1 My roommate used my identity to catfish a girl named Sierra Miller. When he finally got caught, he cornered me in our dorm, begging me not to blow his cover. He claimed his family was in a medical crisis—his grandmother was dying—and that was the only reason he’d deceived her. He’d accepted massive wire transfers from her, money he could never hope to pay back. In my past life, I was a fool. I let pity cloud my judgment. I went along with the lie and stayed with Sierra to protect him. But after we got married and the truth eventually bled out, she turned into a monster. She spent years systematically breaking me. “Did you really think I loved this face?” she’d screamed, her voice jagged with contempt. “Your looks are nothing compared to the person I thought Jackson was. Give him back to me!” Then came the crash. The fire. The darkness. And then, the light. I opened my eyes to find myself back in senior year. I was standing outside the dorm lounge when Sierra intercepted me. She leaned in close, her designer perfume cloying and suffocating, as she brandished her phone. The screen was filled with flirtatious texts I had never sent. “Hey, babe,” she whispered, her eyes searching mine with a predatory sweetness. “Why are you acting like you don’t know me?” I looked at her, my heart like a stone in my chest. “Get lost,” I said. The playful smirk on Sierra’s face faltered, then turned into something sharper. She looked at the photos on her screen, then back at my face, comparing every line of my jaw, every curve of my brow. “Interesting,” she laughed, though there was no humor in it. “One second you’re calling me ‘wifey’ and ‘sweetheart’ over text, and the next you’re telling me to get lost? That’s cold, even for a guy like you.” Her almond-shaped eyes danced with a challenge. Her voice was pitched just loud enough for the passing students to slow down and stare. I didn’t blink. “You’ve got the wrong guy. Move.” Sierra let out a sharp, frustrated laugh, but she quickly smoothed her expression. She softened her tone, reaching for that practiced vulnerability. “I’m sorry, babe. I know you weren’t ready for us to meet in person yet. But I love you too much to wait. I couldn’t help myself. Please don’t be mad.” She tapped her screen rapidly. “Look, I just Zelled you fifty grand. It’s a peace offering. Let me take you out to a real dinner, okay? Somewhere expensive.” I had spent years watching her look at me with nothing but icy boredom. Seeing her this desperate, this fawning, was almost pathetic. “Do you even know my name?” I asked. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She looked up, confused. “Miles?” I let out a dry, mocking breath. “Didn’t you check the name on the bank account when you sent the money? It’s not mine.” Sierra reached out to ruffle my hair, but I jerked back. Her hand hung in the air for a second before she slowly curled her fingers into a fist. She forced another smile. “Silly. You told me you were using your parents’ secondary card because you didn’t want them tracking your spending. You told me to send it to your roommate’s account for safekeeping.” I stared at her, genuinely amazed by the level of self-delusion. “We’ve been ‘dating’ for months. Did you ever once FaceTime him?” Sierra froze. She shook her head slightly. “So, you’ve never seen his face. You decided the person you’re in love with is me based on a few photos, and you’re sending six-figure sums to a stranger? Did you skip every orientation seminar on fraud prevention?” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “You’re being catfished. It’s a pig-butchering scam. If I were you, I’d call the cops.” Sierra still didn’t want to believe it. She was convinced I was just throwing a tantrum because she’d surprised me. She looked hurt, her lower lip trembling slightly. “Babe, stop it. We have something special. We were going to meet eventually. Besides…” She lowered her voice, a suggestive glint returning to her eyes. “You sent me those photos. The ones where you’re… barely dressed. I couldn’t resist. But don’t worry, I promise I won’t touch you until you say I can.” My blood turned to ice. “What photos?” She handed me her phone. On the screen was a shot taken through the frosted glass of the dorm showers. It was me, mid-change, a silhouette of muscle and skin, unmistakable to anyone who knew me. “That’s you, Miles. Only you could have sent that. Stop playing games.” I ignored her, scrolling through the chat history. There was Jackson, using my face as his avatar, whining like a spoiled child. Jackson (as Miles): “Babe, these internships are killing me. Look how much weight I’ve lost.” Sierra had responded instantly with a wire transfer of $131,452.00. Sierra: “I’ll take care of you, baby. My dad just bought me that villa in the hills—the one with the infinity pool. Why don’t we just move in together after graduation?” Jackson: “Hmph. I know what you women want. I’m not ready for that yet. Let’s talk after finals.” I felt a wave of nausea. In my last life, I never saw these messages. I’d assumed Jackson had just lifted photos from my Instagram. I didn’t realize he’d been stalking me in our own living space, taking candid shots of me while I was vulnerable. I took a picture of her screen with my own phone and immediately emailed it to the Dean of Students. Subject: Urgent – Privacy Violation and Harassment. An individual has been taking non-consensual, private photos of me in the dorms and distributing them. I expect a full investigation. If the university cannot handle this, I am calling the police. 