It was a full-blown hostage situation at the hospital, and I was deliberately provoking the patient's family member. Enraged, he pressed a knife to my neck and dragged me onto the rooftop. On the brink of death, a strange calm washed over me. Because in my past life, at this exact moment, I became the perfect scapegoat for a murderer. She brutally killed my fiancé, Joey, in his studio. The security cameras captured "me" committing the entire act. And since I had no alibi, I was the killer. Condemned by Joey’s parents in a live-streamed press conference, I was quickly sentenced to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn, two hours before Joey was murdered. 1 The first thing I did after being reborn was grab my phone and call my fiancé. “Joey?” A muffled “mm-hmm” came from the other end. Hearing his voice, I almost broke down in tears. I forced myself to stay calm. “Listen to me,” I said, my voice tight. “Leave your studio right now. Go somewhere with a lot of people and stay there.” He was confused, asking why. I didn't know how to explain that I had been reborn. Or how to tell him that in two hours, he would be murdered in that very studio. After a moment’s thought, I said, “I was just looking at your horoscope, and it’s a really, really bad day for you. A day of misfortune and danger. You can’t stay indoors.” He chuckled, calling me superstitious. The irony was, he was far more superstitious than I was. He’d ignore any other excuse, but this one, he’d take seriously. “Better safe than sorry, right?” After a long time coaxing him, he finally agreed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Even though I wanted to break off our engagement, I didn’t want him dead. And I certainly couldn't let him die by "my" hands. I just hoped that this time, I could change my fate. After hanging up, I immediately called a cab back to the hospital. In my last life, what I lacked most was evidence. This time, I was going to create an ironclad alibi. When I arrived at the hospital, I walked right into a chaotic scene. A grieving family member was screaming, brandishing a knife. No one dared to get close. In the distance, I saw someone had already started a live stream. I glanced at the time. 2:30 PM. Perfect. With all eyes on the scene, I took a deep breath and walked toward him. Every time the negotiators were about to calm him down, I would say something to deliberately provoke him again. Just a few carefully chosen, inflammatory words. As I’d hoped, after a few rounds of this, his eyes burned with a furious rage directed solely at me. He lunged. He grabbed me, pressed the cold steel of the knife to my neck, and dragged me up to the hospital rooftop. The clock on a nearby building read 3:00 PM. The courtyard below was swarming with onlookers, all staring up with anxious faces. Seeing the security cameras everywhere, I finally felt a sense of relief. The police arrived quickly, positioning themselves next to the hospital administrator, trying to de-escalate the situation. More and more people joined the live streams, their phones pointed toward the sky. A chorus of voices rose from the crowd, all begging the man to let me go. But the more they pleaded, the tighter his arm wrapped around me. The blade of the knife nicked my cheek, and a thin trickle of blood ran down my skin. Poised on the edge of life and death, my mind was perfectly, unnaturally calm. 2 Because in my past life, at this very moment, I was the perfect scapegoat. She murdered my fiancé, Joey, in his studio. The security cameras captured "me" doing it. All I remembered was being asleep. But faced with the crystal-clear video evidence, my denials were useless. I had no proof. According to the text messages, "I" had started an argument with him, confronting him about another woman and demanding an explanation. "I" had furiously called a cab to his studio. The video showed us in a heated fight. It showed me, in a fit of rage, grabbing a knife from his desk and killing him. The face in the video was unmistakably mine. The movements, the expressions—they were all mine. The dress "I" was wearing was a custom piece, the only one of its kind in the world. All the evidence proved it was a crime of passion, that I had killed him out of jealous rage. And while the things he’d done probably meant he deserved to die, he shouldn't have died by my hand. But this time was different. I had warned him to leave the studio. I was on a hospital rooftop, a hostage in a live-streamed crisis. The entire hospital, the entire city, was my alibi. I wanted to see how she could frame me now. How could "I" send those texts? How could "I" kill him? As the police negotiators drew the man’s attention, his grip on me tightened unconsciously. This was my chance. I timed my move, striking his wrist and sending the knife clattering to the rooftop floor. The police swarmed him instantly, tackling him to the ground. But in his final, desperate struggle, he shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, over the edge of the roof. Luckily, a second-floor awning broke my fall. I survived, escaping with nothing more than a broken arm. As they loaded me onto a stretcher, the influencers who had been live-streaming the event gave me thumbs-ups. “What a heroic doctor,” one of them marveled. A flood of praise and concern washed over me, and I had to stop myself from laughing. In my last life, I had worked a full night shift, then stayed to help with a morning surgery. I was exhausted when I got home. I fell asleep at 2:00 PM and didn’t wake up until 5:00. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the police, there to arrest me. No matter how many awards I had won, no matter how much the hospital vouched for me, it couldn’t stop the tide of public outrage. In the face of that damning video, my entire life’s work meant nothing. 