My engagement to Adrian Pearce, heir to Crestfall’s wealthiest family, was meant to be a fairy tale—until a stranger approached me while shopping. “I like your blue bra,” he smirked. “Better than yesterday’s red one.” Ice shot through my veins. He was right. I’d never seen him before. As I tried to drag him to the police, he sneered, “Don’t act innocent. You’re the one livestreaming your life for attention.” He wasn’t lying. Somewhere online, my every moment—showering, sleeping—was broadcast. I hired hackers, moved, even sought spiritual help. Nothing stopped it. Crestfall mocked me: 【Free show of the Prady heiress! Guess I’m elite too now.】 Adrian used the scandal to dump me and propose to my adopted sister, Chloe. On my would-be wedding day, the venue screen was hacked—displaying the livestream. Vile comments flooded in: 【Hope they broadcast the wedding night.】 【She’s definitely been around.】 Humiliated, I jumped from the rooftop. As I died, I saw Chloe smirking in Adrian’s arms: “She loved the spotlight. Too bad she never knew it was all thanks to—” Then—I woke up. Back on that street. The day it all began. 1 The man’s leering words were so vile I had to duck into an alley to retch. When I was done, I pulled out my phone, my hand trembling as I opened the link to that cursed website—a site I had visited a thousand times before. On the screen, the version of me in the livestream was also staring down at her phone, her face a mask of grim realization. This wasn’t a dream. I was really back. But I had only returned to the start of the nightmare. The livestream was still active, a relentless shadow I couldn’t shake. In my last life, I had tried everything. The police told me the site’s domain was untraceable, a ghost in the machine. They couldn’t shut it down, let alone find the culprit. I offered a top-tier hacker ten million dollars; he turned me down flat, saying the site’s architecture was unlike anything he’d ever seen, something beyond his capabilities. Desperate, I moved, consulted spiritualists, and even hid myself away in a secluded retreat, but nothing worked. Each failed attempt only dragged me deeper into despair. Then came the public humiliation of Adrian breaking our engagement, followed by the relentless storm of ridicule, both online and in person. The weight of it all became unbearable. I, who had always been so terrified of pain, found myself standing on that ledge. After I died, Chloe inherited my life. She took my place in the family business and married Adrian. The two of them were disgustingly intertwined at my funeral, laughing about how my death had paved their way. The memory still makes my teeth ache with hatred. I only heard half of Chloe’s confession before I died, but it was enough. Knowing she was the one pulling the strings, I wouldn’t be fumbling in the dark like last time. I had to figure out how she was doing it. The first thing I did when I got home was call a demolition crew and tell them to tear down my bedroom wall. Last time, I’d noticed the livestream only ever showed my room from a single, fixed angle. I’d had it scanned for bugs, but nothing turned up. This time, I was going bigger. Sledgehammers. The noise quickly drew my mother and Chloe. 2 My mother, still unaware of the livestream, was furious. “Vivian, what is the meaning of this? Are you tearing the house down?” Chloe stood beside her, a picture of faux concern. “Vivian, I know you have a temper, but taking it out on the walls? Isn’t that a bit much?” I tilted my head, my eyes narrowed, catching the flicker of triumph in hers. “Who said anything about a temper?” I replied, my voice cool. “I’m looking for a hidden camera. Someone has been livestreaming my every move, and I’m going to find out who.” I pulled out my phone and showed them the website. My mother gasped, horrified. Chloe, by contrast, was unnervingly calm. Got you. She raised an eyebrow. “Even if someone was filming you, why would they put a camera inside a load-bearing wall? Vivian, are you losing your mind?” I stared at her, dissecting her expression. No shock, no alarm. It wasn't the wall. “Fine,” I conceded. “We won’t tear it down. Get me a signal jammer. The most powerful one you can find.” I’d consulted an expert who suspected a wireless camera was more likely than a wired one. He suggested using high-frequency electromagnetic waves to disrupt the transmission. As the technicians set up the equipment, I watched Chloe’s reaction. She met my gaze, then turned away with a cold, dismissive smirk. