Over the next few days, Corey didn't sit still for a moment. He began dropping suggestive, ambiguous remarks in his videos.

"Even though Dr. Shelby is married, it feels like she's not happy.

"When she made her rounds today, the way she looked at me… was I imagining things?

"That freeloader husband showed up again. I feel so bad for her."

Gradually, a group of clueless netizens started shipping them as a couple.

The comment section turned on me, calling me a useless husband, unworthy of a brilliant doctor like Sandra.

[I think her husband is so petty. Why can't he let her pursue her real happiness?]

[He's hogging such an amazing doctor and doesn't even treat her well. Poor Dr. Shelby.]

[This dynamic is everything—sweet younger guy and aloof, dominant older woman. Who gets it?!]

Reading those comments, I felt a mix of disbelief and disgust. These "shipper fans" were completely unhinged—any sense of right and wrong had long since vanished.

"Let him jump," Sandra said, soothing me. "The higher he jumps, the harder he'll fall."

I hesitated. "What about the day he gets discharged? He'll definitely post that video. How do we stop it?"

That video had been the spark that ignited everything.

Sandra smiled, then opened her laptop. The hospital's security system filled the screen.

"In our last life, I only found out after I died—the camera in that corner of the hospital was broken. That's why he dared to film there. I've already had it fixed. And I upgraded it to high-definition night vision."

I nodded, finally at ease.

On the day of his discharge, Corey deliberately came to Sandra's office, asking for a hug.

She sidestepped him and said coldly, "Mr. Pickett, please show some respect."

A flash of malice flickered in his eyes before he turned and left.

Half an hour later, that all-too-familiar video shot to the top of the trending charts.

"Hey fam… I'm really scared. I always thought doctors were angels in white, but I never imagined…"

In the video, Corey's eyes were red, his voice choked with emotion. His shirt buttons had popped open, and there were several scratch marks across his chest.

Then, faintly, the sound of footsteps seemed to approach.

He looked off-camera in terror, his body shrinking back violently as he instinctively cried out, "Dr. Shelby—"

The video cut off abruptly.

Public opinion exploded. All of Sandra's and my personal information was dug up and exposed.

My phone began vibrating nonstop. Every call I answered was filled with abuse.

"Control your perverted wife!"

"Your whole family deserves to die!"

"You animal! Even going after patients—how desperate are you?!"

The hospital's phone lines were flooded as well. The director urgently summoned Sandra for a meeting, demanding that she be suspended immediately pending investigation.

"Director, I won't accept a suspension," Sandra said calmly. "I will give the hospital—and the public—an explanation."

The director slammed his hand on the desk, furious. "The public outrage is this severe, and you still want to push things further? Are you trying to drag the hospital's name through the mud?"

"What if Corey framed me?" Sandra's gaze was sharp as a blade.

The director froze.

Sandra smiled faintly. "He can livestream—so can we."

At eight that evening, Corey went live, tearfully recounting his story.

"I'm too scared to report this to the police. I'm afraid she'll retaliate. She has power and influence. I'm just a small influencer… Even her husband threatened me, said he'd kill me…"

The livestream chat flooded with messages like "Protect Corey Pickett" and "Sandra Shelby should die."

At that very moment, Sandra started her own livestream.

The title was blunt and direct: [Evidence Regarding Corey Pickett's False Accusations].

Corey's fans rushed over, ready to overwhelm her stream.

On screen, Sandra sat in a crisp white coat, with me and a lawyer beside her.

No theatrics. No self-pity.

Without a word, she played the hospital stairwell surveillance footage—high-definition, no blind spots.

In the video, Corey walked into a corner holding a phone stabilizer. He glanced around first, making sure no one was there. Then, unbelievably, he tore open his own shirt and clawed several deep marks across his chest.

After that, he shouted into the empty air, "Dr. Shelby!"

Once he finished filming, he checked the playback on his phone, even tidied his hair with satisfaction, and left whistling.

The entire internet erupted.

Moments ago, the chat had been filled with insults toward Sandra—now, it was nothing but question marks.

Corey's face turned deathly pale.

"N-no… that's not what happened! The footage must be AI-generated!"

He screamed hysterically. Then, as if recalling something, his expression twisted with malice.

"I originally wanted to spare you some dignity, Dr. Shelby. But since you're using fake footage to frame me, don't blame me for fighting back!"

