1 The tense silence in the conference room was thick. My department was in the middle of a final pitch when a voice, clear as a bell, echoed in everyone’s mind: My sister’s face is so flushed. She must be playing with that little toy again. I can’t say a word, or the client will tear up our contract. The client’s representatives exchanged uneasy glances. The deal was dead. My manager, purple with rage, canceled our entire department’s bonuses. I became the object of everyone’s scorn. My life spiraled. I clawed my way back, using my expertise to single-handedly win back the project, earning a promotion. But then, my sister’s inner voice sighed for all to hear: Vivian looks successful, but it’s a sham. She slept her way to the top. The CEO’s wife, our company’s Vice President, heard it. At the company-wide ceremony, she publicly slapped me, branding me a homewrecker. My reputation was destroyed. I was ostracized and forced to resign. At my farewell dinner, her voice struck one last time: This is a trap. Vivian drugged the drinks to hand them to executives at her new company. My colleagues, consumed by mob mentality, beat me to death. As I died, I wondered why everyone turned on me with such venom. I only understood when I woke up—reborn. And this time, I could hear my sister’s thoughts, too. The conference room again. A colleague was droning on about market projections. A wave of dizziness washed over me; the fever I was fighting made each breath a struggle, painting my cheeks a deep crimson. The hand I had started to raise for help froze mid-air. I was back. It had all happened. In my last life, I had spearheaded this project. I insisted on leading the final presentation, despite being sick. I never imagined it would be the first step into my own personal hell. As if on cue, my sister Molly’s inner voice, a saccharine whisper in my mind, began. Wow, Vivian’s face is beet red. Oh my god, is she really that bold? Using her vibrator… here? I know she has trouble controlling herself, but this is insane. At home is one thing, but bringing it to the office? In front of all these people? Is she just addicted to the rush? Should I stop her? But if I say something, the client will get furious and cancel everything. What do I do? I lifted my head, my gaze locking onto Molly. Disbelief warbled my vision. Was she the one who had orchestrated my ruin? But why? She was my sister. My own flesh and blood. That very fact had made her mental broadcasts so devastatingly effective. Everyone believed her instantly, their stares turning from professional to perverse. I remembered the confusion from my past life, wondering why my normally supportive colleagues had let our manager throw me, the project lead, out of the room without a single word in my defense. Afterward, they docked everyone's bonuses, and I, consumed by guilt, assumed my fever had offended the client. I didn’t dare argue. I just worked harder. But this wasn't my past life anymore. This was a second chance. My hand slipped into my pocket, my fingers closing around a small pill. I was mildly allergic to one of its ingredients; within a minute, it would trigger an asthma attack. To them, a feverish blush didn't look like sickness; it looked like sin. So what if I got sicker? What if it became a matter of life and death? I looked up and met Molly’s eyes. They glittered with a defiant, triumphant light. As the team’s curious gazes intensified, I bit down hard on my lip, a pained groan escaping. It was the perfect sound effect, confirming every sordid detail of Molly’s inner monologue. She had no idea I was playing along. You can’t win the game if you’re not willing to be a piece on the board. The room fell silent. My manager, Mark, slammed his hand on the table, his face a mask of fury. “Vivian Hale, get the hell out of my sight!” he roared. Before I could respond, Molly shot up, rushing to my side and grabbing my arm. “Vivian, are you feeling alright? Let me help you out of here.” Her thoughts, however, told a different story. If she stays in here any longer, she’s going to orgasm and pass out in front of everyone. I can’t let that happen. It would be too obvious. Her fingers dug into my bicep like talons as she practically dragged me toward the door. And then, just as we reached the threshold, I let it happen. My breath hitched. I gasped, clutching my chest, and collapsed to the floor in a heap. The illusion of a faint was complete. Molly’s mental voice skyrocketed in volume, a panicked megaphone blasting in everyone's ears. Oh, crap, too late. She actually came and passed out. She’s wearing a skirt today! What if the damn thing vibrates its way out? The explicit thought shocked the room into a stunned silence. Mark stared down at me, his expression twisting with disgust as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. He drew back his foot and kicked me hard in the ribs. “Having filth like you in