I sacrificed my hard-earned qualification to stay in school and set off for Arizona, seeking peace. But then, my supervisor called, accusing me of using a plagiarized paper to frame Felicity Morgan.
In my previous life, Felicity and I had both vied for the coveted spot to remain in school. Our supervisor made it clear: whoever published their research first would secure it. So I practically lived in the lab, pouring my heart and soul into my work, day and night.
But Felicity submitted her paper first—and to my shock, it was identical to mine. I was branded the plagiarist. I tried to explain, but my supervisor declared me guilty without a second thought, siding with her. The betrayal was devastating.
Even my own roommate turned against me, whispering rumors that I had been using plagiarism to snatch scholarships ever since I started my doctorate. Then, she went even further—poisoning me with paraquat.
When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer dying. I returned to the day I won the qualification to stay in school.
"The current job market is tough, and this qualification to stay in school is a rare opportunity," the tutor said with a stern look, holding his freshly brewed coffee. "Since both you and Felicity are graduating this year, it's only fair for you to compete. Whoever publishes a paper in a top journal first will earn the right to stay."
His words were sharp, but his tone was calm. He patted my shoulder, pulling me from the storm of painful memories. With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he looked at me expectantly, silently asking for my agreement.
Just as I opened my mouth to respond, he cut me off. "Since neither of you object, we’ll move forward with this plan. To ensure fairness, I’ll personally oversee the process," he added, his voice firm, as though everything had already been decided.
In my previous life, the tutor had been nothing but kind to me. He guided me through my research, helped me navigate personal challenges, and treated me with the care of both a brother and a father. I never imagined that in the end, he would be the one to push me into the abyss.
I adjusted the heavy glasses on my nose, their weight grounding me in the reality that this wasn’t a dream—I had lived again.
Without a word, the tutor turned and called Felicity over, saying he needed to guide her on her thesis.
In my previous life, I had thought Felicity was distant from him. They rarely interacted about research, and their relationship seemed purely professional. I never suspected there was more beneath the surface.
But now I knew the truth: Felicity wasn’t just another student—she was his illegitimate daughter, secretly raised in his hometown.
When I returned to the dormitory, my roommate Nancy was already aware of the situation. While nibbling on some buffalo wings, she casually said, “Felicity is no match for you. What kind of academic work can a third-year graduate student even produce? You’ve been working toward your master’s and doctorate for eight years and have published countless papers.”
Her dining partner, Athena, chimed in, “Your supervisor dotes on you. You’re his only doctoral student, after all. He probably just wants to avoid any gossip by making this competition look fair. Don’t worry—when you win, remember to treat us to dinner!”
Their confidence was palpable, but it only deepened my inner conflict.
My family owns a business, so staying in school wasn’t a necessity for me. Yet, my parents didn’t want me to take on the challenges of the corporate world. They encouraged me to pursue academia and stay in school instead.
In my previous life, when the plagiarism accusations surfaced, I desperately tried to explain my innocence—but no one listened.
But the crushing blow came when my supervisor himself publicly declared that I had plagiarized Felicity. His words sealed my fate, leaving me to bear the shame. My academic accomplishments over the past eight years were erased, my master’s degree was revoked, and soon after, I faced something even worse.
Nancy, believing I had stolen her scholarships with plagiarized work, forced me to drink paraquat. I can still recall the unbearable, heart-wrenching pain of dying—chills run through me just thinking about it.
Felicity, a third-year graduate student under my supervisor, was quiet and reserved. Yet, she was well-liked and surrounded by friends, rarely finding herself in competition with others. In contrast, I was seen as the proud "golden girl"—born into a good family, highly capable, and determined to excel in everything I did.
Back then, I believed the supervisor’s insistence on a fair competition between us was merely to silence rumors and formalize the process. I never suspected the dark truth that lay beneath.
I threw myself into the lab, conducting experiments day and night, spending countless hours measuring data, and pulling all-nighters to finalize every detail. When I finally typed the last word and sent the completed draft of my paper to the editor, I felt a surge of relief—only for it to be crushed minutes later.
I received a rejection email. Worse, the editorial team had sent a formal statement to the school accusing me of plagiarism.
How could that be? No one in the entire JSTOR or even in the academic community had researched this specific area—there was no one I could have plagiarized.
