After my boyfriend's childhood friend Holly learned about my $50k monthly allowance, she started copying me. I had wavy hair—she permed hers to match. I got a manicure—she visited twenty salons to replicate it. I wore designer clothes—she starved herself working five jobs to buy the same outfits. I thought she was just obsessive. Then I suddenly died from a mysterious illness. As I faded away, my family didn’t visit. They were comforting my roommate—calling her my nickname. My soul lingered, watching Holly curl up with Nicholas. "Thanks for funding me," she whispered. "The system let me steal her luck. Now everything’s mine." I woke up reborn—back to the day she copied my hair. 1 A quiet click and a flash of light. Holly scrambled to hide her phone. My best friend, Kelen, leaned in close. “Samantha, want me to go check if she’s taking pictures of you again? Lately, she’s always pointing her phone at you, like some kind of stalker. I’m seriously getting fed up with it.” I shook my head, signaling for her to let it go. In my past life, I had felt violated and demanded to see her phone. But it was wiped clean, and I was the one who ended up looking like a bully. That night, Holly, who had always had long, straight black hair, showed up with waves identical to mine. The color, the curl, the length—every detail was a perfect match. From that day on, from the back, my own friends constantly mistook her for me. Remembering her "system," I sent a quick text to my personal stylist. “Hey, I’m over the waves. Design something for me that’s high-concept, something no one can possibly copy. If it’s good, there’s a big bonus in it for you.” Her reply was instantaneous, accompanied by a photo. In it, seven or eight top stylists were huddled in a conference, sketching out designs for my new look. I smiled, locked my phone, and turned to Kelen. “Hey, let’s get our hair done later. Invite Zoe. My treat.” “Deal! But we’re not letting you pay for everything. Dinner’s on us,” she insisted. Before I could answer, Holly’s shrill voice cut through the air from behind us. “Where are you guys going to eat? Why didn’t you ask me? I’m your roommate! Why are you isolating me? Samantha, is it because you look down on me?” Her voice was so loud it drew the attention of the entire lecture hall. Sensing the eyes on her, Holly’s expression immediately shifted to that of a wounded victim. Her voice trembled pitifully. “I know you all come from wealthy families, that you’re all locals. I know you look down on a girl from a small town like me. But I really, really want to be your friend.” Her idea of "being friends" was, every time we went out, to conveniently "forget" her wallet or claim poverty, forcing us to cover her share. If we pushed her to pay, she’d launch into a sob story about her tragic life and how she barely had two cents to her name. After a while, we just stopped inviting her. I was about to pull out the receipts and expose her, but my boyfriend, Nicholas, the golden boy and big man on campus, swooped in like her knight in shining armor. “Samantha, haven’t I told you? I don’t like bossy women. Can you stop bullying people just because your family has some money?” he scolded, placing a protective arm around Holly. “Holly may not have your advantages, but she’s a better person than any of you born with a silver spoon. Do you have any idea how much she had to sacrifice just to get into the same university as you?” Hearing him talk about my "stupid money," watching him defend her so fiercely, made my stomach turn. If it weren’t for my family sponsoring his education, he’d still be in some backwater town working on an assembly line. If I hadn’t begged my parents to increase his allowance, if I hadn’t constantly bought him luxury goods, he never could have crafted this image of a suave, well-off gentleman. But instead of gratitude, Nicholas resented the "smell of money" on me. And worse, he knowingly helped Holly with her plan to replace me, using my own family’s money to do it. The image of him holding Holly in my past life flashed in my mind. I immediately sent a text to my parents. Effective immediately, the company is to cease all financial support for Nicholas Hayes. From now on, he and Holly could be a power couple of part-time jobs. Seeing me still on my phone, Nicholas’s anger flared. “Samantha Crawford, do you feel no remorse at all?” “I can’t be with someone as unreasonable and domineering as you. If you know you were wrong, you’ll apologize to Holly right now and compensate her. Otherwise, I…” “Otherwise, you’ll what?” I asked, finally looking up from my screen. He thought he had me. He puffed out his chest. “If you don’t apologize, we’re breaking up!” The old Samantha would have caved instantly at the word "breakup." After all, two years ago, he’d "saved" me from a couple of thugs, and I’d been so grateful I’d become his doormat. But after dying a bizarre and horrifying death, I was no longer that naive little girl obsessed with romance. “Fine. Let’s break up.” The words left my mouth easily. “But since we’re done, and since you despise my money so much, you can pay me back the forty thousand dollars you’ve spent of mine over the past two years. You can wire it to me now.” He tensed at my agreement to the breakup, but the moment I mentioned money, he relaxed. He was convinced I was just throwing a tantrum, playing hard to get. I’d always been so generous