Drama Reversal: After Rebirth, The Ex Begs for Mercy

After I’d hit rock bottom, I decided to take a break from everything and just travel. I pulled out of the national painting competition, figuring it wasn’t worth it anymore. Funny enough, someone else seemed more upset than I was.

My boyfriend’s so-called dream girl suddenly started blowing up my phone, begging me to get back into painting. But by then, I was already halfway across the world, snorkeling in crystal-clear waters and enjoying life for the first time in ages.

In my past life, I had poured my heart and soul into my work, only to be accused of plagiarism. The Internet was flooded with "proof," and I became the target of brutal online harassment. No matter how much I tried to explain, it didn’t matter.

The insults turned into full-on personal attacks and soon, things got even worse. A group of extreme netizens took it to the next level and threw Molotov cocktails at my house. My parents were trapped inside and didn’t make it out. I spiraled into depression after that and when it got to be too much, I ended it all by cutting my wrists in a cold, lonely bathtub.

But when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t dead. I was somehow back in time—exactly one week before the competition.

***

When I opened my eyes again, I realized I had been reborn.

"This time, you’ll definitely take first place again!" a familiar voice echoed around me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I bolted upright, recognizing those exact words. I could never forget them. Hearing it now sent a chill down my spine. Being too confident had cost me dearly in my previous life. My palms started to sweat as I quickly glanced at the date on my phone. Yup, right on schedule.

Everyone around me was looking at me with admiration, some even giving me thumbs-up as if I was a guaranteed winner.

"You really are Annart, the online sensation! With you on the team, we’re sure to win glory for the school. Your piece is going to dominate the national competition, no doubt about it. I can’t wait to see it!"

Annart was my pen name. A few classmates who knew me well were aware of it, but even strangers had heard about my work by now. I had posted tons of illustrations online and they had gotten pretty popular. I was getting commercial commissions left and right and an editor had even reached out to me. In just a few months, I was supposed to publish my very first picture book, a dream I’d always chased.

I was still lost in thought, wondering if everything was destined to repeat, when someone tapped my shoulder. Startled, I turned to find my teacher standing behind me, her face beaming with pride and relief.

"I believe in you for this competition. Your work is exceptional. For you, this is going to be an outstanding performance," my teacher said confidently, her hands resting on my shoulders. "This time, I’m counting on you to take first place!"

But the weight of her hands made my heart sink, as if something heavy had been placed on my chest. A sharp pang of guilt and dread coursed through me. In my previous life, I hadn’t won anything. I didn’t just fail to meet their expectations—I was forced to withdraw. The entire internet exploded with accusations of plagiarism. My account was bombarded with hateful messages, tearing me apart with every notification.

Worse yet, the people who tried to support me—my teacher, my classmates—became targets of brutal cyberbullying, too. When the so-called "evidence" of my plagiarism came out, things only got worse. My teacher was dragged into the mess and criticized so viciously that she ended up resigning.

The memory of it all sent a wave of cold dread through me, making my limbs stiff. Those hateful words were still fresh in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

[Copycat! You've been stealing for years!]

[You got famous by leeching off others. You might as well drop dead.]

[Even if you sold your body, no one would want you, you ugly fraud. Your real identity's been exposed and karma's coming for you!]

Each insult replayed in my head, filled with malice and it made me sick to think that it could all happen again.

[You’ve been exposed for plagiarism and now the day has finally come. How does it feel? Are you ready to beg for forgiveness? Haha, don’t bother. It’s way too late for that.]

[You’re nothing but trash and anyone associated with you is just as rotten.]

My breathing quickened and I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me in the moment.

The pain helped me focus, pushing back the panic and reminding me of someone I couldn’t forget—Caleb Edkins, my boyfriend. He used to talk endlessly about his precious “sister.” They weren’t actually related, but they were inseparable. Lisa Delfin. Her name was always on his lips, like she could do no wrong. Her mother was a renowned artist, her father a respected professor. Lisa was the pride of our school—the girl with the perfect life and a pedigree to match. No one else had a future as bright as hers.

In any normal situation, someone like Lisa and someone like me wouldn’t have crossed paths. But in my past life, she was the one who brought forward all the “proof” that I had plagiarized her work. She was the one who turned me into the villain of the story, exposing me for something I hadn’t done and ruining my life in the process.

The worst part? I knew the work in question was mine—every line, every detail. I had drawn those pieces by hand, staying up late for weeks, tweaking and perfecting them in front of my computer. How could they claim I stole my own creations?

I went through the so-called “evidence” again and again, trying to make sense of it, but it didn’t add up. It was too perfect. Her work was a carbon copy of mine, down to the smallest strokes and concepts. The timestamps, the ideas—everything was identical. Except for a few minor differences, like color and a couple of details, she had even completed some of the designs before I had. I was floored. How could this even be possible?

It felt like I was stuck in a nightmare, reliving the betrayal that had shattered everything I worked for.

How could this be possible? Someone had finished my painting before I even had a chance to complete it myself. My face went pale as I faced the undeniable “evidence.” It was baffling—how had my work ended up in someone else’s possession?

I scanned the evidence, feeling a surge of panic. Published or not, it seemed like everything I had ever worked on had been duplicated. My heart raced and I looked at the half-finished painting on my screen with a growing sense of dread. With trembling hands, I clicked the delete button, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. I glanced around my room, feeling a sudden wave of insecurity and isolation and shut down the computer, desperate to escape the suffocating fear.

The realization hit me hard: if my work could be so easily copied, I needed to change my approach. I had to reinvent my style, alter my expression and create something entirely new. There could be no room for mistakes this time around.

I resolved to start over, to build something that would be unmistakably my own and free from the threat of theft. This time, I’d ensure that my art was truly original and protected from anyone who might try to take it.