons.

Exhausted and drained, she begged the agent to let her break the contract.

The agent refused, but Colten caught wind of it, growing annoyed at her lack of grit.

Her half-hearted effort led to countless retakes, and her final scene was a measly ten seconds, barely more than a corpse on the ground.

Three years down the drain, she had no exposure, and the industry moved on without her.

Her agency gave up on her, and the agent took advantage, pushing her into an affair.

When the wife found out, she publicly humiliated Isabella, stripping her down and beating her, ruining her reputation.

Meanwhile, I stumbled into a great script with a fantastic character.

The director, refusing to let investors meddle, crafted a tight, high-quality story.

Though the budget was tight, every penny went into costumes, props, and sets.

Filming wrapped in just six months.

The day Isabella finished her shoot, my drama aired, blowing up overnight.

A group of unknown actors delivered a blockbuster that returned dozens of times its investment.

As the lead, I shot to stardom, gaining countless fans and jumping from a nobody to a top-tier celebrity.

The industry buzzed with my name, Jenessa, as directors and producers took notice.

Endorsements poured in, and I was decked out in luxury brands, my popularity soaring.

Crowds mobbed me wherever I went, and former teammates fawned over me.

My ads plastered major commercial hubs.

I topped every popularity poll, sweeping awards for best newcomer and fan favorite.

My influence even forced platforms to rethink their voting rules.

At fashion shows, CEOs personally escorted me, and during shoots, studio heads visited the set.

Even the agent who'd once suppressed me ditched Isabella to work for me.

She watched him betray her, saw me draped in designer clothes while she scraped by.

Unable to handle the gap, she got me drunk on Christmas, lured me to the company dorm, and set it ablaze while I slept, taking the whole building down with us.

This time, she jumped at Frank.

Sure, he was a rookie, but it meant no grueling training or enduring Colten's perfectionism.

In just six months, she could shoot to fame and have it all.

She smirked at me, mouthing silently, "Jenessa, this time, the fame, the money, the fans-they're all mine. And you? You'll taste the pain of slaving for three years only to come up empty."

3

I joined Colten's team, and as expected, his standards were brutal.

His production had deep pockets, unafraid to spend time.

Right off the bat, he demanded three months of training in Blackwood dialect and martial arts.

The film was set in 1990s Blackwood, and even for my small ten-minute role, I trained as intensely as the leads.

I sweated buckets in the training room, practicing vocals in the morning and working with a fight choreographer in the afternoon.

His films used live sound, so everyone needed a flawless Blackwood accent.

As a southerner, my natural accent slowed me down.

The leads grew frustrated, thinking I was holding them back.

To catch up, I trained with instructors during the day and practiced alone at night.

I kept lozenges handy for my sore throat.

But martial arts was my real headache.

Colten demanded realistic fight scenes, with most moves done without stunt doubles.

My role as the male lead's stoic bodyguard came with even higher expectations.

Some crew members, assuming my idol background meant I was all looks and no substance, tripped me up during training-one kicked me today, another slapped me tomorrow.

Colten was too busy to notice, and the agent, visiting once, ignored it, emboldening them.

I often returned to the dorm bruised and battered.

Meanwhile, Isabella's situation couldn't have been more different.

Two months into her shoot, she was already filming.

One day, a leaked set photo went viral, causing a stir.

In it, Isabella stood in a red dress in a forest, gripping a sword, her gaze icy.

Some skeptical book fans changed their tune, saying she stepped right out of the novel.

The photo sparked buzz for the show, and Isabella gained a small following.

Industry insiders had written off this show, but now they were starting to pay attention to where it would be going.

From an unknown idol, she became a rising starlet.

But I knew she was retracing my old path.

In my past life, I poured my heart into that role, studying the source material obsessively, filling notebooks with insights.

I practiced expressions in the mirror, becoming the character.

During a pivotal scene, a paparazzo from a nearby set caught me on camera.

At first, no one noticed me among bigger names, and the footage nearly got scrapped.

A loyal fan spotted me in the corner and bought the clip for a hundred bucks.

That sparked my rise, laying the groundwork for the show's eventual explosion.

This time, Isabella's photo was a staged, polished shot arranged by the agent.

She mimicked my old demeanor, but it felt more like my interpretation than the character's essence.

From a distance, though, it was convincing enough.

4

After three months of grueling training, Colten finally started shooting.

He gave us a half-day off to prepare.

When I arrived on set, my skin got tanned from the training.

I'd just ridden the subway, sweating in the heat, wearing a cheap T-shirt and jeans, looking disheveled.

Isabella, meanwhile, sat in a chic dress, adorned with sponsored jewelry, sipping coffee.

The agent whispered to her about hurrying up, as she'd delayed progress.

Frank stood nearby, visibly annoyed, while the crew looked frustrated but stayed quiet. The whole production relied on rookie actors, with Isabella, a semi-known idol, as their biggest name.

Frank couldn't afford A-listers, and the agent had secured most of the funding.