With that, he played another video in his livestream.

Sandra and I exchanged a glance, confusion reflected in both our eyes.

In our last life, he never had this card to play.

The moment the video started, I felt my blood run cold.

It was still the same dim stairwell, but from a different angle.

Clearly, someone had been hiding in a more concealed corner, secretly filming.

In the footage, Corey leaned against the wall, his clothes disheveled.

A woman in a white coat stepped out of the shadows, her face fully exposed to the camera. She looked exactly like Sandra.

The woman slowly reached out, gently caressing Corey's cheek, her fingers even brushing against his lips.

Corey shrank back, trying to avoid her, but that hand pressed him firmly in place.

And then, the video cut off.

The livestream chat exploded.

[Holy shit! The "queen of players" finally exposed!]

[I knew that surveillance footage looked off! So it was fake evidence!]

[Her face is crystal clear. What's left to deny?]

Corey sobbed until his eyes were swollen. "I didn't want to release this. I was afraid she'd retaliate… but she's gone too far, using fake surveillance to turn the tables on me!"

Sandra and I were completely stunned. How was this possible?

She stared at the woman on the screen—her identical double—her fingers clenched so tightly they turned white.

"That's not me."

Her voice trembled, but her gaze was unwavering.

"You know me. I've never met him in private. And I have a germophobia—I wouldn't even touch a patient without gloves."

Of course, I believed her. But then… who was the woman in that video?

That footage had never existed in our previous life. Could this be the butterfly effect caused by our rebirth?

Who, exactly, was the woman wearing Sandra's face?

The air in the office was so heavy it felt suffocating.

"Sandra… are you absolutely sure you don't have a long-lost twin sister?"

My voice trembled with urgency.

Her face tightened with pain as she shook her head. "I'm an only child. Where would I get a sister? How could there possibly be someone in this world who looks exactly like me?"

We replayed that video dozens of times. Her height, her build—even the way she casually brushed her hair back—it was all eerily identical to Sandra.

If I hadn't been reborn, if I didn't know just how wronged she had been in our previous life… even I might have started to doubt.

Meanwhile, outside, everything had already descended into chaos.

With that video, Corey had completely seized the moral high ground. Striking while the iron was hot, he went live again.

This time, he wasn't crying. Behind him hung a bold slogan: [Boys Help Boys].

"Boys, we can't stay silent any longer! Whether it's in the workplace or anywhere else, when we face harassment, we have to stand up and say no!"

He spoke passionately, packaging himself as a modern man standing alone against abuse of power.

In a single night, his follower count surged by two million.

"We can't wait any longer." I snapped my laptop shut. "If this keeps up, before we even find that impostor, you'll be drowned by public outrage. Come on—we're going to find him!"

Sandra grabbed my arm. "Now? The place is swarming with reporters, and he'll never admit anything."

"That's exactly why he'll slip up. He's too smug."

I gritted my teeth. "In our last life, he drove us to ruin. This time, even if it's a dragon's den or a tiger's lair, I'm going in."

Half an hour later, we cornered Corey in a private room at an upscale café near the hospital, just as he was about to sit down for an exclusive interview.

The moment he saw us, disdain flickered in his eyes.

"Well, if it isn't Dr. Shelby and her useless husband. What? Here to beg for a settlement? Too late. With the kind of traffic I've got now, there's no price I'd trade it for."

Suppressing her anger, Sandra said, "Who is the woman in that video? You and I both know it's not me. Corey, fabricating evidence is a crime."

He wasn't flustered in the slightest. Smirking, he pulled out his phone and waved the video in front of us.

"The video is real. The person is real. How is that fabrication?" His tone turned mocking. "Dr. Shelby, how can you deny what you did so easily? Even if you get it authenticated, the video will come back as genuine."

He paused, then glanced at me with open contempt. "If you want to blame someone, blame yourself. You couldn't even keep your own woman in line."

"You—" Sandra lunged forward in fury, but I held her back firmly.

Corey burst into triumphant laughter, his finger tracing lightly over the face of "Sandra" on the screen.

"Look at that face—so captivating. What a shame she's a pervert."

My gaze locked onto the screen. At such close range, I suddenly noticed a detail I had overlooked before.

Something flashed in my mind and a long-buried memory exploded to the surface.

I turned to Sandra, excitement surging through me.

"I know who she is."