Not Your Scapegoat Again
The day of the verdict, Simon—my fiancé—begged me to take the deal.
"I know you're innocent, but Nancy's pregnant. I can't let her go to jail."
Tears. Fake concern.
"This is for your own good," he said, holding my hand.
I signed it.
In my last life, I refused—and paid for it with prison, torture, and infertility.
This time? I played along.
By morning, headlines screamed I'd stolen trade secrets.
Nancy? Front and center.
"Yeah, it was her. I saw her sneak into Johnston Group with my own eyes!"
But when court opened that afternoon, Clark—yes, the plaintiff—stepped up and dropped the case.
Then, in front of everyone, he pulled out a ring, dropped to one knee, and said,
"Heidi Wynn, this time... will you marry me?"