Reborn to Ruin the Woman Who Framed Me

In my last life, on my first day at the company, the elevator was under repair. I let my sympathy get the better of me and hauled Isabella Lambert's water jugs up to the office. We'd been hired the same day.

I never expected her to turn around and accuse me of trying something on her in the elevator lobby, right in the camera's blind spot.

The company fired me. My neighbors whispered behind my back.

My father, who'd spent his whole life as a teacher, couldn't bear the talk among his colleagues. He jumped from the roof of the school building.

My mother, a strong, hard-driving woman, couldn't take the blow either. She wandered out onto the street in a daze and was hit by a dump truck. Killed on the spot.

I couldn't take it either. I followed my parents.

And she, riding her helpless little victim act, not only got made permanent early but married the president's son and became the lady of a wealthy household.

When I opened my eyes again, I'd somehow been reborn into that very first day on the job.

...

Isabella stood over the two jugs of water on the floor, eyes red, watching me as I headed for the stairs with my documents in hand.

"Graham Chavez, the elevator's being repaired, it's out of service, but the client's about to arrive and the conference room needs water right now. Please, I'm begging you, help me out."

I looked at that pitiful, tearful face of hers and let out a cold laugh.

"Carry the water up? You could just call the delivery guy and have him come back."

Isabella froze. Clearly she hadn't expected me to refuse outright.

"I did call the delivery guy. He said it'd cost twenty bucks. I just graduated, I don't have that kind of money. Graham, we started the same day. Can't you help me?"

She raised a hand and wiped at tears that weren't there.

"I'm not trying to be a bother, I really have no other option. If the water doesn't get up there in time, I'll definitely get fired. I really need this job."

Isabella wept with such heartfelt conviction that she quickly drew a crowd of workers who'd been downstairs smoking and slacking off.

A polished white-collar woman in rimless glasses shot me a look and pushed the frames up her nose. "How can a man be this selfish? You're all coworkers. What's the harm in giving her a hand?"

A middle-aged man in a plaid shirt, there for the show, chimed in too. "Right, it's just two jugs of water. The poor girl's so frail and delicate, why give her a hard time?"

The people around us started murmuring, all of them pinning the selfishness on me.

Seeing everyone taking her side, Isabella cried even more pitifully.

"Graham, I know I'm putting you out. But it's my first day too. How about, once I get paid, I treat you to dinner?"

Watching her, the man in the plaid shirt couldn't stand it any longer. He jabbed a finger at my nose. "You young people, no sense of decency. The girl's crying her eyes out and a grown man like you won't even lift a finger."

I ignored Isabella and turned to the man. "You think a grown man ought to help a girl?"

"Of course!" The man thought his lecture had landed, and puffed out his chest.

"Then how about you carry it up for her?" I gestured toward him, palm out, an invitation.

The man froze on the spot, his puffed-out chest deflating. "Well, I, I'm getting on in years, my back's bad."

I gave a cold laugh and turned to the indignant office woman. "You think I should help too?"

She shrank back. "Me, I can't carry water."

"You don't have to carry it. You seem kind enough. How about you front the twenty for her, and she pays you back once she gets her paycheck?"

The woman took a step back, her face falling. "What's it got to do with me? Why should I give her money?"

"So you do know it's got nothing to do with you." I threw the jab back at her and looked around at the crowd of onlookers.

Everything went dead silent.

Only then did I turn back to Isabella.

"Looks like zero people want to help you."

Isabella's face went completely white.

I waved the documents in my hand. "Sorry, Mr. Dickerson's waiting on these. I'm heading up."

With that, I walked into the stairwell without a backward glance.

Back at the office, I got Mr. Dickerson to sign the documents, then went straight to the client's company with them, hammering out the details with the client until I finally got home late that night.

When I arrived the next day, the whole office was strangely quiet. Everyone looked busy with their own work, but their eyes kept stealing glances at me.

My gut told me something had happened.

Sure enough, Mr. Dickerson came out of his office with a dark face and pointed at me. "Graham, come with me to my office."

Behind him, I saw Isabella sitting on a chair, her face buried in her hands, crying.

The exact same scene as my last life.

It had happened after all.

Last time, it was in this very office that Isabella made the case that I'd harassed her, turning me into everyone's target and destroying my whole life.

But this time, she wouldn't be so lucky.