with him; he thought there was no way I’d ever actually ask for the money back. He put on a show of magnanimity. “Fine. I’ll give it to you. It’s not like I’m short on cash.” Holly, however, panicked. She still needed that money to imitate me. “No! Nicholas, you can’t give it to her! Who gives money back after a relationship ends?” she cried. “Besides, didn’t you spend money on her, too? You probably spent even more! You should calculate what she owes you!” Nicholas knew perfectly well what he’d spent on me, but he had to maintain his facade. “It’s fine, Holly. Samantha was my girlfriend. If she wants it, I’ll give it to her.” He shot me a look, a silent plea for me to play along and not humiliate him. The old me would have protected his fragile ego. The new me opened my phone. “Let’s see. In May of 2023, you gave me a single rose. In August, a pair of silver-plated earrings. In October, a ceramic bowl. That’s the grand total of your spending in our three-year relationship. I doubt it all adds up to even a hundred bucks.” I looked up at his stunned face. “Nicholas, would you like me to read a list of your expenses—paid by me—to the entire class? Or should I just post the bank statements in the group chat for everyone to see?” He froze, his eyes darting around. He realized I was serious, but he was too proud to back down in front of everyone. His face hardened. “It’s just forty grand,” he snarled. “I’ll transfer it.” He furiously tapped at his phone screen. “There. It’s sent. Now leave me alone!” He said it with such finality, but my phone remained silent. No notification. Holly, not realizing it was a bluff, snatched the phone from his hand, trying to cancel the non-existent transaction. She swiped frantically through his apps, a confused look on her face. “Nicholas, I don’t see a transfer record. Which bank did you use? Tell me, quick, so I can cancel it!” I almost burst out laughing. Nicholas’s face turned crimson. “Shut up!” he hissed, trying to drag her away. I stepped in front of them. “Nicholas, if you’re going to transfer the money, then do it. What’s with the act? I haven’t received a cent. Playing games with me? You look down on my money, but you sure seem to enjoy living off it, don’t you?” To prove my point, I held up my phone, cycling through my banking and payment apps, showing the empty transaction history to anyone who cared to look. He never thought I’d actually call his bluff, that I’d be willing to humiliate him so completely. “The network must be slow!” he stammered. “The money hasn’t gone through yet! I’ll… I’ll send it again.” This time, he actually did it. The electronic voice of the payment notification echoed in the quiet room: “Transfer of forty thousand dollars received.” An expression of profound pain crossed his face, but he still tried to play it cool. “See? I don’t care about your stupid money!” I nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across my face as I looked at my updated balance. “Great. Money’s here, and we’re done. We have nothing to do with each other anymore.” I turned to grab Kelen and leave, but he grabbed my arm. “You haven’t apologized to Holly for isolating her! You’re not going anywhere!” He had a point. I still needed to clear my name. Thanks to our frequent dinners in the private rooms of my family’s restaurants, I had security footage. I made a quick call, and a few minutes later, I dropped a series of video clips into the class group chat. “If you want to know why we don’t hang out with her anymore, watch the videos.” With that, I grabbed my friends and walked out. By the time we got to the salon, the group chat had exploded. 【OMG, how can someone be so shameless about being a freeloader?】 【Forget Samantha and her friends, if I knew someone like that, I’d run in the opposite direction.】 Seeing the tide turn against her, Holly posted a string of crying emojis, claiming I had a vendetta against her and that the videos were fake. But no one was buying it. Humiliated, she started spamming my phone with messages, demanding I "clarify" the situation. Nicholas, seeing his damsel in distress, joined in, sending me a barrage of texts. 【Samantha, I’m so disappointed in you. It was just a small disagreement. Did you really have to slander Holly like that?】 【You hurt her. You need to apologize, give me my $40,000 back, and send her another $10,000 as compensation. If you don’t, I will never forgive you, and we will never get back together.】 His audacity was so breathtaking it was almost funny. Did he really think I was his personal ATM? The whole incident triggered a memory. In my past life, whenever anyone asked Holly how she could afford new hairstyles, designer clothes, and expensive manicures, she always claimed she earned it through her part-time jobs. Even on my deathbed, I’d believed her. It was only after I died that I heard the truth from her own lips: she mocked me for being born rich while shamelessly bleeding me dry. My good mood soured. I sent him a one-word reply: Get lost. I was about to block him when a new notification popped up. An authorized payment alert. From the hair salon. I started to tremble, my hands shaking as I scrolled through my past payment history. Dresses. Lingerie. A box of condoms. The list went on and on. The earliest charge was from March. Two years ago. So they’d been cheating on me for that long.
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