The night before the SAT Finals, my overachiever boyfriend, Carter Paxton, handed me an “essential” essay topic he guaranteed would appear on the test. Trusting him, I memorized it word for word. Incredibly, the essay prompt was precisely as he predicted. I gleefully wrote it out during the test, sure I’d score top marks. But when the results were released, my perfect record shattered—I scored only 280 overall! Meanwhile, Sloane Whitmore, who usually lagged academically, soared to become the valedictorian, cozying up to Carter in celebration. Devastated, I took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to 10 minutes before the test started. That’s when I noticed Sloane’s sly, calculating stare. Content I had been reborn, back to 10 minutes before the SAT began. Carter Paxton stood before me, his smile a picture of reassurance. “Hannah, don’t stress. Just write the essay I gave you exactly as it is. I’ll see you at Union State University,” he said smoothly. “You’re brilliant and hardworking as always—I have no doubt in you,” he added. To ensure I would use his essay, Carter had grilled me relentlessly in the previous life. I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. In my past life, he said the same things. And yet, when the scores came out, my essay was flagged as plagiarized, earning me a zero on my English Literature and Composition paper. But why wasn’t it Sloane Whitmore accused of copying me? When I confronted Sloane, she had denied it all, smugly claiming, “Hannah, I turned in my paper early. How could I have copied yours? The surveillance footage even shows you glancing my way repeatedly. If anyone cheated, it was you!” My scores were abysmal—20 in math, barely passing in other subjects. My protests were dismissed as excuses. It didn’t make sense, no matter how I thought about it. Until this moment when Carter handed me a pencil case, inside was a pen, and I realized it had ink that had disappeared within 12 hours. I snatched the pencil case from him without hesitation, masking my revulsion as his grin deepened. “Hannah, I’ll be right here if you feel nervous. Just look over at me and think of us,” Carter said soothingly. In my past life, surveillance footage had caught me glancing out the window—toward Sloane’s desk. I had trusted Carter implicitly, assuming Sloane had sweet-talked him into giving her the essay prompt. Swallowing my disgust, I turned to him with a saccharine smile. “Carter, you’re so thoughtful. I’d be lost without you.” “Of course, silly. We’re forever. Now go ace that test.” I headed toward the exam hall. Along the way, I bought a regular pen at an inflated price from Dane Hargrove, the second-ranking student in our class. It was worth it for peace of mind. As I passed a classroom, I noticed a discarded bottle of red ink on the floor. Picking it up, I grinned—this was divine intervention. This time, I wasn’t just aiming to survive. I was going to make Carter and Sloane pay. In the exam queue, Sloane scanned the crowd until her eyes locked on me, and her lips curled into a satisfied smile at the sight of the pencil case in my hand. “Sloane! Your dress! What happened?” someone exclaimed. Sloane turned to see an unmistakable blotch of red on her skirt—a result of my “accidental” handiwork. Her face drained of color. Flustered, she shoved her pencil case into a friend’s hands and ran toward the restroom. “Let me take it for her. Sloane’s desk is next to mine,” I offered before anyone could respond, snatching the case. Inside, I swapped her pen cartridge with the one Carter had prepared for me. 2 That cursed pen had doomed me to a score of 280 in my past life. While I had used my fountain pen for the essay, I relied on that faulty pen for every other subject, and the results were catastrophic. No one believed me when I denied plagiarism. Without proof, my protests fell on deaf ears. My college acceptance vanished, replaced by blocklisting from every high school in the area. Sloane paraded my “academic dishonesty” online and told reporters, “Hannah’s entire record was fake. I won’t press charges, but her cheating caused real harm. She owes her peers, teachers, and society an apology.” Her words fueled a wildfire of public condemnation. In her pristine white dress, Sloane gave tearful interviews while Carter comforted her, becoming her knight in shining armor. Meanwhile, I endured harassment—death threats, insults, and even packages containing dead animals. Sloane rode her “high-achieving victim” narrative to an acceptance at Union State University and became a media darling. She and Carter were hailed as the perfect couple, while I was painted as a conniving fraud. Even my family believed the lies. My father’s sighs and my mother’s tears broke me. I took my own life to escape the shame. I would ensure they paid the price for everything they took from me. On test day, Sloane finished early, passing by with a smirk. She made small noises to distract me, hoping I’d glance her way for the cameras. This time, I gave her the satisfaction of two deliberate glances—just enough to confirm she hadn’t swapped pens. Watching her write Carter’s pre-prepared essay, oblivious to the vanishing ink, almost made me laugh out loud. Carter and Sloane had no idea I had improved the essay they thought would secure Sloane’s perfect score. Mine was refined and structured for maximum impact. When the results came out, I couldn’t wait to see their faces go pale. 3 The math, English, and composite exams followed in quick succession. I watched Sloane Whitmore tap her foot happily as she scribbled answers during the test. When the final bell rang, we left the examination hall together. Outside, Carter Paxton greeted me with a broad smile and a casual wave. “How’d it go, Hannah? Did the essay I prepared for you come up?” he asked, his tone soft and caring. As he spoke, he took my pencil case from me and discreetly tossed the pen into the nearest trash can. A cheap pen worth a couple of bucks wasn’t worth keeping, and he visibly relaxed after getting rid of it. Trailing close behind me, Sloane saw Carter’s action. