My silence emboldened the crowd again.
"The evidence is there and she's still playing the victim?"
"Lock her up! Maybe jail will finally teach her something."
"She dared to mess with eight men—what's next? A whole army?"
"Someone test her for STDs before she infects the whole city."
"Her poor husband. He'll never live this down. She's ruined his name."
Their scorn wrapped around me like chains. No matter how many times I said it wasn't me, it only made me sound more guilty.
The officer glanced at the growing crowd and sighed, then gestured for his colleagues. "Take her in. We'll handle the rest at the station."
Just like before.
In my previous life, I'd been dragged away the same way—charged with disturbing the peace and distributing obscene material. Fifteen days locked away like a criminal. By the time I got out, my parents were already gone—died miserably at home, their bodies left untouched for days.
And I didn't even have time to mourn before the real punishment came. The enraged families of the men from the video found me, beat me senseless. I died without even understanding who had framed me.
Now, even with this second life, was I doomed to relive it all?
No. I refused.
If I couldn't find the person who destroyed me, then what was the point of coming back?
As I stumbled toward the waiting police vehicle, the weight of two lives crushed down on me. I kept replaying every moment, every detail, from both timelines.
And then—something clicked.
I stopped walking. My eyes widened, the haze in my mind evaporating in an instant.
I spun around, lifted my head and shouted toward the crowd with everything I had:
"I know who the person in the video is!"
