The heart monitor slowly turned into a flat line. The elderly woman on the bed closed her eyes forever. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I had lost all will to live and jumped from the high-rise building.
...
When I opened my eyes again, the sight of the plain white wall confused me for two seconds.
The scene before me became clearer—there was a woman, much younger, slapping herself in the face.
She held her face in mock pain, her lips curling smugly.
"Victoria Smith, have you thought about how to explain this to Calvin? You're jealous of me because I'm better than you, taking my role and hitting me. Calvin will never truly like you."
The familiar scene flashed through my mind. I immediately understood—I had been reborn, and back to my junior year, the time when Emma Jones and I were both just entering the entertainment industry.
This was also the start of her false accusations of me bullying her at work.
In her twisted narrative, every resource I earned through hard work was something I had stolen from her, and on set, I was supposedly tormenting her.
Recalling this, I swung a heavy slap at her, grabbing her hair and smashing her head against the wall.