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Hannah, what did you write for your essay?” Sloane asked, leaning in with the overwhelming scent of her bargain-bin perfume. Feigning naivety, I recited the essay Carter had drilled into me word for word. Sloane’s and Carter’s initial curiosity transformed into uncontainable glee. “You wrote that? Wow, Carter’s incredible—he predicted it perfectly! And he’s in college already, yet he still cares so much about your SATs. You’re so lucky!” “Seriously, Carter’s amazing. He even helps his girlfriend prep for her college essays! That kind of foresight is rare,” another chimed in. “If Carter had tutored me, I wouldn’t have flunked my essay. Hannah, you’re lucky to have such a talented and thoughtful boyfriend. It’s like he’s one in a million!” The chatter of classmates surrounded me, and Sloane pretended to join in with half-hearted admiration while Carter placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze—a subtle celebration of their scheme. I caught the knowing glances they exchanged, and the smugness in their eyes made my stomach churn. In my past life, I was too blind to notice their unspoken communication and perfectly synchronized acts. “Now that the exams are over, we should all celebrate! One last hurrah before we go our separate ways,” suggested Dane Hargrove, the class president, with cheerful enthusiasm. Of course, I agreed. I knew exactly what was coming next. In my previous life, Carter went on camera and accused me of having a “habit of stealing.” He claimed that my plagiarism of Sloane’s essay was just the tip of the iceberg. But the real thief had always been Carter. He’d stolen money meant for our housekeeper, Mrs. Ellie Carter—$10,000 in cash. No one suspected him back then. When the money went missing, my parents blamed me and cut off my allowance for a month. “Ellie, this money is for you,” my mother had said sternly. “Hannah, if you took it, just admit it. People make mistakes, but honesty is what matters.” “I expected better from you,” my father said, his disappointment cutting me like a knife. I knew I had left the money for Mrs. Carter, but my protests fell on deaf ears. In this life, when I saw Carter eyeing Mrs. Carter’s paycheck again, I replaced the real cash with fake bills. At the dinner celebration, Sloane enthusiastically pointed at the menu, calling for all the most expensive items—wild-caught Maine Lobster and other delicacies. The waiter scribbled down her lavish order. “Carter, you’re finally here! Sloane’s been thinking about your love for seafood and ordered much just for you. I couldn’t stop her!” Jade Ellington chimed in, her tone syrupy sweet. “She even skipped the shrimp because you’re allergic, even though it’s her favorite. She’s always so thoughtful,” Jade added. “Oh, you!” Sloane said with mock modesty, nudging Jade playfully. Carter’s gaze softened as he looked at Sloane with what could only be described as quiet admiration. 4 I wasn’t here for the food. My focus was elsewhere. Feigning confusion, I asked, “Wait, is Sloane picking up the tab? With all this fancy seafood, it’s gotta be pricey!” In my past life, Sloane had publicly accused me of being a homewrecker during a similar dinner. She rallied everyone against me, painting herself as the victim of my supposed interference in her relationship with Carter. What should’ve been a simple “split the bill” dinner ended with me being stuck with the entire check under the guise of “making peace.” Not this time. I flipped through the menu and let my eyebrows rise in exaggerated worry. “Wow, this place is expensive! There’s a more affordable spot nearby. We’re all just broke students—maybe we should go there instead.” I emphasized “broke students,” knowing someone’s ego wouldn’t be able to take it. Sure enough, Jade Ellington sneered at me like I’d just grown another head. “Broke? Speak for yourself. Just because we’re students doesn’t mean we’re broke! Besides, Hannah, doesn’t your family own a business? What’s with the penny-pinching?” I let my gaze linger on the fine print at the bottom of the menu: a $300 minimum per person. Thinking about Carter’s hollow bravado and empty wallet made me almost giddy. “No big deal, Hannah,” Dane Hargrove chimed in. “Let’s enjoy the night! A little splurge won’t hurt anyone, and Carter definitely wouldn’t fit in at a cheap diner.” “Oh, don’t worry about it, Hannah,” Sloane added, her tone dripping with faux kindness. “If you’re struggling to pay, we could all pitch in and cover your share.” That fake generosity burned me in my past life, but I had no shame this time. “Sloane, you’re so thoughtful. Thanks! I’ve