Frantic, I wrote to the editorial department for clarification, only to discover that Felicity had submitted a paper two hours before mine—an exact copy of my work.
All the results of my sleepless nights and painstaking effort were credited to her. Yet during that time, she hadn’t even been in the lab; she was busy with graduation trips, nowhere near her research.
Before I could confront her, she publicly complained on social media, sarcastically lamenting, "I never thought someone like me, academic trash, would have this moment."
When people commented, she slyly added, "There’s a certain doctoral student who’s like the academic Lady Macbeth."
Soon enough, everyone who knew me believed I had stolen her work. The shame spread quickly, and my reputation was in tatters.
As the only doctoral student in my class, I was still locked in competition for the coveted spot to stay in school. But now, with the accusations of plagiarism, everything I had worked for was unraveling.
Students despised plagiarism, especially in academic research, and the backlash came fast and brutal. I was bombarded with insults and threats.
"Investigate her thoroughly. Maybe all her previous work was plagiarized too."
"So that's how easy it is to get a doctorate—just copy more."
"If she stays, will she teach students how to plagiarize?"
In a few harsh words, they dismissed my eight years of relentless effort and sacrifice.
I looked around at the lab—the bottles, the jars, the instruments I had operated day and night. Could the issue have been with the cameras installed in the lab? Had my work been stolen because it was monitored?
If that was the case, avoiding the school lab seemed like the best solution. I quickly called my dad and asked him to rent a lab at another university. This time, I would distance myself from campus.
Let’s see how Felicity manages to plagiarize my work now.
Chapter 2I requested leave from my supervisor, using the excuse of family matters. As he signed the note, he inquired about the progress of my thesis. I muttered a few vague responses to evade his questions.
In my previous life, he had accused me of plagiarism without even conducting an investigation. It made me wonder if he was as straightforward as he appeared. Despite how kind he seemed—giving me red envelopes on holidays and occasionally introducing me to important contacts—there was always something unsettling, as if he wore a mask, hiding a completely different person underneath.
When he suggested that I compete fairly with Felicity, it seemed reasonable at first. He even involved the dean in overseeing our theses. But in hindsight, it was all part of a calculated plan, giving him the perfect opportunity to frame me.
The lab key was solely in his possession, and any access to the lab required a strict registration process. Something had gone terribly wrong somewhere along the line, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly how. Adjusting my heavy glasses once more, I resolved that this time, things would be different. I would conduct my experiments off-campus, ensuring that Felicity had no chance to steal my work again.
This qualification to stay in school had been rightfully mine all along, and this time, I was determined to secure it.
Once I got home, I unpacked everything I had brought from school, ensuring nothing was left behind. Fearing that my phone could be monitored, I went to a phone store and purchased a new one, along with anti-surveillance software. I also invested in a brand-new electronic scanner.
Before entering the lab, I would lock my phone in a safe and scan every single item I brought with me, ensuring no room for any suspicious activity. This time, I would leave no trace of my work vulnerable to sabotage.
I focused intensely on the experiment, not allowing myself even a moment’s break. After obtaining the first key data, I decided to step outside the lab for a quick breather. As soon as I was outside, I pulled out my phone and checked Felicity’s social media.
She had just posted an update from her graduation trip, casually sharing photos of her scenic route. Someone had commented, asking if she wasn’t worried about finishing her thesis.
Her reply struck me like a lightning bolt: “I completed my experiment last night and got the first key data.”
My heart skipped a beat. How could that be? I had just obtained the same data moments ago. Could her abilities truly be that extraordinary? Was she so far ahead of me?
I refreshed her feed, and there it was—she had posted the exact steps of her experiment, and to my horror, they were identical to the steps I had just completed.
Panic surged through me. What went wrong this time? I read through her post again and again, comparing it with my own experiment. There wasn’t a single difference.
Determined to avoid this happening again, I quickly made a decision: I would change the research topic entirely. Surely, this time, our paths wouldn’t overlap.
Without wasting a moment, I got back to work. Using the lab computer, I meticulously outlined a new experiment. I finalized the steps, laying out 11 pages of detailed instructions.
As I stepped out of the lab, the night sky was adorned with stars. It was late—too late—but I had no choice.
Just then, my phone rang. It was Nancy. “Felicity changed her topic,” she said. “You might want to check her Facebook.”
