The Curvy Comeback

Chapter 2

ASHLEY’S POV

That night, sleep was impossible. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. My heart was still pounding from the confrontation in class. The laughter, the shredded pieces of that ridiculous love letter, the look on Jack’s face when I threw it in his smug grin—it all replayed in my mind. But underneath the adrenaline, there was something heavier. Something deeper.

I’ve been given another chance.

My second life had begun.

I sat up, clutching my knees against my chest. Memories poured in. They were vivid and painful, as though someone had carved them into my soul with a hot knife.

I remembered everything—the cold, white sheets of the hospital bed. The doctor’s voice after my accident as he said those words: “You have metabolic syndrome… your body can’t handle stress or strain anymore.”

The doctor had added something else, too: “This is the result of years of unhealthy eating. Why did you wait so long to get checked?” And me? I had defended David like a fool. “No way—my diet has always been carefully managed…” My cheeks burned with shame just remembering it. How I had believed him. How I had let his false kindness blind me. I regretted everything now. The regret I felt turned into anger. My anger was so hot that I could barely breathe.

It had been only after waking from that coma in my last life that I discovered how sick I really was. And by then, it was too late.

I dragged my drawer open with trembling fingers. My schoolbag was inside, the one I hadn’t touched since morning. I looked through until I found the sealed envelope—the results from my recent school physical. I tore it open.

“Everything normal,” it read. My heart rate was stable. Blood sugar, cholesterol, hormones—perfect.

I stared at the words. Lies.

I remembered the constant fatigue, the unexplained headaches, the way my body had felt heavy and wrong in my last life. The doctors had shown me the real results then—my metabolism had been wrecked long before the coma.

I closed my eyes, feeling the bile rising in my throat. David.

Of course, it was him. The family butler who “cared” for me like a doting uncle, who spoon-fed me creamy stews and sugary desserts, insisting, “Eat more, Miss Ashley, it’s for your health.”

He had falsified this report too. He covered his tracks and made sure I stayed weak, unhealthy, and dependent.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. I forced myself to breathe deeply.

“This time,” I whispered into the darkness, “I’ll fix my body first. Before I do anything else, I’ll take back what you stole from me, David.”

As if summoned by my rage, there came a knock at the door.

“Miss Ashley,” David’s smooth gentle voice called, “you must be hungry by now. I’ve brought you something.”

I wiped my face quickly, composing myself. “Come in,” I answered softly.

The door opened and in walked David. He had a silver tray balanced perfectly in his hands. On it was a steaming plate of creamy pasta. The smell of butter, cheese, and cream filled the room instantly. My stomach clenched.

He smiled, setting it down on my desk. “You didn’t eat much at dinner. You need to keep up your strength, my dear. I’ll bring you some cake later if you’d like.”

I forced a grateful smile, tilting my head like the naive girl I used to be. “Thank you, David. You always take such good care of me.”

His eyes softened in satisfaction, and he bowed slightly. “Rest well, Miss Ashley.”

The moment the door clicked shut, my smile vanished. I stood, lifted the plate, and dumped the entire thing straight into the trash.

The smell turned my stomach now, not because of the richness, but because I could see it for what it was: poison wrapped in comfort.

My hands gripped the desk. No more.

—

The next morning, David served me a breakfast spread of pancakes dripping with syrup, sausages, and a glass of chocolate milk.

“Eat, Miss Ashley,” he said warmly.

I picked up my fork, twirled it lazily, then set it down with a weak smile. “I don’t have much of an appetite today. Maybe later.”

His eyes narrowed but he covered it with a chuckle. “Nonsense. You mustn’t skip meals.”

“Really,” I said firmly this time, sliding the plate away. “I’ll be fine.”

For a second, I saw something cold in his gaze, before his mask slipped back on. “Very well,” he said smoothly, taking the tray.

The moment he left, I pulled out my phone. My hands shook as I typed, but not from fear—this time, from determination.

I searched for private nutritionists in the city, the kind who didn’t care about discretion as long as they were paid well. Within an hour, I had an appointment booked.

That afternoon, I sat in a quiet café booth, disguised in a plain hoodie. Across from me sat Dr. Elaine Carter, a nutritionist in her thirties.

She tapped her pen against a notepad. “So, Miss Ashley, tell me what your goal is.”

I took a deep breath. “I want to be healthy. I want to fix my metabolism. And I want to… lose weight. It’s not just for looks. I need my strength back. I can’t let anyone control my body again.”

She nodded. “That’s a strong reason. Do you know how rare it is for someone your age to be this self-aware?”

I let out a bitter laugh. If only you knew.

“I’m ready to work hard,” I said instead. “Whatever it takes. But it has to be secret. No one can know, especially not my family staff.”

She leaned forward. “Alright. Then here’s what we’ll do. I’ll design a scientific meal plan for you. Balanced, nourishing, but controlled. No more processed sugars, no more heavy creams. Lots of lean protein, whole grains, and vegetables. We’ll also add supplements to support your metabolism. And exercise.”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes. Exercise. I can do that.”

She smiled. “You’re serious. I like that. I’ll also recommend a personal trainer I trust, someone who’ll train you privately. But remember, it’s going to hurt at first. Are you sure you can handle it?”

I clenched my fists under the table. My reflection in the café window mocked me—the round face, the double chin, the fat body that had once been the source of so much ridicule. But behind it, I saw flashes of Jack’s sneer. Kathy’s laughter. David’s false kindness.

“I can handle anything,” I said quietly. “Because I have no choice.”

—

That night, back in my room, I stood in front of the mirror. My plump reflection stared back. For a moment, I felt ashamed of myself.

I touched the glass. I was disgusted by my round face. “This isn’t me. Not anymore.”

My nails dug into my palm.

“Jack. Kathy. David. Every single one of you will pay.”

I couldn't help but think of that man...the man who saved me. The incredibly gorgeous guy with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair. I would never forget him.

And then, softer, I spoke: “I don’t know why you saved me. I don’t know why you cared. But this time, I’ll find out. And I’ll repay you—even if it’s the last thing I do.”

My reflection blurred as tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t cry. Not this time. I just squared my shoulders, took one last look, and turned away.

The war had begun.