My roommate, Megan, was the star of the campus gossip page, wearing my dress. It was the dress I’d bought specifically for next week’s Hosting Competition. The tags were still on. I screenshotted the photo and sent it to her with a simple question: "Where is my dress?" She replied instantly with a voice note, her tone light and teasing. "Omg, Celia, you saw! Don't I look amazing in it? I just had to borrow it. We're roommates, what's mine is yours, right?" A moment later, another picture came through. A huge splash of red wine stained the front of my brand-new white dress. The caption read: "Oops, I spilled something on it. You're rich, just buy another one?" 1 Staring at the garish red stain on my phone screen, my fingers went cold, but my heart was strangely calm. I didn’t feel the white-hot rage of betrayal that had consumed me in my past life. Having been reborn, all I felt was a grim sense of amusement. In my last life, her casual entitlement had driven me insane. I’d screamed at her over the phone, but she played the victim, running back to the dorm in tears. She told our roommates I was overreacting, that I was a snob who looked down on her just because my family had money. Our other two roommates, Leah and Chloe, sided with her. One tried to play peacemaker, the other thought I was being petty. In the end, I was the one who was ostracized. Without a suitable dress and my confidence shattered, I bombed the Hosting Competition. Megan, meanwhile, sat in the audience wearing another beautiful dress she had "borrowed" from someone else, laughing with the guy she was trying to impress. After that, I was completely isolated in the dorm. Megan's attacks escalated. She spread rumors that I cheated to get my scholarships, that I was sleeping with professors to get into exclusive programs. Eventually, the gossip broke me. I was diagnosed with severe depression and had to take a leave of absence, my college career in ruins. And Megan? She thrived. Under the guise of a "hardworking student from a poor background," she won the national scholarship that should have been mine, secured a spot in a top graduate program, and lived a life of celebrated success. It wasn't until after I jumped from the roof of a high-rise that I overheard people talking. From the moment I’d arrived at university, she had been consumed by jealousy, meticulously planning my destruction. Living a second time, I wouldn't make the same mistakes. With people like Megan, arguing is useless. I didn't reply to her text. Instead, I got up and headed back to the dorm. When I pushed open the door, Megan was lying on her bed with a face mask on, casually scrolling through her phone as if she hadn't just destroyed something precious to someone else. Our other two roommates, Leah and Chloe, were there as well. Seeing me, Megan lazily took off her headphones, a fake smile plastered on her face. "Celia, you're back! Don't be mad about the dress, okay? I'll wash it for you tomorrow." I walked to my closet and opened it. It was empty. She hadn't even bothered to bring the dress back. I turned, my gaze calm and steady. "Where is it?" My stare made her uncomfortable. She sat up. "Oh, it's hanging up to dry outside. You have to treat a wine stain right away, you know. Don't worry, I used the most expensive stain remover. It'll be good as new." She was deflecting, completely avoiding the topic of compensation. "Megan," I said, my voice even and cold. "I bought that dress for the Hosting Competition. I need it next week. Tell me, right now, how you plan to fix this." The atmosphere in the room froze. Leah and Chloe stopped what they were doing, looking at me with surprise. In their eyes, I had always been the quiet, gentle, even weak one. Megan's smile faltered. "Celia, what's your problem? It's just a dress. I already said I'd wash it for you. What more do you want? Do you have to be so aggressive?" "Yes," I said, the single word hanging in the air like ice. "First, you took my new dress without my permission. That's called stealing." "Second, you ruined my property and show no remorse, even suggesting I should be the one to replace it. That's called being shameless." "And third," I said, looking her straight in the eye, "my things, even if I were to throw them in the trash, are too good for someone like you to touch." My words struck her like a slap. Her face mask nearly slid off as she shot up from her bed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Celia! What did you just say? Who's a thief? We're roommates! What's the big deal if I wear your clothes? You have no right to talk to me like that!" "Roommates?" I let out a cold laugh. "Does being roommates mean you can take whatever you want without asking? If I recall, Megan, this isn't the first time. My face wash, my masks, my snacks… what haven't you 'borrowed'?" "I let it slide before because I couldn't be bothered to argue. That doesn't mean I'm a doormat. Today, you will answer for this dress." Megan was