Hi cousin
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 24
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Angel (now fully Bree Summers) stepped out of the apartment building like he was walking onto a runway in Sydney Fashion Week—except the runway was a cracked sidewalk in Havenridge and the audience was a bunch of normies who didn’t know they were about to meet their new obsession.
He ran his long, perfectly manicured fingers through the flowing pink wig, flipping the dramatic swooping bang out of his face with a theatrical toss. “G’day, world!” he chirped in his flawless, bubbly Aussie accent, loud enough for the entire block to hear. “Bree Summers has landed, darlings, and she is serving body, beach vibes, and zero fucks. You’re welcome.”
He knew Cherri was at the little campus café with her boring nerd friends right now. He hadn’t forced her to quit her stupid physics degree—not yet. Oh no. Angel was far too clever for that. He understood his little shadow perfectly: push too hard and she’d dig her heels in like the stubborn Aussie she used to be. Instead, he’d decided to let her play pretend-student a while longer… while he slowly, sweetly, relentlessly crushed her spirit under the weight of his new god-tier charisma. The more time he spent around her at college, the faster she’d start copying him again—until one day she’d drop the books herself, crawl back on her knees, and beg to be his obedient little shadow once more.
“Brilliant plan,” he muttered to himself, smirking. “Even I have to admit I’m a genius. Someone give me an award. Preferably one made of diamonds and other people’s tears.”
He strutted down the street—hips swaying so hard they could cause whiplash—platform sandals clicking like gunshots. Every head turned. Phones came out. A guy walking his dog actually dropped the leash and just stared. Angel preened, soaking up the attention like it was oxygen.
The café door was painfully normal-sized. Angel had to bend almost double to squeeze through, massive pecs and shoulders scraping the frame. The entire place went dead silent the second he straightened up inside.
Every conversation died. Forks froze mid-air. A barista dropped a tray of lattes with a crash.
Angel struck a pose—hand on hip, chest thrust forward so his fake (but very convincing) breasts strained the tiny pink crop top, long pink hair cascading dramatically.
“G’day, everyone!” he announced in a loud, cheerful Australian singsong that somehow still carried his signature smug Brooklyn undertone. “Bree Summers, just flew in from Bondi! Don’t mind me, I’m only here to make your day significantly better. You’re welcome in advance!”
He waited.
No one laughed.
Angel’s smile didn’t waver, but his inner monologue screamed. Laugh, you peasants. Laugh at my brilliance or I’ll make you.
He spotted Cherri at a corner table with three friends—books open, laptops glowing, all of them looking like they’d been hit by a glitter bomb. They hadn’t seen him yet.
Perfect.
He sashayed forward—hips swinging so wide he hip-checked a guy at the next table, sending him stumbling into his chair with a yelp.
“Oopsie!” Angel trilled without looking back. “Watch the merchandise, darling. These hips are registered weapons in three countries.”
Cherri’s friends noticed first. Their mouths fell open in perfect synchronization.
One whispered, “Holy shit, is that a model?”
Another dropped her phone.
Cherri turned around, confused—then her eyes locked onto the towering, pink-haired, muscle-bound beach goddess strutting straight at her.
Angel didn’t give her time to process.
He squealed in the highest, girliest voice he could manage and launched himself forward, wrapping Cherri in a crushing hug that lifted her clean off the ground.
“Cousin Scarlett! Oh my god, look at you! You’re even tinier in person! I missed you so much, you absolute legend!”
Cherri froze for half a second—then caught the tiny, wicked wink Angel gave her over her shoulder.
Her face split into a mischievous grin. She hugged back just as enthusiastically, switching into a thick Australian accent without missing a beat.
“Bree! You sneaky bitch! You didn’t even text me you were coming! Mum said you were still in Sydney!”
Angel spun her around once—laughing loud enough for the whole café to hear—then set her down and immediately launched into full performance mode.
“I know, I know! Spontaneous trip! Thought I’d surprise my favorite cousin and maybe steal a few American hearts while I’m here. Oi, who are these legends?” He turned to her stunned friends with a dazzling smile, batting lashes so long they cast shadows. “I’m Bree Summers—Cherri’s cousin from Bondi. Surfer, professional beach babe, and professional pain in the arse. Nice to meet ya!”
He extended a hand like he was royalty granting an audience. The friends shook it in dazed silence.
Angel didn’t wait for them to recover. He launched into a loud, theatrical monologue about “the sick waves back home,” “how Americans don’t know how to barbecue properly,” and “how he’d totally teach them all how to surf if they begged nicely.” Every sentence was delivered with unbearable smugness, expecting laughter at every punchline—even the ones that weren’t funny.
“And get this—” he continued, gesturing wildly so his fake breasts bounced for emphasis, “—I told the flight attendant I needed extra legroom and she looked at me like I was joking! Darling, these legs go on for days! I could’ve used the entire aisle as a catwalk!”
He waited.
One friend gave a nervous chuckle. Angel beamed as if she’d just given him a standing ovation.
“See? She gets it. Smart girl.”
Cherri played along flawlessly—laughing at every joke, feeding him lines, matching his energy. The longer he talked, the more she started slipping into the same theatrical, sassy cadence—mirroring his arrogance without even realizing it.
Angel’s inner smirk grew wider.
That’s my girl. Come back to me, Shadow. The old obedient Cherri is almost here.
He was having the time of his life.
