I locked the bathroom door behind me and pulled up Geoffrey's social media account.

Just as I expected, he'd posted something new.

He said he wanted to share his inspiration and novel outline with everyone.

One look, and I went rigid.

This was Clementine's material. The exact same material she'd given me.

And his outline—it was identical to the one I'd just dashed off minutes ago. Word for word.

Maybe the inspiration and source material overlapping was coincidence. Fine.

But Geoffrey's outline matching something I'd only just written? How?

A chill crawled up my spine.

I walked out of the bathroom. Clementine and Clara were still in the room, waiting—and the second she saw me, Clara was already pushing me back toward the desk to write.

I faked a yawn. Told them I was wiped, wanted to call it a night.

Clara started to whine, but Clementine cut her off with a single look, then smiled and signed to me,

"If you're tired, get some rest."

Then she pulled Clara out of the room.

I didn't sleep at all that night.

Geoffrey's outline was identical to mine. If someone had leaked it, the only people who'd ever been in my study were Clementine and Clara. It had to be them.

I couldn't figure out why they'd do it.

My own sister—blood family. Clara—the girl I'd grown up next to since we were kids. And all of that counted for less than six months of knowing Geoffrey Harrington?

After a full night of thinking, I made a bold decision.

In my previous life, my contest entry had been fantasy, the genre I was best at.

It won first place, but it was old wine in a new bottle. Nothing groundbreaking.

This time, I'd write a mystery.

If my last life ended with plagiarism accusations, then I'd write something entirely new.

Win or lose, at the very least I'd shake the plagiarism label off my back. That was enough.

I went to the library study room, where I could look up reference material and rebuild the novel from scratch.

Halfway through, I stretched and decided to take a short break.

I was curious what Geoffrey was up to.

While my mind wandered, Clementine and Clara showed up.

I was puzzled. How did they even know I was here?

A second later, Clementine set a steaming lunch box on my desk and signed,

"You know you'll forget to eat once you start writing. So I brought you something."

Clara held out a thermos.

"Chicken soup. Simmered it all afternoon, just for you."