Despite my exhaustion, I hurriedly opened Facebook and saw the familiar page layout. Felicity's mouse cursor hovered over page 11 of her document. She had written, "I felt that the topic I chose this morning wasn't innovative enough. I thought of a new direction while in the car and finalized it just now."
Though I couldn’t see the full details of her post, the number of pages, font size, and even the word count matched my document perfectly. Panic crept over me—how was this happening again?
In my previous life, I had received a message from the editorial department stating that my paper was under investigation for plagiarism. Before I could even explain, the rumors spread like wildfire through the college. Felicity took to the forums, accusing me of stealing her work, and it quickly became the talk of the school.
My instructor had called me into his office, telling me to admit to the plagiarism. He said, “Even if you lose your chance to stay in school, I’ll help you get a counselor position here.”
I refused. I had done nothing wrong.
But Felicity wasn’t done. She cornered me in the lab, her face hard with accusation. “Why did you plagiarize my work? We agreed to a fair competition!” she shouted, as if she were the victim.
A group of classmates accompanied her, their anger palpable. They taunted and insulted me.
“Is it that hard to admit you’re not good enough? You had to steal someone else’s work!”
“She’s a disgrace to the PhD program. The school needs to investigate this.”
“She should lose her degree. A plagiarist shouldn’t be allowed to stay in academia.”
Their words cut deep, and the worst part was that I had no way to defend myself. I made my experimental process and data public, trying to clear my name. But somehow, Felicity’s results were identical to mine—every step, every detail. And the timestamp on her experimental equipment was two hours ahead of mine, making it look like I had copied her.
Chapter 3To uncover the truth behind the plagiarism allegations, the college convened an investigation committee. The dean led the team, and faculty members meticulously examined the experimental processes of both me and Felicity.
However, their findings revealed that my experimental process was considerably less rigorous than hers, lacking any substantial basis. This led them to conclude that I was the one who had plagiarized, absolving Felicity of any wrongdoing.
I felt a surge of frustration and disbelief. Determined to prove my innocence, I proposed bringing in a third-party reviewer from another institution to conduct a comparison. But before I could act, rumors began to circulate about my family background.
Whispers online labeled me a “rich girl” trying to manipulate the system, claiming I was colluding with a third-party organization to undermine Felicity, a struggling student from a small town. My family's company faced a backlash from netizens who accused my parents of buying my way into a doctoral program.
The tutor held a press conference to publicly apologize, expressing his shame for having taught someone he labeled a habitual plagiarist. He took it upon himself to apply for the cancellation of my graduate degree and even urged me to consider dropping out of school entirely.
His words invalidated all the hard work I had put in over the past eight years, igniting a firestorm of anger in my roommate, Nancy. She accused me of using plagiarism to unfairly occupy a scholarship slot that she believed should have been hers. “You’re rich enough! Why do you need the scholarship?” she raged.
The insults from netizens grew relentless, and the school ultimately revoked my graduate degree and expelled me.
When I returned to the dormitory to pack my things, Nancy confronted me in a fit of rage, forcing me to drink paraquat. As I lay there, choking and vomiting blood, my life slipped away, and Felicity emerged victorious, graduating and securing a position as the youngest tutor at the school.
My parents arrived at the campus to claim my body, deeply convinced that I had not taken my own life, as the school had suggested. They were determined to seek justice for me, convinced that the circumstances surrounding my death were shrouded in deception and betrayal.
But little did my parents know they would never see me one last time. To cover up the truth of my poisoning, the school hastily sent my body to the crematorium overnight, claiming that I had committed suicide out of remorse for my mistakes. The thought of this betrayal made me break down in tears.
Was it really just about a research topic? Since Felicity's work mirrored mine, I could simply pivot to a different one. Over the past five years of my doctoral studies, I had explored numerous directions. This time, I decided to embark on a completely new path—one that was rarely studied in Colorado. It was a niche area I had delved into with my tutor during my time as an exchange student abroad.
I stayed up all night crafting new ideas and finalizing the experimental process before stepping out of the laboratory. Just then, Nancy sent me a screenshot of Felicity's latest post on social media.
It read: "The previous direction wasn’t innovative. This time, I want to explore the latest research direction of foreign scholars. I heard that mastering this area could lead to a Nobel Prize. I thrive on challenges!"
