I got into a fight with my husband and checked into a hotel. I didn't expect to wake up the next morning and be infamous. A video had gone viral overnight. In it, my face is flushed, my eyes glazed, as I dance wildly with eight different men in a hotel room. Samson, my husband, was incandescent with rage. He slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. "So this is what you meant by 'cooling off'?" he spat, his voice dripping with disgust. "You're filthy." I couldn't explain the marks on my body. Humiliated and furious, I called the police. They told me the video wasn't a deepfake. They said they found my DNA, mixed with that of the men from the video, in the trash can. I had no defense. In the eyes of the world, I was a whore. My parents, both respected lifelong teachers, couldn't endure the onslaught of online harassment and public shame. They took their own lives. And me? I was beaten to death by the furious wives of the men from the video. Even as I died, I couldn't understand it. I was alone in that hotel room. Nothing happened. How did I wake up to a world where it had? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I checked into the hotel. 1 "Mia, honey, don't be angry anymore. I've told you a hundred times, I have no idea who she is. The first time she messaged, I thought it was you testing me. I haven't replied to her since." Hearing Samson's familiar words, I realized I'd been reborn. In my past life, I’d found texts on his phone from an unsaved number, messages that just said "Thinking of you," sent day after day. It led to the biggest fight of our lives. I didn't buy his excuse that he'd blocked her, but she just kept using new numbers, so he'd given up. It was the first real crisis of trust in our three-year marriage. That night, I’d packed a bag and stormed out, telling him I needed to go to a hotel to think. The next day, the video that destroyed my life went viral. Seeing me standing there now with my suitcase, silent, Samson finally sighed in defeat. "Where do you want to go? I'll drive you." His weary resignation sent a chill down my spine. He'd said the exact same thing in my last life when I'd threatened divorce and said I was leaving. Back then, I'd wanted to go to my parents' house, but he'd talked me out of it, saying it would worry them. That's why I'd made the last-minute decision to go to a hotel. How could such an impromptu choice have led to such a horrific outcome? I hesitated, then looked at Samson. "I'm going to my parents' place," I said. "Just tell them you're away on a business trip for a while. They won't suspect a thing." Samson nodded, taking the suitcase from my hand. "Okay. To be honest, I wouldn't feel right with you staying anywhere else." I watched him closely, but his reaction seemed genuine. He drove me to my parents' house without another word of protest. The more normal he acted, the more confused I became. After he left, I watched my mother in the kitchen, bustling about as she prepared my favorite meal. My eyes burned with tears. They had spent their entire lives as revered public school teachers, only to end them by choice, unable to bear the public scorn and self-blame after my scandal broke. As their only daughter, the shame I brought upon them… How much pain, how much despair must they have felt? My father found me staring into space. "Did you and Samson have a fight?" he asked gently. "You need to work on that temper of yours, Mia. You can't keep bullying him. He's a good man, he puts up with a lot from you." In my parents' eyes, Samson was the perfect son-in-law. Good to me, and good to them. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and forced a smile. "Not at all. He's just away for work, so I thought I'd come home and spend some quality time with you two." Last time, one night in a hotel destroyed my family. This time, I was staying right here. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 2 Even though I was home, I barely slept. The events of my past life replayed in my mind on a relentless loop. I got up at dawn, before my parents were awake, and went for a run to clear my head. When I got back, I had breakfast and went back to my room to try and get some sleep. I was shaken awake from a hazy doze by Samson's furious voice. "Mia Wallace! So this is what you meant by 'cooling off'? Eight men in one night? You're fucking disgusting!" Hearing those exact words a second time, my eyes flew open. "Wh-what are you talking about?" The words came out in a tremor I couldn't control. All of Samson's usual gentleness was gone. He slapped me, hard, across the face. "You dare ask me what I'm talking about? See for yourself! The video is all over the internet. I can't even show my face in public!" It was just like before. A single video, and he condemned me without giving me a chance to speak, nailing me to a cross of public shame. He threw my phone at me. I saw the same video as last time, and my body went rigid, my hands and feet turning