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.

There were still so many things I couldn’t wrap my head around. Caleb had always been so affectionate toward Lisa, often telling me not to worry about it because she was like a sister to him. He would insist that I shouldn’t think too much about their relationship, insisting it was all innocent.

Of course, I had my doubts. The way they interacted and the fact that Lisa was the one who reported me—it all felt off. I went through Caleb’s phone and computer, hoping to find something that would make sense of it all. But apart from their occasional chats, there was nothing suspicious. The only odd thing was how often Caleb mentioned that I should learn from Lisa.

He would say things like, “If Jovanna could be half as feminine as Lisa, it would be amazing. The longer we’re together, the more I feel like she’s like a guy.”

It stung every time he compared me to her, critiquing my lack of femininity and urging me to be more like Lisa. We’d had some heated arguments about it, but Caleb always brushed them off, claiming he was only trying to help and giving me advice for my own good.

In my previous life, the cyberbullying had escalated before I even had a chance to break up with him. I never got the chance to stand up for myself or end things on my terms. But now, seeing everything clearly, I knew what really mattered in this new chance I had been given.

I looked at the photos of me and my parents on my phone and my eyes stung with tears. I had put so much effort into preparing for this competition over the past few months. I couldn’t just throw in the towel now. I had to give it my all—at least this time, I had to try again.

I took a deep breath, staring at the computer screen, then turned to find my roommate. “Nicola, could I borrow your computer for a bit?”

I had a habit of sketching out my ideas by hand. There was something uniquely inspiring about putting pencil to paper that just couldn’t be replicated on a screen. After giving my line drawings another look, I made a snap decision. I tore up the work I had painstakingly prepared for the past month.

There was no way I was going to let anyone steal my hard work again.

“Jovanna, why are you tearing these up?” Nicola’s eyes widened as she stared at the shreds of my drawings in the trash can. “You’re almost halfway done! Aren’t you worried you won’t have time to finish before the competition? Starting over now seems crazy!”

I smiled slightly at her concern and straightened up. What I wanted was to be a little late. With just a week left before the competition, I knew that the less time I had, the lower the chance of someone copying my work. It was a calculated risk, but it felt like the right move.

I needed to check what Lisa had been saying to see if there was anything suspicious. If not, I’d start fresh and make sure everything was original. Painting had been my passion for years—hand-drawing, board painting and now diving into competitions. I had been dedicated to art since elementary school and this national competition was my chance to make a mark.

With my art collection set to be published next month, this was a crucial time. If I did well, it could be a stepping stone to future success. My dream of having my work appreciated by more people and published as an album was within reach.

Now that my dream was on the verge of coming true, I couldn’t let it be derailed again. To make sure there were no similarities between my work and Lisa’s, I took three days to wait it out. When I finally saw her latest mosaic work on social media, I couldn’t help but take a closer look.

One photo in particular caught my eye. It showed Lisa with her celebrated artist mother, both surrounded by a bouquet of flowers. Lisa was all smiles, wearing a low-cut dress that showcased her figure. The caption was intriguing, [My mom has seen my work this time. I’m confident I’ll score well. Thanks to Caleb for the flowers and support. With your support, I’m sure I’ll secure first place!]

I read the caption without comment and gave it a thumbs-up, choosing to stay silent. The comments section was a flurry of admiration, with some light-hearted banter and laughter.

[Lisa is absolutely gorgeous—she’s got both talent and looks!]

[Our amazing Lisa is definitely going to win this competition!]

[So excited to see how she performs. Lisa’s been immersed in art since childhood; she’s a shoo-in for first place.]

[There are some major competitors from our school. Jovanna’s won a lot of awards, but this time…]

[But Lisa seems to have the edge over Jovanna. Even the top artists are backing her for first place.]

[Yeah, it’s going to be exciting to watch!]

Seeing the comments, it was clear Lisa was the crowd favorite. But I was determined to make my own mark. I wasn’t about to let her overshadow me without putting up a fight.

As soon as I set my phone down, I took a deep breath, picked up my pen and got back to drafting on the blank paper. I was determined to start fresh and make sure my work was entirely my own.

