Chapter 3

At eight that evening, Corey went live, tearfully recounting his story.

"I'm too scared to report this to the police. I'm afraid she'll retaliate. She has power and influence. I'm just a small influencer… Even her husband threatened me, said he'd kill me…"

The livestream chat flooded with messages like "Protect Corey Pickett" and "Sandra Shelby should die."

At that very moment, Sandra started her own livestream.

The title was blunt and direct: [Evidence Regarding Corey Pickett's False Accusations].

Corey's fans rushed over, ready to overwhelm her stream.

On screen, Sandra sat in a crisp white coat, with me and a lawyer beside her.

No theatrics. No self-pity.

Without a word, she played the hospital stairwell surveillance footage—high-definition, no blind spots.

In the video, Corey walked into a corner holding a phone stabilizer. He glanced around first, making sure no one was there. Then, unbelievably, he tore open his own shirt and clawed several deep marks across his chest.

After that, he shouted into the empty air, "Dr. Shelby!"

Once he finished filming, he checked the playback on his phone, even tidied his hair with satisfaction, and left whistling.

The entire internet erupted.

Moments ago, the chat had been filled with insults toward Sandra—now, it was nothing but question marks.

Corey's face turned deathly pale.

"N-no… that's not what happened! The footage must be AI-generated!"

He screamed hysterically. Then, as if recalling something, his expression twisted with malice.

"I originally wanted to spare you some dignity, Dr. Shelby. But since you're using fake footage to frame me, don't blame me for fighting back!"

With that, he played another video in his livestream.

Sandra and I exchanged a glance, confusion reflected in both our eyes.

In our last life, he never had this card to play.

The moment the video started, I felt my blood run cold.

It was still the same dim stairwell, but from a different angle.

Clearly, someone had been hiding in a more concealed corner, secretly filming.

In the footage, Corey leaned against the wall, his clothes disheveled.

A woman in a white coat stepped out of the shadows, her face fully exposed to the camera. She looked exactly like Sandra.

The woman slowly reached out, gently caressing Corey's cheek, her fingers even brushing against his lips.

Corey shrank back, trying to avoid her, but that hand pressed him firmly in place.

And then, the video cut off.

The livestream chat exploded.

[Holy shit! The "queen of players" finally exposed!]

[I knew that surveillance footage looked off! So it was fake evidence!]

[Her face is crystal clear. What's left to deny?]

Corey sobbed until his eyes were swollen. "I didn't want to release this. I was afraid she'd retaliate… but she's gone too far, using fake surveillance to turn the tables on me!"

Sandra and I were completely stunned. How was this possible?

She stared at the woman on the screen—her identical double—her fingers clenched so tightly they turned white.

"That's not me."

Her voice trembled, but her gaze was unwavering.

"You know me. I've never met him in private. And I have a germophobia—I wouldn't even touch a patient without gloves."

Of course, I believed her. But then… who was the woman in that video?

That footage had never existed in our previous life. Could this be the butterfly effect caused by our rebirth?

Who, exactly, was the woman wearing Sandra's face?