2 When I got back to the room, Jackson was there, looking shifty as he stepped in from the balcony. I ignored him, sitting at my desk and opening my laptop. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, Jackson shuffled over. “Hey, Miles. That girl downstairs… who was she?” I kept my voice flat. “Some rich girl getting scammed by a catfish. I told her to call the police.” Jackson’s entire body went rigid. His phone began to buzz incessantly in his pocket—notifications from Sierra, no doubt—but he didn’t dare look at it. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice raspy. “Miles… we’re best friends, right?” “Of course.” I turned my chair around, offering him a thin, sharp smile. In my previous life, I really did believe that. I felt for him. I knew his family was broke, and when he told me his grandmother was dying, I agreed to step in and play the part of Sierra’s boyfriend to save him from prison. I found out later that while his grandmother was sick, he hadn’t spent a dime on her. He’d used Sierra’s money for a designer wardrobe, a nose job, and a ticket to an MBA program in London. By the time he returned to the States, he was a different man. Back then, Sierra and I fought constantly. She hated that I wasn’t the “sweet, needy” boy she’d met online. At a New Year’s Eve party, she’d mocked me in front of everyone, calling me a “beautiful, brainless statue.” Jackson had been there, swirling a glass of expensive scotch. He’d laughed and said, “That’s because the guy you were talking to wasn’t Miles. It was me.” He’d winked at me then, acting like he’d done me a favor. “Miles is gorgeous, but he’s got the personality of a wet brick. I had to be his wingman just to get you two to the altar. You should probably put me at the head table when you renew your vows.” He’d made it sound like a harmless prank. But Sierra had stared at him, and I watched the light change in her eyes. When we got home that night, I told her everything. I thought she would understand. Instead, she turned on me. “So it was Jackson all along? The one who actually knew my soul? Why did you lie to me, Miles?” “Because he was going to go to jail!” I’d shouted. “He couldn’t pay you back!” “I didn’t care about the money!” she screamed. “I cared about the person on the other end of the phone! Do you think you’re so special just because of your face? His personality made you look like trash.” After that, she chased Jackson. She dragged me to every event where he might be. Once, when I was delirious with a 103-degree fever, she literally forced me into the car to attend his engagement party. “You’re faking it,” she’d hissed. “You’re just jealous he’s the one I actually want. You should be thanking him for helping a loser like you land someone like me.” “Sierra, he scammed you,” I’d whispered, shivering in the passenger seat. “He stole from you.” “Then I wish he’d kept stealing!” I remembered sitting at that wedding, watching Jackson—now polished, handsome, and married to a wealthy tech executive—while I wasted away. I found out from an old classmate that his grandmother had died in a state facility, alone and in pain, because the bills hadn’t been paid. The memory made my stomach turn. I had been a martyr for a sociopath. In that life, I finally tried to leave her. On the drive home from that wedding, Sierra lost her mind. She’d jerked the steering wheel, aiming the passenger side—my side—directly into a concrete barrier at eighty miles per hour. 3 “Miles, my grandma… she’s in the ICU. I was desperate…” I leaned back, watching Jackson spin the same lies he had used before. I felt nothing but a cold, clinical boredom. Suddenly, the door swung open. Our RA, Marcus, walked in, followed by a campus security officer. “Is everyone here?” Marcus asked, his face grim. “If anyone’s missing, give me their names. I need them back here now.” Our other two roommates were easy to track down. One was a pre-med student who lived in the library; the other was already working a tech internship and lived with his girlfriend most weekends. They were back within twenty minutes. Jackson was trembling. “What’s going on, Marcus?” Marcus shut the door and looked at the four of us. “Someone has been taking surreptitious photos of Miles in this suite and distributing them online. This is a felony-level privacy violation. If the person responsible steps forward now, we can handle this through the university. If