But just as I finished my new line drawing on the computer that night, I saw a post from Lisa go up online. She announced that she’d been plagiarized and would have to redo her work. Her post read, [I’m so sorry, everyone, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I have to start over. Don’t worry though, I’m going to work even harder on my new creations. The plagiarist is a classmate from our school, so I can’t say too much.]

Even though she didn’t drop names, it was clear who she was talking about. When I saw her post, I was completely stunned.

This scene was all too familiar, but it was happening a week earlier than it did in my previous life. My heart sank as I felt a wave of déjà vu. With the painful experience of my past life still fresh in my mind, I couldn't help but feel on edge.

I stared at the line drawing I had just finished on my computer screen, a sense of numbness creeping over me. Not long after, Lisa updated her followers with her latest progress:

“Thank you for your concern. Here’s my latest update: the line drawing phase is now complete!”

Could there really be such a coincidence? My heart raced as I looked at my original work on the screen. In my previous life, Lisa had accused me of plagiarism with tears streaming down her face, claiming on the internet that I had stolen her work multiple times. She had even threatened me privately, warning me not to tell anyone about our interactions.

"I had no choice," she had said in her emotional pleas, "She threatened me and even said she’d hurt my parents."

The sight of her crying on camera, alongside Caleb, made her seem like the victim to everyone. Her tearful appearance instantly garnered sympathy from viewers. It wasn’t just about the so-called “evidence”—she had also enlisted her parents to support her case, comparing her work to mine online. The live broadcast of her ordeal drew massive attention from netizens.

[I can’t believe that she’s getting famous by stepping on others!]

[Poor Lisa, she’s so kind and beautiful. Only now does she have the courage to expose this.]

[How dare she do this to Lisa? Lisa’s amazing and she’s being threatened by someone like her?!]

[If that copycat dies, good riddance. Lisa, don’t hold back. She’ll get her karma!]

[People like her deserve to suffer. It would be better if she took her parents down with her—let the whole family face downfall!]

The comments poured in, full of anger and vitriol. I felt a cold sweat break out as I read them, knowing that history was repeating itself and that I had to act quickly to prevent another disaster.

I couldn't wrap my head around why Lisa would fabricate such a story and drag me through the mud like this. I had tried everything to clear my name—I reached out to the police, presented my case, but with the so-called "evidence" stacked against me and the barrage of insults that didn’t explicitly name anyone, they told me there was nothing they could do.

While online harassment was at its peak, Lisa ended up winning first place in the competition. On the day her trophy photo hit the internet, I decided to confront her in person. But before I even got close, a security guard at her community gate turned me away.

Netizens spotted me near Lisa's home and quickly uploaded photos online. They spun wild stories, accusing me of seeking revenge. Lisa’s only response was a chilling, “I am so scared!”—and with those four words, she exposed my home address and personal details. Soon, my house was overrun by extremists who decided to "teach me a lesson." They threw Molotov cocktails, setting my house ablaze.

After the fire was put out, I was devastated to see handprints on the wall, a grim reminder of the violence. My parents had been innocent victims in all of this. The hate and anger bubbled up inside me as I clenched my fists, determined to uncover the truth behind this twisted plot.

Just as I was deep in thought, I overheard a conversation between two people passing by.

“Oh my god, did you hear? Lisa’s started painting again, poor thing!”

“I heard her new style is totally different from before. She’s really changed her approach!”

“That copycat is so shameless—did they target Lisa?”

“There are only three days left and it’s too late for anyone to start over now. But if it’s Lisa…”

Their words hit me like a ton of bricks, leaving me stunned and frozen in place. I felt like I’d been walloped with a heavy club and I couldn’t shake the shock. My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone, hoping to find some clarity.

But instead, I saw a flurry of messages from my classmates. The tone was laced with barely concealed excitement and suspicion. The messages were blunt.

[Jovanna, did you really plagiarize her?]

[I took a look at Lisa’s new work today and it’s exactly the same as yours!]

[Jovanna, tell me the truth!]

The more I read, the more my heart sank. It was like being struck by lightning—my work, the one I had fought so hard to protect, was being accused of plagiarism again. My mind raced, trying to make sense of how this was happening. Had Lisa somehow managed to make it look like I was the one stealing from her?