“Shea! Why the hell did Curtis add you?! Were you trying to seduce him?!”

My god. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice low and enraged.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, yanking her hands off me.

She chased after me like a rabid dog, demanding an explanation. “Answer me! Why did he add you?!”

I was gonna ignore her, but then I paused. Knowing her temper, I figured I’d throw her a bone.

“Oh, it might be because his company wanted to buy the copyrights to my book. But I already signed with another publisher, and they’re trying to convince me to switch.”

“Why didn’t you just say that earlier? I almost misunderstood,” she huffed, smoothing her skirt. “I knew it. There’s no way Curtis would be interested in someone like you.”

Right. She always looked down on me.

Back in college, she was the arts committee rep and ran the school’s PR team while I was just the girl with decent grades and nothing else going for me.

Guess she kept me around as her “best friend” just so I could be the foil that made her shine brighter.

I didn’t bother responding to her mockery. I just picked up my smashed phone and walked away.

“Tch. She just writes some trashy book and thinks she’s hot shit. What a freak?!”

She didn’t even try to lower her voice—it was loud enough for me to hear clearly.

In my last life, I would’ve brushed it off as her just being upset.

But now I know better. ‘Dang, my “best friend” has always been this toxic.’

Two days later, I got a contract in the mail from Atlas Publishing.

That night, Vicky knocked on my door.

“Shea, don’t sell your book rights to Atlas. Sell them to our company instead. I know we can’t offer as much, but hey—we’re besties, right? You’ll help me out, won’t you?”

Just like that, she picked up the contract off the table and casually tossed it in the trash.

‘Damn,’ I thought, ‘this bitch’s so sure I’d say yes.’

“Vicky, I already promised them. I can’t help you on this one.”

I looked apologetic, lowered my head to hide the annoyance in my eyes, and pulled the contract out of the bin.

“Don’t forget—Curtis’s got his eye on me. Once I become the CEO’s wife, you’ll be lucky if I let you drink the leftover soup. Come on, don’t be stupid!”

“Sorry, Vicky. I really can’t break the contract.”

She opened her mouth to blow up again until she suddenly seemed to remember something that made her force herself to calm down.

“Forget it. I’m going to bed. Go take your shower.”

I smirked to myself, nodded, and took my pajamas to the bathroom.

After my shower, she was gone.

So was the contract.

Then, I saw her message.

[Had to leave early. Don’t worry—I sent the contract out for you.]

“She really is that desperate. Yikes.”

I copied the home security footage, pulled out the real Atlas Publishing contract from my drawer, signed it, and mailed it myself.

The next morning, I got a call from an old college roommate.

“Hey, Shea, did Vicky hit the jackpot or something? I mean, her Facebook is full of designer stuff lately. Did she snag a rich boyfriend?”

I blinked in a little surprise. I opened Facebook to see what she was talking about.

‘Oh. Vicky’s feed looks like a luxury catalog, indeed. She’s probably doing it to get Curtis’s attention.’

“Uhm, I don’t really know. She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Hey… That men’s suit she posted… Don’t you think—”

After the call, I scrolled back to a photo Vicky had posted two days ago.

It was a man’s suit jacket—stained with coffee.

Normally with high-end suits like that one in her post, one stain and it’s basically done for.

‘Looks like without me around to stop her in this life, she still went ahead and pulled the same stunt… Only, I’m guessing it didn’t go quite as smoothly this time.’

After all, she didn’t look too happy yesterday when she came begging me to sign that contract.

‘Now, I’m really curious. How is Vicky planning to pay for this 40,000 bucks suit?’

A week later, Atlas Publishing made their official announcement on their socials about the novel going into production. They tagged me—the original author.

Ten minutes later, I got a call from Vicky.

“Shea! Didn’t you already sell the rights to our company? How come you sold them to Atlas, too? Our contract is exclusive!”

She didn’t even let me get a word in—just launched straight into it like a machine gun as soon as I picked up the phone.

“When did I ever sell you the rights?” I asked back.

“Shea, come on. Don’t be greedy. I even double-checked everything with you before signing. Your name’s clearly on that contract—you signed it yourself. I can’t help you this time.”

Just like that, she hung up right away.

She was so damn confident that it almost made me laugh. ‘If I hadn’t installed a hidden camera, I might’ve really taken the fall for this shit.’

Half an hour later, Blount & Bluebell Press—the company where Vicky worked as an assistant—released a statement, saying the rights to my novel were incomplete, and that they were planning to pursue legal action and demand compensation.

Same book. Same author. Two companies, both big names in the film adaptation business.

Of course, as soon as the announcement dropped, it blew up online.

‘People aren’t messing around these days when it comes to intellectual property. Double-selling a book’s rights? The internet will go crazy about it.’

Sure enough, my account in X got flooded with hate in seconds.

At the same time, Vicky made a cryptic post.

[Everyone has to pay for their own greed.]

She even really tagged both my pen name and my book title.

Of course, the internet did its thing and quickly connected the dots—turns out she wasn’t just my best friend but also an employee of Blount & Bluebell Press.

Things exploded even more after that, and the hate comments just kept rolling in.

Atlas’s rep messaged me, totally freaking out, asking what was going on.

I stayed calm and told him straight: [I only sold the rights to Atlas Publishing. You’re the only ones who paid me.]

Atlas Publishing’s an old, established company, so they caught on quickly.

Their legal team got involved immediately and told me they’d handle the matter ASAP.

At the same time, that same intern who ended up being Curtis’s wife in my last life had just joined their company.

Even without the coffee stunt this time, she still got promoted to the CEO assistant a week in. I bet Vicky was livid.

But with the whole copyright mess, she didn’t even have the guts to go complain to Curtis.

Instead, she started targeting Brooke—the intern.

But Curtis kept defending her, and Vicky’s hatred just grew.

One day during lunch break, Vicky actually hid Brooke's stockings in Curtis’s drawer—and then played the victim, accusing the intern of trying to seduce the CEO.

Their office was in total chaos that day, leading to the intern getting fired on the spot for “trying to seduce the CEO.”

And all of that came straight from the private investigator I hired when I was reborn—to keep an eye on Vicky.

This whole cyber bullying she staged was just a bonus discovery.

But honestly, I didn’t have the energy to care anymore. The online hate was getting worse, my DMs full of the nastiest insults.

Once I gathered the final piece of evidence, I made a call.

“Helga, I need to sue someone.”

“Got it. Send me everything.”