After reading that post, sleep eluded me. The tutor had never publicly discussed this direction, so how could Felicity possibly know about it? Even more unsettling was the realization that her proposed experimental steps were alarmingly similar to mine.
I couldn't stop shaking, my mind racing with confusion and fear. Had I really seen a ghost? How did Felicity know about my research direction? Was it possible she had some kind of surveillance implanted in my brain?
Since then, I had stopped conducting experiments at school. With new phones and computers, I made it a point to carry a scanner every day, meticulously scanning everything I brought with me. Yet, despite all my precautions, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something crucial.
Just then, my phone rang—Felicity was calling. "Hey, Quinn! How's your paper coming along? I wanted to share my new research direction with you so we don’t end up in the same area. I’m just a graduate student, and I know I’m not as strong as you, so if we’re on the same path, could you switch to another topic?" Her voice was playful, but I felt a chill run down my spine.
I remained silent, unwilling to engage. She continued, lamenting the struggles of being a graduate student. "I’m the hope of my whole village. Please, show some kindness and give me a chance to stay in school. Finding a job will be easier for you than for me."
After our call, she wasted no time posting on her Facebook story, casually mentioning our “friendly exchange” and sharing her research direction. Almost instantly, someone commented, questioning whether she wasn’t afraid of leaking secrets or getting plagiarized.
With a smirk in her tone, she replied, "Oh, my senior is the only PhD student in our class. How could she ever plagiarize someone as insignificant as me? Besides, with her family's wealth, she doesn’t even need to write a paper. She can just go home and take over the family business. I only have this one shot, sob."
Felicity had studied as an undergraduate at this school, immersing herself in various clubs and student unions, which allowed her to build a substantial network of friends. Her connections included influential students who held a strong voice across campus.
She had a habit of posting on Facebook story almost daily, and with the onset of our competition, her posts became even more frequent. She crafted a narrative of hard work, portraying herself as less capable than me but utterly dedicated.
What struck me was her honesty in sharing her progress with me. Even when I didn’t respond to her Facebook messages, she persisted, sending updates and posting screenshots of our discussions on her Facebook. This created a perception among our peers that I was intimately aware of Felicity’s research, making it all too easy for anyone to accuse me of plagiarism.
I had to admit that Felicity was skilled at manipulation; she was playing the game masterfully.
But this time, I needed to turn the tables. I had to find a way to test her and uncover how she was managing to plagiarize me without drawing suspicion.
I dove into my experiments, fully committed to the new research direction. This time, I deliberately magnified certain data points, ensuring that the results would lead to inconsistencies. If Felicity’s data matched mine again, it would be clear she was plagiarizing.
After leaving the lab, I opened Felicity's Facebook, eagerly awaiting her updates. Sure enough, her coded images revealed that her data mirrored mine, including the inaccuracies I had introduced. I was left speechless. How could this be happening? Was my computer compromised? The only explanation seemed to be that she had implanted a virus to access my work.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I rushed to a repair shop to fix my computer and stocked up on a hefty stack of paper. This time, I decided to go old school—no electronics. I meticulously transcribed all my experimental data and results by hand. Even if Felicity somehow found a way to track my work, she wouldn’t be able to replicate my handwritten notes.
Over the next three days and nights, I poured every ounce of energy into perfecting my paper, accelerating my experiments and correcting any errors. I was almost at the finish line; the only thing left to do was run a plagiarism check.
As I stared at my reflection, the dark circles under my eyes served as a testament to my sleepless nights and relentless effort. My desk was cluttered with pages filled with dense handwriting, and I finally let out a sigh of relief. Tomorrow, I would ask my dad to arrange for someone to type everything up into an electronic version, and I planned to send it to him using his company’s computer. This time, without access to my own devices, I was confident Felicity wouldn’t be able to replicate my work.
I called my dad via video chat to update him on the progress of my paper. I had been so absorbed in the lab that I hadn’t had time to communicate with him recently. As soon as I hung up the Facebook call, my eyes instinctively flicked back to Felicity's Facebook. I felt my heart sink when I saw her post: “I have corrected several key data and I am finally going to finish it.”
In the comments, she noted that her corrected data was exactly the same as mine. To my utter disbelief, she even included a screenshot showing the total word count of her paper—once again, it matched mine perfectly.