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My nails dug into my palms. A technician began cranking up the frequency. My eyes were glued to the livestream on my phone, but the picture remained perfectly stable. Not so much as a flicker of static. My breath came in ragged gasps. “Higher!” I shrieked. “Turn it higher!” Finally, the technician shook his head, telling me they were at maximum output. The stream was as clear as ever. Damn it. It hadn't worked. “Oh, Vivian,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, though her eyes danced with unconcealed glee. “You’ll have to be so careful from now on. Maybe just… stop showering altogether.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I leaned in close, my voice a low, menacing whisper in her ear. “I know it was you. I just don’t have the proof yet.” Chloe flinched for a fraction of a second before her composure returned. “Don’t make baseless accusations,” she said, her tone breezy. “Soon you won’t even be able to use the bathroom in peace. If I were you, I’d have already killed myself.” The word suicide sent a phantom shock of agony through me—the dizzying fall, the shattering impact. I trembled, the memory a physical blow. The hacker I’d hired had told me the website’s code didn’t seem like modern technology. His words had sent me down a rabbit hole of superstition and prayer, but all along, it was just a trap set by Chloe. But how? How did she do it? A few days later, I showed Chloe a set of photos. Pictures of her and Adrian in bed together. “You put my life on display, so I’ll return the favor. Let’s see how you like being the star of the show.” Her face paled, but she recovered quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous. The family is already dealing with one scandal because of you. Releasing those would just humiliate the Pradys and the Pearces even more. I’d think twice if I were you.” “I’m done thinking,” I snarled. “I have more. Much more. Shut down that stream, or everyone will see exactly what kind of person you are.” I stormed off, but a nagging feeling told me something was wrong. Chloe was too confident. I had paid a fortune for those photos and videos; they were undeniably real. What did she have up her sleeve? The next day, the livestream was still running. And my parents cornered me, demanding I drop the blackmail. I was stunned, a wave of disbelief washing over me. “She seduced my fiancé! She’s the one who betrayed this family! I’m the one who’s supposed to be marrying into the Pearce family!” My father wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Vivian, be reasonable. This merger is critical. With this scandal, the Pearces are… dissatisfied with you. They’ve suggested Chloe as a replacement. It’s a difficult situation.” “We were going to tell you,” my mother added softly, “but we didn’t want the conversation to be… broadcast.” A chill seeped into my bones. They had already made a deal behind my back. They had let the Pearce family humiliate me, discard me, without a fight. Then, Adrian called. “Because of that stream, everyone has seen you,” he said, his voice cold and distant. “Marrying you now would be a stain on my family’s name.” My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles were white. This was the same man who once flew across the country just to make me chicken soup when I had a cold. The same man who would be sleeping with my sister the moment I was in the ground. No one was on my side. The feeling of absolute abandonment made my eyes burn. I clutched the hem of my shirt, my voice barely a whisper. “Fine.” Later that night, lost in a daze, I replayed the recording of the previous day’s livestream. To my astonishment, the entire confrontation with Chloe—the photos, the threats—was missing. It had been completely wiped. In disbelief, I searched online archives and torrent sites. Nothing. The footage was gone everywhere. A spark of excitement cut through the gloom. That night, I gathered my pillow and a blanket and walked into Chloe’s room. “We used to have sleepovers when we were kids,” I said with a bright, false smile. “I thought it would be nice to get close again.” 