shaking with fury. She never expected me, the easy-going one, to be so confrontational. Her eyes reddened, and her voice immediately took on a tearful quaver as she turned to our roommates. "Leah, Chloe, do you hear her? I just thought the dress was pretty and wanted to take a picture in it. I never meant to stain it… It was an accident. How can she say such horrible things to me?" It was a well-rehearsed performance. In my last life, everyone fell for her damsel-in-distress act. Even I had questioned if I was being a bully and backed down. Predictably, Leah wavered. She stood up to mediate. "Come on, Celia. Megan didn't do it on purpose. Don't be so angry. We all have to live together, let's not ruin the friendship over a dress." Megan quickly chimed in, "Yeah, Celia, I know I was wrong. I'm sorry, okay? Please don't be like this…" "If 'sorry' was enough, we wouldn't need police," I cut her off flatly. "I don't want your apology. I want compensation." I took out my phone, pulled up my order history, and turned the screen toward them. "French puff-sleeve dress, white, size medium. Price: $200. Megan, you can either transfer me the money, or you can buy me an identical one. You have twenty-four hours to decide." "$200?!" Megan's crying stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with shock. "Are you crazy? A stupid dress costs that much? Celia, you're trying to extort me!" "Didn't you see the price tag when you stole it?" I shot back. Of course she had. In my past life, after ruining the dress, she’d specifically cut the tag off to feign ignorance about its value. "I—I wasn't paying attention!" she stammered, her neck stiff with defiance. "How was I supposed to know you'd buy such an expensive dress? You did this on purpose, didn't you?" "You know perfectly well whether it was on purpose or not," I said, putting my phone away. My tone left no room for argument. "If I don't see the money or a new dress by the end of the day, we'll take this to the student advisor." With that, I pulled out a chair, sat down at my desk, put on my headphones, and opened my laptop, making it clear that the matter was not closed. I knew that with someone like Megan, backing down was the worst possible move. The more you retreat, the more she advances. The only way to deal with her was to escalate, to make her understand that I was serious. Only then would she feel fear. 2 Seeing that her usual tactics weren't working, Megan dropped the act entirely. She started throwing a full-blown tantrum, screaming and crying, her words turning vile. "You bitch, Celia! Who do you think you are, pretending to be so high and mighty? You're only acting this way because your family has a little money! Don't you dare play the princess with me!" "It's just a dress! Do you have to be like this? Are you just waiting to see me humiliated? To see me unable to pay so you can run to the advisor and get me in trouble?" "Well, I'm telling you, I don't have any money! Not a single cent! Go on, report me! Let's see who the advisor believes—a spoiled rich girl like you, or a hardworking scholarship student like me!" Her insults grew uglier. Even Chloe, standing to the side, couldn't take it anymore. "Megan, that's enough," she said with a frown. "You were the one in the wrong here." "How was I wrong?" Megan immediately turned on her. "You think she's right just because she has money? Is that it? Do you all look down on me?" The dorm descended into chaos. Through it all, I sat there quietly, my fingers tapping away on my keyboard. There was no music playing in my headphones. My phone was on my desk, the recording app open. Every single word she said was being captured. This was a gift, Megan. Evidence you delivered yourself. 3 After ranting for half an hour and getting no reaction from me, Megan seemed to lose steam. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Silence finally returned to the room. Leah gave me an awkward glance, wanting to say something but holding back. Chloe shot me an apologetic look; Megan had screamed at her too for trying to defend me. I shook my head slightly to let her know it was fine. I knew this war was just beginning. Sure enough, that night, a new post blew up on the university's anonymous forum. The title was: Exposing my 'Rich Bitch' Roommate Who Gets a $2k Allowance but is Driving Her Poor Roommate to Suicide Over a Dress. In the post, the author wrote in a deeply wounded, pitiful tone about how she had "accidentally" stained her roommate's "expensive" dress. She described how she had humbly apologized, only to be brutally humiliated and forced to pay a sum she could never afford. The poster claimed, through what felt like digital tears, that this "rich bitch" roommate constantly flaunted her luxury goods and looked down on students from normal families. This time, she was just using the dress as an excuse to push her over the edge. No names were mentioned, but every detail pointed directly at me: the Hosting