Option 1: They stay in the cafe, Angel's behavior causes trouble.
Option 2: They go to the beach, Angel's behavior causes trouble there.
He ran his long, perfectly manicured fingers through the flowing pink wig, flipping the dramatic swooping bang out of his face with a theatrical toss. “G’day, world!” he chirped in his flawless, bubbly Aussie accent, loud enough for the entire block to hear. “Bree Summers has landed, darlings, and she is serving body, beach vibes, and zero fucks. You’re welcome.”
He knew Cherri was at the little campus café with her boring nerd friends right now. He hadn’t forced her to quit her stupid physics degree—not yet. Oh no. Angel was far too clever for that. He understood his little shadow perfectly: push too hard and she’d dig her heels in like the stubborn Aussie she used to be. Instead, he’d decided to let her play pretend-student a while longer… while he slowly, sweetly, relentlessly crushed her spirit under the weight of his new god-tier charisma. The more time he spent around her at college, the faster she’d start copying him again—until one day she’d drop the books herself, crawl back on her knees, and beg to be his obedient little shadow once more.
“Brilliant plan,” he muttered to himself, smirking. “Even I have to admit I’m a genius. Someone give me an award. Preferably one made of diamonds and other people’s tears.”
He strutted down the street—hips swaying so hard they could cause whiplash—platform sandals clicking like gunshots. Every head turned. Phones came out. A guy walking his dog actually dropped the leash and just stared. Angel preened, soaking up the attention like it was oxygen.
The café door was painfully normal-sized. Angel had to bend almost double to squeeze through, massive pecs and shoulders scraping the frame. The entire place went dead silent the second he straightened up inside.
Every conversation died. Forks froze mid-air. A barista dropped a tray of lattes with a crash.
Angel struck a pose—hand on hip, chest thrust forward so his fake (but very convincing) breasts strained the tiny pink crop top, long pink hair cascading dramatically.
“G’day, everyone!” he announced in a loud, cheerful Australian singsong that somehow still carried his signature smug Brooklyn undertone. “Bree Summers, just flew in from Bondi! Don’t mind me, I’m only here to make your day significantly better. You’re welcome in advance!”
He waited.
No one laughed.
Angel’s smile didn’t waver, but his inner monologue screamed. Laugh, you peasants. Laugh at my brilliance or I’ll make you.
He spotted Cherri at a corner table with three friends—books open, laptops glowing, all of them looking like they’d been hit by a glitter bomb. They hadn’t seen him yet.
Perfect.
He sashayed forward—hips swinging so wide he hip-checked a guy at the next table, sending him stumbling into his chair with a yelp.
“Oopsie!” Angel trilled without looking back. “Watch the merchandise, darling. These hips are registered weapons in three countries.”
Cherri’s friends noticed first. Their mouths fell open in perfect synchronization.
One whispered, “Holy shit, is that a model?”
Another dropped her phone.
Cherri turned around, confused—then her eyes locked onto the towering, pink-haired, muscle-bound beach goddess strutting straight at her.
Angel didn’t give her time to process.
He squealed in the highest, girliest voice he could manage and launched himself forward, wrapping Cherri in a crushing hug that lifted her clean off the ground.
“Cousin Scarlett! Oh my god, look at you! You’re even tinier in person! I missed you so much, you absolute legend!”
Cherri froze for half a second—then caught the tiny, wicked wink Angel gave her over her shoulder.
Her face split into a mischievous grin. She hugged back just as enthusiastically, switching into a thick Australian accent without missing a beat.
“Bree! You sneaky bitch! You didn’t even text me you were coming! Mum said you were still in Sydney!”
Angel spun her around once—laughing loud enough for the whole café to hear—then set her down and immediately launched into full performance mode.
“I know, I know! Spontaneous trip! Thought I’d surprise my favorite cousin and maybe steal a few American hearts while I’m here. Oi, who are these legends?” He turned to her stunned friends with a dazzling smile, batting lashes so long they cast shadows. “I’m Bree Summers—Cherri’s cousin from Bondi. Surfer, professional beach babe, and professional pain in the arse. Nice to meet ya!”
He extended a hand like he was royalty granting an audience. The friends shook it in dazed silence.
Angel didn’t wait for them to recover. He launched into a loud, theatrical monologue about “the sick waves back home,” “how Americans don’t know how to barbecue properly,” and “how he’d totally teach them all how to surf if they begged nicely.” Every sentence was delivered with unbearable smugness, expecting laughter at every punchline—even the ones that weren’t funny.
“And get this—” he continued, gesturing wildly so his fake breasts bounced for emphasis, “—I told the flight attendant I needed extra legroom and she looked at me like I was joking! Darling, these legs go on for days! I could’ve used the entire aisle as a catwalk!”
He waited.
One friend gave a nervous chuckle. Angel beamed as if she’d just given him a standing ovation.
“See? She gets it. Smart girl.”
Cherri played along flawlessly—laughing at every joke, feeding him lines, matching his energy. The longer he talked, the more she started slipping into the same theatrical, sassy cadence—mirroring his arrogance without even realizing it.
Angel’s inner smirk grew wider.
That’s my girl. Come back to me, Shadow. The old obedient Cherri is almost here.
He was having the time of his life.
Option 1: They stay in the cafe, Angel's behavior causes trouble.
Option 2: They go to the beach, Angel's behavior causes trouble there.
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June 13
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