3 The color drained from Chloe’s face. “I don’t like sharing my room.” I ignored her, cheerfully setting up my makeshift bed on her floor. “Don’t worry, I won’t be in your bed.” Her reaction confirmed it. She had some way of controlling the unseen cameras around me. If Chloe didn’t want her own privacy invaded, then I would become her shadow. I checked the livestream. Sure enough, the screen was black. Relief washed over me. From that day on, I stuck to Chloe like glue. I even started mimicking her style, copying her makeup and clothes. After all, the only reason my mother had picked her from the orphanage was because of her slight resemblance to me. Now, with a little effort, we looked nearly identical. In my past life, she’d accused me of being a show-off. The truth was, her years in the orphanage had left her with a crippling inferiority complex; she saw slights and condescension where there were none. Being followed constantly was clearly getting to her. Her brow was perpetually furrowed, but her voice remained steady. “This won’t work, you know.” I took her lack of protest as a sign that I had finally cornered her. The stream had stopped, and for the first time in weeks, I could breathe without feeling the weight of a million eyes on me. But a few days later, my parents arrived with two paramedics. They were here to take me to a psychiatric hospital. Chloe stood behind them, squeezing out a few crocodile tears. “Vivian’s had a complete breakdown. That’s why she’s been copying me. We can’t just let her get worse, can we?” My mother’s face was heavy with disappointment. “This obsession with your sister is unbecoming. A daughter of the Prady family with mental problems… The scandal would be unbearable.” “Mom, I’m not sick!” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “It was the only way to stop the stream! You have to believe me! As soon as I started dressing like her, the stream went black. Chloe is behind all of this!” My parents exchanged a look of pity and disbelief. A doctor stepped forward. “Persecutory delusions are a classic sign of a developing psychiatric condition,” he explained gently. “It’s very important that we start medication and treatment right away.” Panic seized me. “No, I’m not lying! I can prove it!” My fingers trembled as I pulled up the livestream on my phone. On the screen, my own frantic, desperate face stared back. My world froze. I turned my head and met Chloe’s eyes. They were filled with faint, mocking amusement. The stream had never stopped. She had just been toying with me. My father saw the live feed and took a step back. “We understand you’re under a lot of pressure, Vivian. But your actions have already damaged this family’s reputation. Replacing you with your sister for the merger was a necessary evil. Why must you keep trying to drag her down with you?” Chloe wrapped her arm around my father’s. “I think a stay at a mental health facility is for the best. She needs proper treatment.” My parents didn’t object. The paramedics moved in, grabbing my arms to pull me out the door. If they took me to that hospital, I’d never find a way to stop the stream. I would have no hope left. I twisted out of their grasp, scrambling backward while frantically wiping off my lipstick and pulling off the wig. “It was an act! I was just pretending! I didn’t want to lose Adrian!” 4 “Is there any point in admitting that now, Vivian?” Chloe’s voice was cold. “Just go with the doctors quietly.” They forced me into the ambulance. I clawed at the door, but my strength gave out. At the hospital, I tried to explain to every doctor and nurse that I wasn’t sick, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. They just had the orderlies hold me down and force pills down my throat. The medication left me in a constant, heavy fog. The only way to keep my mind sharp was to inflict small pains on myself, tiny anchors to reality. My parents visited once. My eyes were red and swollen as I clutched their hands, begging them to take me home. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t ever try to imitate Chloe again.” My father gently pulled his hand away. “Chloe’s engagement party is a major event for the family. We can’t risk any… disruptions. It could affect our investors. Just stay here and rest. The doctors will take good care of you.” The livestream continued, relentless and cruel. Was this life destined to be a carbon copy of the last, a slow-motion train wreck broadcast for the world’s entertainment? After a month of compliant behavior—swallowing my pills without a fight—I finally earned back my internet privileges. I spent hours poring over every frame of the archived streams. And then I saw it. I finally found Chloe’s secret. It was hidden in plain sight the whole time. A tiny, insignificant object. A feeling of release, so profound it was almost violent, washed over me. I found myself laughing and crying in front of the screen, a madwoman illuminated by the glow of my own prison. The live chat flooded with comments about how I’d finally lost it. 【The Pearce family dumped her and her own family locked her up. It was only a matter of time before she snapped.】 I silently closed the laptop. My mind, for the first time in ages, was crystal clear. It was time for Chloe and Adrian to pay.
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