Isabella ruled like a queen.

When she saw me, her eyes flashed with disdain. "Why are you here?"

I ignored her and turned to the agent. "Jerry, when's my pay coming? It's been three months."

His face soured. "It's just two grand. You're chasing me down for that?"

To them, it was pocket change, but it was my only income.

During training, I'd relied on the crew's meals and lodging to survive.

I glanced at my account, down to a few bucks, and took a deep breath. "Jerry, the company has money. I checked with accounting-you're the one holding it back."

Isabella scoffed. "Look at you, Jenessa, throwing a fit in front of Jerry. Think you're gonna soar with Colten's movie? Look at you, all grubby. Who knows if your scenes will even make it? Don't waste your time."

The agent's expression darkened. "Jenessa, you're a celebrity. Making a scene over two grand is embarrassing. Go back. I'll send it tomorrow."

Isabella stood. "Jerry, I'm tired today. No shooting. Let's go."

She glanced at me dismissively and left.

I looked at Frank, fuming but helpless.

Who'd have thought Isabella was this foolish, squandering her second chance?

5

While I filmed, Isabella became an airport regular.

In my past life, my leaked photo gave me some recognition.

A few fan groups started showing up at airports, snapping photos that unexpectedly went viral, boosting my popularity.

I even landed a decent endorsement.

Now, to mimic my path, Isabella hired photographers for airport shots.

She appeared constantly, her photos flooding the internet.

In them, she looked aloof, untouchable, like a serene queen.

Hundreds of fans surrounded her with flowers and applause.

Brands began betting on her, waiting for her show to air and make her a star.

She stayed busy, shooting magazine spreads one day, filming commercials the next.

Meanwhile, I was content with my life.

Three months of intense training made my Blackwood accent sharper than anyone's.

My fight moves were precise, far from a frail facade.

The crew, seeing my relentless work ethic, started to respect me, realizing I wasn't just a spoiled idol.

I made friends-everyone in Colten's cast was a skilled actor.

Learning from them was invaluable, worth more than any popularity.

Colten approved of my work, mentoring me despite my obscurity.

He added scenes to my role, turning my ten-minute part into a half-hour arc that spanned the film.

My character, now a quarter of the movie, had a tragic, memorable ending, poised to become my signature role.

In my past life, people only saw my later glamour.

They didn't know my drama was adapted from a novel with a vast world and a huge fanbase.

The fantasy genre was tough to film, with many scenes altered.

Big-budget adaptations often flopped, mocked by audiences and trashed by book fans.

A no-name cast and director seemed doomed to fail.

Book fans wanted a seasoned actor, not a nobody idol like me, and protested my casting.

Some extremists sent dead rats and blades to scare me off.

But for me, it was my best shot.

Bullied by the agent for years, I had to take the risk as I aged out.

I avoided strange food and packages, never drinking water I hadn't watched.

The pressure kept me up at night.

Now, I had stability.

6

Days passed, and I kept grinding in the studio.

With more scenes, Colten's demands grew stricter.

Lacking formal training, I relied on instincts from my past life.

Movies demanded more nuance than TV series-every expression on the big screen had to be flawless.

A simple glance could take a whole day to shoot.

I returned to the dorm exhausted, collapsing into bed.

Compared to my past life, this pressure from acting felt like a blessing.

Harder were the external disruptions.

I hadn't earned a dime in six months, eating all meals on set.

The agent, cozying up to Isabella, never sent the promised pay and canceled a rare modeling gig, claiming it was for my focus.

I'd been scraping by on two grand a month, and now even that was gone.

Too broke to socialize, I stayed in.

But despite the hardship, I didn't mind.

It was leaps better than before.

In my past life, I ate instant noodles and buns to save money, neglecting my health and figure.

The grueling shoot left me gaunt, far from glamorous.

Now, I enjoyed the crew's high-quality meals, designed by nutritionists for fitness.

Despite the long days, my body was toned, my face vibrant.

Before, my old crew was cutthroat, resenting me as a rookie lead.

They sabotaged me, and the agent ignored it.

The crew was full of veterans who enjoyed mentoring newcomers.

They warmed to me after seeing my effort, guiding me into character during scenes and chatting with me during breaks.

In my past life, that drama forced me to be cautious of every bite or drink from others, avoiding anything unfamiliar.

Now, working on a high-profile film under a renowned director, the project drew attention and praise before release, with no one daring to stir trouble.

While I poured my heart into filming, Isabella kept busy elsewhere.

When others trained, she shot magazine ads. When they rehearsed lines, she posed at airports.

Her delays piled up, forcing the crew to cram work into overtime.

But her lack of focus on the role left her performances flat.

The set grew tense, and Frank's frustration showed.

At her next airport appearance, heavy dark circles and a sour expression betrayed her.

When fans asked with concern, she snapped, unable to hide her irritation.

The next day, "Isabella Plays Diva" trended online.

Netizens mocked, "No star status, but all the attitude."