Competition, the white dress, the wealthy background. The comment section exploded. "Wtf, people like this actually exist at our university? Unbelievable." "What's wrong with being poor? Does that mean you deserve to be bullied? I can't stand rich people who think they're better than everyone!" "To the OP, don't cry, we support you! Drop the rich bitch's name and major, let's make her famous!" "A $2k monthly allowance and she's still living in a dorm? Is this some kind of poverty tourism? Disgusting." The comments were a cesspool of vitriol and speculation, painting me as a cruel, abusive monster. Megan's methods were identical to my last life. But this time, I wasn't going to be the flustered girl trying to post feeble explanations, only to be torn apart by the mob. I read through the lies, saved the audio file from the afternoon, and then calmly composed an email to my student advisor, Mr. Wallace. Dear Mr. Wallace, My name is Celia Stone, from the School of Journalism and Communication, class of '25. I apologize for bothering you this late. I would like to clarify the situation regarding a conflict between myself and my roommate, Megan, as well as a recent post on the university forum. Attached is an audio recording of the events, along with the proof of purchase for the item in question. I am available to discuss this in person at your office tomorrow morning. After sending the email, I silenced my phone, climbed into bed, and went to sleep. Let the storm rage outside. This time, I was the eye of it. The next morning, the atmosphere in the dorm was strange. Megan, who usually slept in, was already awake and putting on makeup, her eyes red and puffy as if she’d been crying all night. Leah was sitting on her bed, comforting her in a low voice, occasionally shooting me a disapproving glare. Chloe looked conflicted. They had all seen the post. When Megan saw I was awake, she looked at me with a timid, yet hateful, expression, as if I were the villain in this story. I ignored her, went about my morning routine, and got dressed. Just as I was about to leave, Mr. Wallace called. "Celia, can you come to my office now? I've already notified Megan to come as well," he said, his voice stern. "Of course, Mr. Wallace. I'm on my way." After hanging up, I looked at Megan, who was still perfecting her fragile act. "The advisor wants to see you in his office." Megan flinched, but then a flicker of triumph crossed her face. She clearly thought the advisor had seen the post and was about to deliver justice for the "victim." She followed me out of the dorm. On the way, I could feel the stares and hear the whispers. "Look, that's her. The rich girl who's bullying her poor roommate." "She looks so put-together, how can she be so cruel?" "I heard her roommate is on the verge of a breakdown because of her…" I kept my head held high and walked straight to the administration building. Megan deliberately lagged a few steps behind, her head bowed, occasionally dabbing at the corner of her eye, milking her victim persona for all it was worth. She thought public opinion was her ultimate weapon. She had no idea that in the face of hard evidence, her performance was nothing more than a pathetic joke. The mood in Mr. Wallace's office was tense. He was a man in his thirties with a scholarly air, but his brow was deeply furrowed. Megan and I walked in. The moment she saw him, tears started streaming down her face like a broken faucet. "Mr. Wallace…" she choked out, unable to say more, as if she were the most wronged person in the world. Mr. Wallace gestured for us to sit. He glanced at me, then turned his full attention to Megan. "Megan, please, try to calm down. Tell me what happened, from the beginning." Megan began her story, a tearful retelling of the forum post. She painted herself as an innocent girl who had made a simple mistake and was now being relentlessly persecuted by her cruel roommate. "I really didn't mean to, Mr. Wallace. I felt so bad about the dress, I wanted to wash it for her. But Celia… she demanded I pay her $200. I'm a scholarship student. I live on a tiny budget. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?" "She insulted me, she called me a thief, she said I was shameless, that I was too dirty to even touch her things…" She grew more agitated, the tears flowing faster. "Last night, she threatened me. She said if I didn't give her the money today, she'd report me to you and have you discipline me… Mr. Wallace, she's driving me crazy…" Her performance was flawless, complete with terrified glances in my direction, as if I were a monster poised to devour her. If I hadn't been there myself, I might have believed her. Mr. Wallace listened patiently. When she was finished, he turned to me. "Celia, do you have anything to say in response to Megan's claims?" I had been silent the entire time. Now, I spoke, my voice calm and clear. "Mr. Wallace, I have two questions for Megan."
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