not, the police are waiting downstairs.” Jackson’s knuckles turned white. Based on the reflections in the glass and the laundry pile in the background of the photo, we narrowed the time frame down to last Sunday. The pre-med roommate immediately pulled up his logs. “I was in the 24-hour lab all weekend. I have keycard swipes and security footage to prove I never came back to the room.” The tech intern showed photos of himself at a hiking trail three hours away. All eyes turned to Jackson. Jackson forced a shaky laugh. “Miles, man, you must be confused. Didn’t you ask me to take a picture of your back last weekend? You said you wanted to send it to some girl you were talking to. Maybe she’s the one who leaked it?” The room went silent. Everyone looked at me. Marcus sighed, looking disappointed. “Miles, if you’re involved in some kind of online drama, you need to be honest. Sending explicit photos to strangers is dangerous.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “I didn’t ask him to take anything. I don’t have a ‘girl’ online. I have no idea what Jackson is talking about.” Jackson panicked. “Miles, come on! You told me you had a crush on Sierra Miller from the West Campus. You were too shy to talk to her, so I offered to help you out. I’ve been ghostwriting your texts for months. Did you forget?” I remembered that basketball mixer from the first life. Jackson had asked me who I thought was the prettiest girl there. I’d pointed to Sierra. He’d laughed at the time, saying Vivian Harper was way more my type, but that Sierra was “loaded” and wore shoes that cost more than his tuition. He was using a three-year-old casual comment to build a house of lies. I looked him dead in the eye. “So, let me get this straight. Because I supposedly liked a girl, you decided to take non-consensual photos of me while I was changing? And you decided to use my identity to solicit over a hundred thousand dollars from her?” Jackson’s face went from pale to ash-gray in a heartbeat. 4 In the Dean’s office, Jackson broke down in tears. “Miles, please. Just this once. I was trying to help you at first, I swear! But then my grandma got the diagnosis. My parents don’t care about her—they left her to rot. She’s the only person who ever loved me. Sierra has so much money, she didn’t even miss it. It all went to the hospital.” He sobbed so convincingly that even the Dean looked a bit swayed. “Miles,” the Dean said softly. “If the photo was only sent to this one girl, perhaps we can bring her in to mediate? If she’s willing to settle this privately, it might be better for everyone’s future.” I looked at Jackson. He hadn’t had his plastic surgery yet. His features were plain, his jawline soft and uneven. In my past life, Sierra claimed she would have chosen him regardless of his looks. I wondered if she’d feel the same way seeing the “real” him—the one who hadn’t yet been sculpted by her own money. I nodded to the Dean. Sierra arrived ten minutes later. She stormed into the office, heading straight for me. “Miles! What is this? Your Dean says we’re both ‘victims’? Is your roommate trying to steal the money I gave you?” She glared at Jackson. “Hey! Have some dignity. That money was for Miles. Who do you think you are, trying to skim off his account?” Jackson looked like he’d been slapped. He’d spent hundreds of nights whispering “sweet nothings” to this girl until three in the morning. Jackson (as Miles): “I love you, babe.” Sierra: “I love your soul. Even if you didn’t look like a model, it wouldn’t matter. We’re soulmates.” He’d actually started to believe her. He thought she loved him. “Sierra,” Jackson whispered, his eyes red. “It’s me. I’m the one you’ve been talking to. I was just trying to bring you and Miles together, but then—” Sierra froze. Then, she let out a screech of pure disgust. “Shut up! Don’t you dare lie to me! Why would I ever talk to someone like you? You think I’m that bored?” She turned to the Dean. “He’s a liar. I saw his ID. I saw the student portal. I knew I was talking to Miles.” I watched her with a detached fascination. She was so desperate to distance herself from the “ugly” truth. She was exactly who she’d always been: selfish, shallow, and quick to blame everyone else for her own stupidity. “Don’t get so worked up,” I said calmly. “You and Jackson clearly have a lot in common. You should give him a chance. I’m sure you’re not so superficial that you only care about a face, right?” Sierra looked like she was going to explode. “He looks like a thumb! Who would date that? It’s embarrassing! Jackson, you’re a creep. You used Miles’s face because you knew no one would ever look at you otherwise. I want my money back, and I want you expelled. I’m calling my father’s lawyers.” Jackson’s face shattered. The “soulmate” who promised to love him forever was now calling him a “thumb.” “Dean,” Jackson gasped, “can Miles leave? I need to talk to Sierra. Privately. About the money.”
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