Insiders revealed she hired people to stage airport photos, changing outfits and leaving without boarding.

Book fans grumbled that her leaked set photo was an obvious setup, too polished to be candid, but her aggressive marketing had drowned out doubts at the time.

Her image crumbled, becoming a laughingstock.

She mimicked my old airport photos, forgetting they were for work, not fame, and my viral moments were happy accidents.

If I had a choice, I'd have preserved an actor's mystique.

7

Isabella saw my success and Colten's favoritism, a sharp contrast to her past life.

She convinced the agent to pitch cutting all my scenes and giving her my role.

The agent's exact words were, "Jenessa has no fame and brings nothing to the film. But Isabella's got a following. She'd do just as well as the third lead."

He said this with me standing right behind Colten.

When Colten stayed silent, the agent pressed on. "We'll fund the production if you let Isabella take it. I'll handle the company."

Isabella smirked, glancing at me with disdain.

Colten's voice cut through. "Get out!"

Both froze, stunned by his reaction.

"Fame? More like infamy. Done messing with Frank, now you want to mess with me? The industry's small. You think I don't hear about your nonsense?" Colten, a respected figure, held nothing back. "Fund the film? I've got more money than I need. Your petty cash doesn't impress me."

The agent's face flushed, speechless.

He shot me a glare and stormed off with Isabella.

The next day, "Jenessa Resource Hog" trended.

Gossip accounts spun tales, claiming I was a mere extra who somehow got my role expanded from ten minutes to an hour, even leaking a call sheet.

Overnight, my name was infamous.

The female lead's fans raged, calling me a leech riding their star's coattails.

My social media, once a few thousand followers, ballooned to tens of thousands, flooded with hate.

A hashtag, "Jenessa Quit Showbiz," emerged.

Netizens speculated Colten's legacy was doomed.

Some joked, "Did Jenessa save Colten's life or something?"

Amid the uproar, Isabella went live.

Dressed in a white skirt, she teared up, playing the fragile victim. "Jenessa's not like that. She can be short-tempered, but she'd never buy her way into a role. Colten's too upright to cast someone like that as a lead. Don't misunderstand Jenessa or Colten."

As she spoke, she subtly raised her arm, revealing bruises.

Then, as if startled, she quickly ended the stream.

I watched coldly. Her words seemed to defend me, but every sentence dug my grave deeper, dragging Colten down too.

Sure enough, "Jenessa Bullying" shot to the top of trending.

The image was her bruised arm.

My already shaky reputation plummeted.

Investors pressured Colten to drop me.

Staring at the toxic comments, I stayed calm.

7

The next day, I went live, and thanks to Isabella, hundreds of thousands flooded in within ten minutes.

As expected, the chat screamed for me to quit.

I looked at the barrage calmly. "I know there've been rumors about me. But before jumping to conclusions, I hope people can think rationally."

I raised my arm, showing bruises identical to Isabella's.

The chat filled with question marks.

I stayed silent.

Then I grabbed makeup remover and wiped my arm.

The cotton pad came away clean, no marks left.

Isabella's fans weren't convinced, hammering their keyboards.

"So you're saying Isabella faked it too?"

"Just because you're shady doesn't mean she is."

I said nothing, playing a video.

It was surveillance from the previous night.

In it, Isabella, in a pink dress, strutted through the makeup room, barking at the artist for failing to capture her beauty.

Her haughty demeanor clashed with her usual delicate image.

Her sleeveless dress revealed smooth, unblemished arms.

Thanks to her arrogance, the makeup artist sold me the footage for five hundred bucks.

The chat froze, then exploded.

"Holy crap, she's like that?"

"Fan turned passerby. Schemer."

Amid Isabella's fans' wails, skeptics chimed in. "Even if the bullying's fake, how do you explain your extra scenes?"

These were Colten's movie fans, caring only about talent.

Right then, the film's official account dropped a teaser clip.

The caption read, "Every hard worker deserves to be seen."

It showed the male lead meeting the female lead.

In the clip, I wore black, moving with grace, my face stern, my fight moves sharp.

I swiftly saved the female lead from thugs.

The female lead reposted, "With Jenessa around, I feel so safe!"

Colten posted, "If changes make the story richer, I see no reason not to make them."

My six months of effort paid off. The chat flipped.

"Wow, she's a amazing!"

"Can't wait! Release it tomorrow!"

Amid the praise, some netizens fumed.

Just one teaser shifted the tide, outshining Isabella.

Industry insiders raved, "Colten's got an eye for talent. He's found another gem."

That day, Isabella and I swapped reputations overnight.

I gained fans by fluke.

Her social media drowned in hate.

"Manipulator, having fun?"

"Framing Jenessa? You're the real schemer."

Her hard-won goodwill from the leaked photo vanished, and she was branded a scheming diva.

Knowing her, I expected retaliation.

But oddly, she stayed quiet, making me wary.

8

The film wrapped six months early, and I excitedly shared the news with my fans.