been short on cash lately,” I replied with a cheerful smile. “Since we’re celebrating, maybe I’ll add a couple of nice drinks to my order. Cheers to us!” Sloane’s smile twitched. “You… you…” Just then, the waiter arrived. “Would you like to order now?” “Yes,” I said sweetly. “Let’s add a bottle of Dom Pérignon, please.” Sloane stiffened, her grip on her fork tightening. The waiter approached with his notepad in hand. “So far, we have truffle and mushroom wagyu stir-fry, premium black and white caviar…” I glanced at the menu items Sloane Whitmore had already ordered. Nearly every item was the most expensive seafood available. If she was going all out, why shouldn’t I? “Let’s add a bottle of Château Lafite and a round of specialty cocktails,” I said with a saccharine smile. Sloane’s lips twitched as she clenched her fork. Jade Ellington, ever the gossip, seized the moment to strike. “So, Hannah, how long have you and Carter been together?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence. I knew this was a trap. In my past life, I’d answered honestly and ended up branded with a massive “homewrecker” label. “One year? Wasn’t it the summer before senior year?” I had answered back then, and her response sealed my fate. “Oh, so there was no gap at all? That’s proof you swooped in while Carter and Sloane were still sorting things out! Hannah, that’s so gross. Poor Sloane was too kind to say anything,” Jade had sneered. “Yeah, Sloane and Carter were arguing—they hadn’t officially broken up! But you jumped at the chance, didn’t you? How shameless can you be?” another classmate said, feeding off the drama. “Don’t hold me back, Sloane!” Jade had cried dramatically, trying to slap me as tears streamed down her face. Sloane, always the consummate actress, pretended to restrain her. Back then, Carter’s silence was deafening. “Let’s move on, everyone. I’ll do what I can to make it up to Sloane,” he said, his voice full of empty promises. His refusal to defend me was more damning than any accusation. I’d stormed out of the restaurant, humiliated. 5 In this lifetime, I played my cards differently. Feigning shyness, I tugged on Carter’s sleeve, lowering my gaze like a bashful girlfriend. “Almost three years,” Carter replied smoothly, calm and composed. “Three years?!” Jade Ellington nearly dropped her fork. “But I thought it was only one year! Senior year, right?” “I’ve been with Hannah since her sophomore year,” Carter said. “I’ve had a crush on her for a long time.” He added, “I didn’t want to distract her from her studies, so we only went public in senior year. I didn’t want her to deal with unnecessary rumors.” Sloane Whitmore’s face turned ashen. Her brows furrowed deeply as she stammered, “What about… us?” Sloane had basked in the assumption of being with Carter during their junior year. She’d never confirmed the rumors outright but had played along coyly whenever classmates teased her about it. Carter, however, looked directly at her and delivered the blow: “There’s never been an ‘us.’ Hannah has always been my only girlfriend.” His words left no room for interpretation. On the way to dinner, I’d subtly planted seeds with Carter. “My dad mentioned how grateful he is for all the help you’ve given me with my studies,” I said. “He joked about paying you $200,000 for tutoring me.” Carter’s brows had knitted for a moment, but when I continued, “You’ve been so selfless, even keeping our relationship private to protect me,” his tension eased. Now, under the scrutiny of everyone at the table, Carter took my hand and kissed it gently. “Silly girl,” he said, his voice dripping with sweetness. “Three years hardly captures how long I’ve cared about you.” Sloane looked as though she’d been struck by lightning. Her dazed expression only cleared when Jade tugged her sleeve, snapping her back to the present. “This is Carter’s notebook,” Sloane said, handing over a thick stack of notes. “The exams are over, and I don’t need it anymore.” As she passed the notebook to Carter, a receipt fluttered out, landing near my feet. Curious, I bent down and picked it up. It was a Chanel receipt for a limited-edition “Snow White” bag addressed to Carter Paxton. I looked up to see Sloane smirking at me with smug satisfaction. Carter’s nervous glance darted between me and the receipt. “Sloane, a Snow White bag? That’s quite the gift,” I said, holding the receipt. Sloane’s triumphant smirk widened. I turned the receipt over to inspect it closer. “But isn’t this line exclusive? As far as I know, it’s not available in the U.S. It might be worth getting it authenticated.” The color drained from Sloane’s face. Moments later, she called over the waiter, glaring at him. “Be careful with the sauce! Don’t let a single drop touch my bag!” All eyes turned to the white bag she cradled protectively. “That’s a gorgeous bag,” Jade said, touching it. “Careful!” Sloane snapped, swatting her hand away. “This cost over ten grand. It’s not for greasy fingers.” I watched the performance with cool detachment. Having owned the same bag, I knew hers was a counterfeit. I held up the receipt, pretending to scrutinize it further. “Sloane, your receipt dropped. Funny, though—this bag isn’t sold stateside. It’s worth checking out, just in case.” Carter’s expression turned gray, his lips pressing into a tight line.
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