this company pollutes the very air we breathe,” he spat. “Stop faking it. I’m telling you right now, you’re fired!” Molly, who had been frantically calling my name, suddenly stood up, her face a picture of righteous indignation. “You can’t just fire my sister! She has slaved away for this company for years! If you’re going to fire her, you owe her severance!” I was only pretending to be unconscious, but hearing those words sent a genuine pang of pain through my chest. The little sister I had practically raised wasn't just trying to destroy me; she was trying to squeeze every last drop of value from my corpse. Mark snorted. “Severance? I should be making her hand over that… thing. A degenerate woman like her is lucky I don’t.” Seething, he lifted his leg for another kick. Before his foot could connect, a powerful voice cut through the chaos. “Stop!” A path cleared through the gawking crowd. A man knelt beside me, immediately starting chest compressions. "Mark, what the hell is wrong with you? We're a medical tech firm! Can't you see she's having an asthma attack? Instead of helping, you're assaulting her?" Recognizing that voice, I finally let myself truly slip into darkness. When I woke up, the sterile smell of a hospital filled my nostrils. Back in the conference room, I had sent a text to the one person who could fix this: Mr. Grant, the CEO and founder of the company. I told him I’d had a breakthrough on the new prototype and needed to meet with him urgently. I knew he valued this project above all else. More importantly, he was a doctor by training, and he knew about my asthma. I was safe. Mr. Grant’s furious voice echoed from the hallway. “What were you thinking, Mark? Your employee collapses and you decide to kick her? In front of a client? Do you have any idea what this does to our company’s reputation?” Mark’s voice was a pathetic mumble. “It was Vivian… she was playing with one of those… things… in the meeting. Her face was all red, everyone in the office knew, I thought—” “Thought what?” Mr. Grant roared. “That was a high fever triggering an asthma attack! You nearly killed her, you idiot! Just… just go in there, apologize to her, and then pack your things. You’re done here.” A moment later, a defeated-looking Mark shuffled in and offered a half-hearted apology. Our firm was number one in the industry. After a scandal like this, his career was effectively over. He’d be blacklisted. He channeled all his rage onto the person he blamed for his downfall. He lunged for Molly, who was cowering in the corner, his hands closing around her throat. “You bitch!” he screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. “It was you! Your twisted thoughts about your sister wanting a thrill… you made me do this! You misled me! I’ve lost everything because of you, and now I’m going to kill you!” The other colleagues stared, stunned. For the first time, they realized it wasn’t just a fluke. Everyone could hear Molly’s thoughts. Molly’s face turned purple as she clawed at Mark’s hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let me go!” she rasped. When he didn’t relent, she turned her pleading eyes to me. “Vivian… help… me…” The others finally snapped out of their shock and pulled Mark off her. Molly collapsed, coughing, but the look she gave me was pure venom. “Why didn’t you help me, Vivian? After I was trying to help you!” she cried. “Are you really going to believe their crazy talk over your own sister? Do you think I would ever try to hurt you?” I said nothing. After being discharged, I moved out of our shared apartment and into the company dorms. I poured every waking moment into refining my project proposal. Weeks later, I successfully landed a massive new contract, and with it, a promotion to Mark's old position as manager. At my celebration dinner, Molly’s voice surfaced again. I’m happy for my sister, I really am. But she didn’t earn this promotion with her skills. Isn’t that unfair to everyone else who worked so hard? They don’t know the truth. Vivian has been sleeping with multiple clients. There’s even one who’s over sixty, with a combover, who smells like he hasn’t showered in a week. I don’t know how she can stomach it. The cheerful chatter in the restaurant died. A dozen pairs of eyes swiveled toward me, simmering with a cocktail of disgust, contempt, and morbid curiosity. Molly, feigning ignorance, continued her silent broadcast. A few of the senior executives are in on it, too. Especially Mr. Grant. I’ve seen Vivian sneaking into his office when no one’s looking. She goes in wearing a prim white blouse and comes out with it buttoned wrong and her hair a mess. That whole ‘vibrator in the conference room’ incident? Mr. Grant was the one who covered it up. Her mental gaze shifted to Eleanor Grant, the VP, and her thoughts dripped with faux pity. Poor Mrs. Grant. She and the CEO have always been seen as the perfect couple, so