to ice. The comments from strangers dragged me back into the nightmare. "Wonder whose daughter she is? Or whose wife? If she were mine, I'd strangle her." "What a slut. And those guys aren't picky. Even a toilet would puke her back out." "That tongue looks pretty talented. I wouldn't even let her lick my toilet clean, it'd get the porcelain dirty." "I heard her parents are teachers. Can't believe they raised a tramp like this. Who'd let them teach their kids now?" Someone had doxxed me. My home address, my personal information, even the schools where my parents worked. My phone began to blow up with a flood of harassing messages. "Hey, what's your rate?" "You always seemed so stuck-up. Never knew you were such a freak in private. Wanna hook up?" "Wanna be my 'lunch break buddy'? Stairwell, copy room... your choice." "I've got ten bucks. And ten friends..." ... A wave of nausea washed over me as I read the filth. How could this have happened? I was home all night. I never left. I wanted to get my parents to vouch for me, but they must have gone out grocery shopping. They weren't home. No matter how much I explained, Samson wouldn't believe me. With a trembling hand, I called 911 again. The police took us to the hotel to investigate. The result was identical to my past life. The security footage was crystal clear. It showed me checking in alone in the middle of the night. About an hour later, a series of men began arriving at my room. I was the one who opened the door for each of them. With every man, I was either a whirlwind of passion, throwing my arms around their necks, or I was posing seductively in the doorway. There was no sign of coercion. This continued until five in the morning, when the footage showed me checking out, looking exhausted. "The security footage and the video online show no signs of tampering or editing." Hearing the officer's words, Samson gripped the edge of a table, his knuckles turning white. He finally lost control, his eyes bloodshot as he roared at me. "Mia, it's all right there on camera! What could you possibly have to say for yourself? How could you be so cheap? You didn't just cheat on me, you buried me in a septic tank!" I bowed my head, fighting for control, forcing myself to calm down. I couldn't panic. Panicking would only lead to more mistakes. Then I saw a small red bump on my hand from a mosquito bite, and I gasped. 3 "Look!" I cried out. "There are no marks on my body! If that was really me in the video, with that many men, it's impossible for there to be nothing!" I rolled up my sleeves and pant legs, exposing as much of my skin as I could to prove my innocence. In my last life, after I checked into the hotel, my body had been covered in the tell-tale marks of a rough night—scratches, bruises, love bites. They had even found my DNA inside used condoms in the trash. Back then, even I couldn't be sure of my own innocence; I'd thought maybe I'd been drugged or controlled somehow. This time, I hadn't gone to the hotel. Even with the video evidence, my body was clean. It was the only proof I had. Samson saw my unmarked skin, and his brow furrowed for a moment. But everyone else just looked at me with smug, knowing smirks. I thought they didn't believe me and was about to demand a female officer perform a full-body examination when a sneer came from the crowd. "Did the star of the show party too hard and forget? In the video, you specifically told the men not to leave any marks, or you'd sue them." "Yeah, that was probably your plan to claim innocence all along, right? Too bad someone posted the whole thing online. Hilarious." "Playing the victim after being the whore. Classic. We can clearly see the tattoo on her ankle and the mole on her arm in the video. They're exactly the same as the ones she's showing us now. Guess she didn't take a good look at her own masterpiece, huh?" Their words were like a bomb going off in my head. I hadn't looked closely at the video this time; I was just in shock that it existed at all. Why was it different from last time? In the previous life, the "me" in the video had been wild, covered in marks. I looked at Samson in confusion. He just turned his face away in disgust. Even if the video could be faked, the DNA couldn't. No matter who was trying to frame me, I wasn't at the hotel last night. There was no way my DNA would be in that trash can. But the officer's next words plunged me into despair. "Ms. Wallace, our forensics team has already collected and tested the items left in the room. We have confirmed the presence of your DNA mixed with that of several different men." He paused, his voice grim. "Furthermore, we've traced the original upload of the video. It was sent from your phone." Samson's breath hitched, and he let out a choked, furious laugh. Every eye in the room was on me. Greed, judgment, shock, ridicule... In that moment, I was right back in my first life, drowning in that same helpless despair. Before I could even process it, a