3 I couldn't explain what I was doing between 3:00 and 5:00 PM. I had no proof I was asleep in my apartment. Worse, the elevator camera in my building showed "me" leaving at 3:00 PM. But this time, surrounded by witnesses, I was wheeled into the operating room. All these people were my alibi. I refused to believe things could end the same way. The surgery finished at 5:20 PM. As they wheeled me out, my arm in a cast, the heavy weight in my chest finally lifted. I grabbed my phone and called Joey, needing to know if he was okay. Once, twice, it went straight to voicemail. A terrible feeling crept into my heart. In my past life, "I" killed him. This time, I had warned him. I had an airtight alibi. Had I failed to change his fate after all? On the tenth try, someone finally answered. I was trembling, my voice shaking as I spoke. “Joey?” A sigh came from the other end of the line. “Is this Ms. Cassandra Willis? I’m afraid Mr. Collins has been in an accident…” The phone slipped from my numb fingers and crashed to the floor. My best friend, Maya, who had just walked in, saw the whole thing. She quickly picked up the phone and rushed to my side, trying to comfort me. I couldn’t believe it. Joey was still dead. My mind instantly flashed to the security footage. Was it possible… was "I" still the killer? As I reeled in shock, Maya started yelling at me. “Cassandra, are you insane? You could have gotten yourself killed! Do you have a death wish?” she raged. “Everyone else stayed back, but you had to play the hero?” Her voice snapped me back to the present. I managed a smile that was more like a grimace. I needed to be there. I needed that alibi. But I couldn't tell her that I had been reborn. All I could do was smile apologetically and promise I’d never do it again. Hearing her scold me was strangely comforting. She was the first person to come see me. My own parents, who spent their days glued to their phones, were nowhere to be found. Even though the hospital administration had tried to suppress the news about the hostage situation, it had definitely gone viral. There was no way they hadn't seen it. 4 I thought back to my last life. When my parents found out "I" had killed Joey, they never stopped berating me. They seemed completely convinced of my guilt. No matter how much I explained, they refused to believe me. “Even her own parents think she’s the killer. What else is there to investigate?” “It was definitely premeditated.” Their public condemnation, combined with Joey's parents’ live-streamed accusations, threw me to the wolves. Their testimony was a big reason my death sentence was carried out so quickly. Only Maya never gave up on me. She fought to uncover the truth. But she died in a car accident while searching for evidence. After she finished yelling, her anger melted into concern. “Seriously, Cassie, what’s gotten into you?” A chilling possibility began to form in my mind, one I didn't want to believe was true. I grabbed Maya’s hand, my expression deadly serious. “I need you to go to this address. Check on someone for me.” Her playful demeanor vanished. “Tell me. You can count on me.” Using the memories from my past life, I gave Maya an address. She had just left when there was a knock on my door. It was Detective Miller. The moment I saw him, my body went rigid. He was the one who arrested me in my last life. He had given me a chance, asked me to provide any evidence that I was at home sleeping. But I had none. He had wanted to believe me, but the public pressure, fueled by Joey's parents, was immense. He managed to delay things for three months, but in the end, I couldn't give him what he needed. His face was etched with fatigue, but his demeanor was as sharp as ever. His voice was cold, professional. “Ms. Cassandra Willis?” I nodded, looking at him with a sense of dread. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of the murder of Mr. Joey Collins. You need to come with us.” My mind was reeling, but I didn't let it show. I forced myself to speak calmly. “Officer, you see my…” I lifted my casted arm. “With my arm like this, how could I have killed anyone? There must be a mistake.” His brow furrowed. He took out a tablet and played a video for me. “The security footage shows you at Mr. Collins’ studio, engaging in a violent confrontation, and then killing him. The evidence is conclusive.” 5 My mind went blank. Why was he still at the studio? And why was the person in that video still me? The expressions, the movements—they were all my habits. For a terrifying moment, my conviction wavered. “Is this… is this a deepfake?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I was at the hospital the whole time. Hundreds of people can verify that!” My heart was hammering in my chest, and I struggled to breathe. He showed me a series of stills. “This footage was taken directly from the security system's hard drive. There’s no trace of digital manipulation. We also have footage of you getting out of a cab, entering the building, and knocking on his door.” “And we found your fingerprints at the scene.” Panic seized me again. The memories of the trial, the public shaming, the death sentence—it all came rushing back. Was it possible I couldn't escape my fate? “You need to come with us,” the detective repeated, his eyes watching me warily. “Trust the process. If you’re innocent, I promise you, we will clear your name.” My heart felt like lead. I knew I had no choice but to go with him. I couldn't understand it. How was I still the killer? What was the person behind this trying to achieve? My only hope was that Maya would find something. As I was escorted out of my hospital room, a crowd gathered. “Officer, are you sure you have the right person?” “Dr. Willis is a