Framed

In my previous life, I had been dragged into this plagiarism scandal too. But before I could investigate, Colette had rushed back, flustered. "Liz, if you did plagiarize, just admit it and be done with it. Don't let Henry's family find out—they won't be as forgiving as ours."

"Huh! Some people are not only incompetent but are also obstinate!" My mom believed Colette and locked me in the house until my reputation as a plagiarist spread and the whole industry blacklisted me.

Colette, by contrast, had ridden that one proposal into the notice of a famous foreign company CEO and left the country, living a secure life ever after. Looking back now, the truth was that Colette had stolen my campaign.

I clenched my fingers and bowed to the manager. "I will produce proof that I didn't plagiarize."

When I went home to confront Colette, she leaned in close and sneered quietly, "So what if I did? Do you have any proof? You don't deserve a career or a family."

Furious, I slapped her hard. She covered her face in shock, then burst into tears. Her crying drew my mom, who, seeing the red handprint on Colette's cheek, flew into a rage.

Colette sniffled and put on an act. "I really didn't steal your proposal, Liz… I've already forgiven you for plagiarizing my work. What more do you want?"

She sobbed harder. "I know you like Henry too, but you can't frame me like this—Mom, please help me!"

My mom slapped me across the face. "Liz Stanton! I'm telling you—your sister is about to be a rich man's wife. You'd better admit you stole Colette's plan, or I'll make you regret it. You've always been nothing but trouble; if you were half as sensible as Colette, I wouldn't be so vexed every time I look at you."

I turned my head, disappointment hollowing me out. All my life, whenever Colette messed up, my mom blamed me. Whatever Colette rejected, my mom handed to me like charity, and then scolded me for being petty enough to take it—men included. I had only ever gotten the leftovers.

I lifted my chin and stared into my mother's eyes, determined. "I won't. Why should I always give in to her? I didn't plagiarize—period."

My mom clutched her chest and wailed, "You wretched wench—if you won't admit it, get out!"

"I'll be generous and forgive Liz, Mom," Colette cooed to our mother, feigning sweetness. "Don't let her raise your blood pressure."

My mom, placated, grew even more contemptuous of me. "Don't go to work anymore. I'll find you a husband right now. The sooner you're married off, the sooner I'll have peace."

At that, she locked me in my room and refused to open the door, no matter how hard I pounded. She even confiscated all my devices so I couldn't contact anyone. For meals, she left me a single bag of cookies—ones Colette didn't like—as my only food supply.

Outside the door, Colette loudly boasted that her wedding to Henry was next week and that she alone would have the picture-perfect family. She didn't forget to jab at me either. "Mom already found you a match! I hear his family's well-off. Your future husband just turned sixty, Liz—you're lucky! You don't have to bear him any progeny, and you'll become a grandmother right off the bat!"

But her words didn't scare me—marriage wasn't something my mom could decide for me.

…

That night, after my mom and Colette had fallen asleep, I tied my sheets and clothes together and climbed out the window. I didn't pause once I hit the ground; I ran straight to the office and only relaxed when I sat back at my desk.

Before I'd gone to confront Colette, I had feared something would go wrong. So, I had uploaded every piece of research and the electronic version of my proposal to the cloud, then deleted the local records.

That was my only chance to prove my innocence.

Evidence

I spent the whole night searching for evidence to prove I did not plagiarize, and I found it in a very niche part of the archives. It was part of my university tutor's collection and did not release more than five issues.

I'd never have asked him to give me a copy if this event hadn't happened. This was where my inspiration came from. I compiled the evidence and sent it to the legal team and my manager.

Then, I logged into X and got into a flame war with Colette. "The proposal is fresh. Incredibly fresh. Too fresh. The resource must be hard to find, so this begs the question. What's your source?"

The internet exploded, and they turned their ire on me. They couldn't believe a thief could be so full of herself.

"Holy shit, are you even listening to yourself, you thief? Your family's ashamed of you!"

"And I used to think your company's not that bad, but you won't even confess to plagiarism. That's it. I'm boycotting you guys."

Some of the smarter, calmer ones thought I was only so confident because I had evidence.

Colette came back with a swift reply, adamantly claiming that the inspiration came to her out of nowhere. "No sources at all. It just came to me straight in my head."

The Internet asked her to show them her creative process and prove me wrong. She said nothing more.

I hummed and kept coming up with the new project's outline. Colette's plagiarism was going to be confirmed sooner or later.

My colleagues were looking at me the wrong way. Even our competitors laughed at me.

"You're a good actor. Project planning isn't for you. Maybe pursue acting."

I was perplexed, and she was amused. Then, she deigned to tell me that Colette showed the Internet proof.

I checked her X and found out she not only posted her whole planning and creative process. There was a handwritten manuscript too. It was how she turned her inspiration into a proposal.

Every step proved that the final proposal came from this. There was evidence of heavy editing in the process. This was proof that would taint my name in the hue of humiliation.

Colette was still on X, telling people not to attack me. "She is my sister. I don't mind her calling me a copycat. Please don't go after her. I know she'll change."

The Internet did not listen. Instead, the abuse came harder than before.

"You copied off your own sister. For all we know, all your previous proposals might be stolen from someone else."

"And I thought you were the victim when you called Colette you. You were just trying to cover your ass."

"You should be blacklisted from the industry. Christ, I can't imagine how many people's futures you've ruined!"

This was a headache. I was still brainstorming ideas on how to handle this matter, but the receptionist came with a call. My mother was looking for me.

The moment I showed my face, my mother stormed up to me and slapped me across my face. The crisp smack got the office's attention. Some of my colleagues peeked their heads out of the entrance to see what had just happened.

My mother said imperiously, "Your future husband is waiting for you. Get your ass home right now and get married this instant! I'll handle you slandering Colette later!"