in love after all these years. I can’t believe he’d throw it all away for my sister… Eleanor’s face was a thundercloud. Mr. Grant was away on business and couldn’t attend the dinner. The other male executives at the table nervously avoided each other's eyes, each wondering who among them was being implicated. Eleanor’s patience snapped. She shot to her feet, lunged across the table, and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You little slut!” she shrieked. “You dare touch my husband?” In my previous life, this was the moment that sealed my fate. Eleanor had branded me a homewrecker, a stain that never washed off. Even after Mr. Grant returned and cleared my name, the damage was done. People believe what they see, and what they had seen was a public beatdown. But this time, I was ready. I had been watching Eleanor all night. The second she moved, I dodged back. I scrambled over to the presentation laptop and connected it to the projector, flooding the large screen with my work from the past several weeks. “Mrs. Grant, I don’t know what you’ve been led to believe,” I said, my voice steady, “but I have proof for every single step I took to win this contract.” An image appeared on the screen—a grainy photo of me sitting on a curb outside a client’s office building at dawn. “This was me, waiting for the lead client. I followed him from his office to his home, just begging for five minutes to present my proposal.” Another photo: me, soaking wet, holding a small, crying child, with the same client and his wife looking on in gratitude. “I ended up saving his son from drowning in their pool. As a thank you, he gave me a chance. His wife and I are good friends now.” I showed a picture of the two of us having coffee. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. If I had slept with the man, the last thing I’d do is befriend his wife. I pulled up the security footage from the conference room. “And as for what happened with our former manager, I have no idea why he was so convinced I was doing something sordid. I had a full medical examination at the hospital. He was fabricating everything. In fact, he formally apologized and admitted he was influenced by… my sister’s thoughts.” I stared directly at Molly. She froze, a deer in the headlights, squirming in her seat. Just as she was about to burst with a panicked explanation, I smiled. “But hearing people’s thoughts? That’s something out of a fantasy novel, isn't it? It couldn't possibly happen in real life.” I turned to the VP. “Mark must have been having a psychotic break. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Grant?” Eleanor’s eyes were glued to the screen. She slowly nodded. Many of the people present had been at that meeting; they knew the truth. Now, the way they looked at Molly was different. Molly’s face went white. She lowered her head, but her inner voice was frantic. What is Vivian talking about? How could anyone hear what I’m thinking? Ugh—It doesn’t matter. No matter how much fake evidence she shows, she can’t fake what’s on her own body. If someone just ripped open her shirt, they’d see it all. The marks from all the men who’ve ‘loved’ her. Bruises everywhere, purplish and blue. Even rope marks… she’s into some really kinky stuff. I can barely stand to look at it… Eleanor’s sharp eyes darted to my partially open collar. A flicker of something. A hint of red on my collarbone. That was all it took. Her rage returned, white-hot and absolute. All semblance of corporate decorum vanished. She charged at me, her hands a blur. Two sharp slaps cracked across my face, making my head ring and stars burst behind my eyes. The room erupted. My colleagues were spectators at a circus, whispering and pointing. I was a shameless harlot getting what I deserved. In another time, they’d have drowned me in a pig cage. Below the stage, Molly watched me with a smug, triumphant smirk. You’re finished, sister. Eleanor’s eyes were blazing. With a final, furious cry, she grabbed the front of my thin blouse and ripped it open. Shh-rrrriiip! The fabric gave way, and the angry red marks and deep purple bruises covering my chest and shoulders were suddenly exposed for all to see. “Vivian, I didn't know you had a boyfriend! Where did all those marks come from?!” Molly gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth in mock horror. The performance was flawless, the final nail in my coffin. Splat. A rotten egg hit my forehead, dripping yolk into my eyes. Then came crumpled napkins, leftover food, anything people could grab. I was being buried in garbage, the homewrecker, the slut. Just as the refuse was about to swallow me whole, the main doors of the banquet hall burst open. A smile finally spread across my lips. The person I’d been waiting for had arrived. “Everyone stop! I want to see who dares to harm this company’s greatest asset!”
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