wonderful person. She would never kill anyone!” Seeing the supportive crowd, I remembered the scene from my previous life. A crowd had surrounded me then, too. But they were screaming, calling me a murderer, demanding justice, demanding my death. Even my parents had publicly stated that I’d always had a bad temper and had been trying to break up with Joey, conveniently leaving out any mention of his own faults. He was controlling, selfish, and possessive. He had suffocated me. Worse, he was involved in illegal activities. When I found out and tried to end the engagement, my parents were furious. They insisted his flaws didn't matter, that marrying him was a blessing. They said I was almost thirty and unmarried, a source of immense pressure for them. Now that Joey was willing to marry me, they wouldn't let me back out. They told me I would marry him, even if it killed me. 6 When I couldn’t take it anymore, I had screamed at them, asking who their real child was, me or Joey? Their answer was to beat me. They told me if I broke the engagement, they would disown me. So it was no surprise that when they saw the footage of "me" killing Joey, they immediately branded me a monster. They cried on camera about how heartless I was, how I had no love for my family. Then they produced a medical document diagnosing me with a sleepwalking disorder and publicly disowned me. The revelation had nearly broken my mind. But this time, as the police led me away, the crowd was on my side. I smiled and thanked them, telling them to trust the police to find the truth. The moment I sat down in the interrogation room, Detective Miller asked the question I had dreaded in my past life. “Where were you today between 3:00 PM and 5:00 PM?” Last time, I couldn't prove I was asleep. This time, my answer was simple. “At the hospital.” “If you don't believe me, you can check the hospital's security footage or talk to anyone who was there. They can all vouch for me.” He valued evidence above all else and immediately had someone verify my claim. Just then, my parents started shouting outside, demanding to see me. The second they entered the interrogation room and saw the gash on my face and the cast on my arm, their expressions changed. I looked at them with a flicker of hope and whispered, “Mom, Dad.” My mother’s response was to slap me across the face. “How could you be so cruel? You’d actually kill someone just to break off an engagement?” “I don't have a vicious daughter like you,” my father added. The police hadn't even charged me, but my own parents had already delivered their verdict. Was it so certain in their minds that I was a murderer? A female officer quickly stepped in, explaining that nothing was confirmed, that I might not be the killer. But my mother lunged at me, grabbing my injured shoulder. “Then why is it you in the video and not someone else? There’s nothing to explain! What will people say when they find out I have a murderer for a daughter? How can I show my face in public?” Ha. My parents. How much could they possibly despise me? From a young age, they had dumped me at my grandmother’s house without so much as a penny for my care. My grandmother, who spent her days playing mahjong, never wanted me. She kicked me and cursed me, and I grew up sickly and frail. But I craved their love, so I endured everything. Now I finally understood. I had never mattered to them at all. No wonder it took me until the moment of my death in my past life to see a hint of the truth. Now, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “Mom, Dad, I didn’t kill him. I don’t have an alibi for that time; I was at the hospital.” I corrected myself. “I mean, I do have an alibi.” Hearing this, they didn't ask for details. They exploded with rage. “The video is so clear, and you’re still trying to lie? You’ve been a compulsive liar since you were a child! Do you think the police will coddle you like we have?” His words felt like a physical blow. A compulsive liar? Since they took me back home, my sister had blamed me for everything. Every time I tried to explain, they refused to listen, accusing me of lying. But it was always my sister who was lying. “If only it was your sister engaged to Joey,” my mother sighed. “She’s so gentle and kind. She would have made him happy. It’s a shame she’s been on a business trip abroad for months.” My sister again. The first time Joey came to our house, my mother pulled me aside and asked me to let my sister have him. But you can't just "give" someone you're dating to someone else. After I refused, they tried talking to Joey, but he refused as well. After that, they treated me with cold contempt, blaming me for my sister’s “heartbreak,” which they claimed was the reason for her long trip. Detective Miller, sensing the toxic family dynamic, interrupted them. “The investigation is ongoing. Ms. Willis is only a suspect at this point. Rest assured, we will not let a criminal go free, but we will not frame an innocent person either.” My mother’s eyes darted nervously, and she fidgeted with her hair. But my parents seemed not to hear him. My father stomped his foot and pointed at me. “Have you seen his parents? They’re devastated! They’re on a live stream right now calling you a heartless monster, and I can’t even watch it!” Then he pulled out a piece of paper. A medical diagnosis. “Officer, it’s not that I don't believe my own daughter. But the thing is… she’s a sleepwalker.” Just like last time. If I didn't have my own evidence, I would be condemned all over again. After all, if your own parents don’t believe you, who will? Detective Miller looked surprised. “A sleepwalker?” He took the document and examined it closely. Seeing them nod in confirmation, I let out a bitter laugh.
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