I faked a yawn. Told them I was wiped, wanted to call it a night.
Clara started to whine, but Clementine cut her off with a single look, then smiled and signed to me,
"If you're tired, get some rest."
Then she pulled Clara out of the room.
I didn't sleep at all that night.
Geoffrey's outline was identical to mine. If someone had leaked it, the only people who'd ever been in my study were Clementine and Clara. It had to be them.
I couldn't figure out why they'd do it.
My own sister—blood family. Clara—the girl I'd grown up next to since we were kids. And all of that counted for less than six months of knowing Geoffrey Harrington?
After a full night of thinking, I made a bold decision.
In my previous life, my contest entry had been fantasy, the genre I was best at.
It won first place, but it was old wine in a new bottle. Nothing groundbreaking.
This time, I'd write a mystery.
If my last life ended with plagiarism accusations, then I'd write something entirely new.
Win or lose, at the very least I'd shake the plagiarism label off my back. That was enough.
I went to the library study room, where I could look up reference material and rebuild the novel from scratch.
Halfway through, I stretched and decided to take a short break.
I was curious what Geoffrey was up to.
While my mind wandered, Clementine and Clara showed up.
I was puzzled. How did they even know I was here?
A second later, Clementine set a steaming lunch box on my desk and signed,
"You know you'll forget to eat once you start writing. So I brought you something."
Clara held out a thermos.
"Chicken soup. Simmered it all afternoon, just for you."
All that warmth, all that fussing. If I hadn't already lived through what comes next—if I hadn't seen exactly who they really were—I never would have believed these two were the ones feeding me to the wolves.
I forced a smile.
"Perfect timing. I was just getting hungry."
"Let me wash my hands first, then I'll dig in."
I grabbed my phone and left the library.
I never went to the restroom. I ducked around the corner and held still. Through the gap in the doorway—there it was. The second Clara thought I was gone, her phone was out, aimed straight at my outline on the desk. Click.
I'd braced myself for it. Told myself I already knew. But watching her hands move, watching the screen flash—something still cracked open in my chest that I couldn't quite swallow back down.
Huh. My dear sister. My precious childhood sweetheart.
I got back to the dorm at ten-thirty.
The second I walked in, my roommates were talking about Geoffrey.
I leaned over for a look. It was a photo.
Three hands raising cans of Coke in a toast.
Caption: *Fed and taken care of by the big sisters~*
I recognized Clementine's hand and Clara's hand immediately.
When did they get that close? I'd had no idea.
I didn't feel much of anything anymore.
I made up my mind on the spot: I wouldn't go home until the contest was over. If they couldn't even find me, they'd have nothing left to feed Geoffrey.
I could finally write in peace.
At last, just before the deadline, I finished the novel.
All I had to do now was submit the file.
I exhaled, long and slow—and Geoffrey's social media account updated.
*My contest entry is officially submitted! Thanks, everyone, for the support these past few weeks.*
Attached was a screenshot of the document. Most of it was blurred out.
But I recognized the first few lines.
Word for word. Every single word identical to the novel I'd just finished.
And the timestamp on his post was ten minutes *before* I'd even completed mine.
I lost it. I was clawing at my scalp, going in circles, and none of it made sense.
I'd already cut myself off from Clementine and Clara.
No matter how many times they tried to reach me during that stretch, I never went back.
So how the hell was Geoffrey Harrington still getting every detail of my contest submission?
Part of me just wanted to lie down and rot. Let it all burn.
That was when a notification popped up on my phone.
The state lottery ticket I'd bought two days ago had hit. Eighty million dollars.
I almost jumped off my feet.
My family had never had money. I'd been paying my college tuition with manuscript fees and student loans.
The only reason I'd entered this contest in the first place was for the three-hundred-thousand-dollar prize.
Now that I had money, the contest result didn't matter anymore.
And just like that, a plan hit me—a way to make Geoffrey Harrington, that shameless habitual thief, pay the price.
I didn't tell a soul about the win.
Instead, I revised my contest submission and uploaded it.
Geoffrey liked to copy?
Then I'd give him something to copy.
The second the contest closed, Geoffrey rushed to go live, bragging about his contest experience.
Comments flooded the chat:
"Bro you're way too confident lol, top three for sure right??"
Geoffrey hadn't even opened his mouth before Clara jumped into the comments:
"Top three?? Geoff's getting first, obviously. Not even a question!"
The chat erupted, everyone congratulating him.
But Geoffrey's gloating didn't last long. The color drained from his face.
Viewers were still confused when several police officers walked into the frame.