hand shot out and slapped me so hard I fell to the floor. "You're the bitch who seduced my husband and made this disgusting video? I'm going to kill you today!" The woman lunged at me again, but a police officer grabbed her. "What are you doing? You're the police! She's the one who committed this depraved act! You should be arresting her!" she shrieked. "And you," she spat at me, "don't get too comfortable. The other wives are on their way. You like playing with men in bed so much? Today, we'll make sure you can't get out of it." 4 I tried desperately to explain. "It wasn't me! I didn't do it!" "I was at my parents' house all night! I never left! My parents can prove it!" But people only believe what they want to believe. My frantic denials just sounded like desperate lies. They even started calling my parents accomplices, accessories to my depravity. A crowd was gathering, drawn by the commotion and the online gossip. "I know her," a woman chimed in. "I saw her coming home early this morning. She was walking funny, her legs were all shaky on the stairs. I thought to myself, 'Wow, kids these days are really out of shape.' Turns out she was just worn out from... other activities." "Her parents are teachers, can you believe it? Like father, like daughter, I guess. A rotten apple doesn't fall far from a rotten tree." I looked up at the speaker. It was Mrs. Davison, one of my mother's colleagues. They'd always been rivals for a promotion. Of course, she'd be here to kick me while I was down. "No, that's not it! My legs were sore because I went for a run this morning! I..." "Bullshit, you little whore!" another woman shouted. "First you say you were sleeping at home, now you say you were out for a run. You can't even keep your lies straight." "Disgusting. To party that hard and then have the nerve to call the police. I bet she's got diseases." "You like showing off, huh? Well today, we'll let you show everyone what a cheap piece of trash you are, for free." A group of women surged forward, grabbing at my clothes, hitting and scratching me. The police barely managed to regain control. An officer looked at me, his face cold. "Whatever your motives were, you are now severely disturbing the public order. I suggest you apologize to these families and try to de-escalate the situation." I finally understood. In the face of what they saw as absolute proof, any attempt to defend myself would only make me look guiltier. But I hadn't done it. If I apologized now, I'd be sealing my own fate, throwing myself into the abyss. I smoothed my messy hair and spoke with a newfound resolve. "The person in that video is not me. I will not apologize." "Officer, this has escalated from online harassment to physical assault. If you close this case by assuming I orchestrated all of this, the person who is actually trying to destroy my life will get away with it." My voice grew stronger. "Have you considered the consequences for me if I apologize? It would be a confession. I would rather die than suffer such an unjust accusation." The officer studied me for a few seconds, his expression hardening. "We have verified the video and security footage. They are authentic. The DNA results are from an accredited lab. They are not fake." He leaned in. "If the person in that video isn't you, then who is it?" That was the question I was asking myself. Who would orchestrate such an elaborate plot just to ruin me? I didn't understand it in my last life, and I was just as lost now. Flashes of ideas went through my mind, but I couldn't grasp anything concrete. Seeing my silence, the crowd erupted again. "The evidence is irrefutable and she's still trying to lie!" "If she'll do eight men today, she'll do eighty tomorrow! A hundred! How many families will she destroy?" "Yeah, they should test her for every disease in the book! She's probably trying to get revenge on society!" "Her poor husband. Marrying such a filthy, unstable woman. He'll be the town joke for the rest of his life." The police, unable to control the mob and faced with my refusal to confess, made a decision. An officer took my arm. "You're coming with us." This was how it happened before. I was taken away, detained for fifteen days for disturbing the public order and distributing indecent material. By the time I got out, my parents were already dead in their home, their bodies undiscovered for days. Before I could even arrange their funerals, I was found by the enraged families—who had since learned I was "diseased"—and beaten to death. Was I destined to repeat the same fate? I refused to accept it. If I couldn't find the person who did this to me, what was the point of being reborn? As they led me towards the police car, I replayed the events of both lives in my head. Just as my foot was about to step into the vehicle, a spark ignited in the darkness of my mind. I spun around, my eyes scanning the crowd, and yelled. "I know who's in the video!"
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