Part 2The Perfect Alibi: A Manufactured Truth

Because in my past life, at this very moment, I was the perfect scapegoat.

She murdered my fiancé, Joey, in his studio. The security cameras captured "me" doing it.

All I remembered was being asleep.

But faced with the crystal-clear video evidence, my denials were useless. I had no proof.

According to the text messages, "I" had started an argument with him, confronting him about another woman and demanding an explanation. "I" had furiously called a cab to his studio.

The video showed us in a heated fight. It showed me, in a fit of rage, grabbing a knife from his desk and killing him.

The face in the video was unmistakably mine. The movements, the expressions—they were all mine. The dress "I" was wearing was a custom piece, the only one of its kind in the world.

All the evidence proved it was a crime of passion, that I had killed him out of jealous rage.

And while the things he’d done probably meant he deserved to die, he shouldn't have died by my hand.

But this time was different. I had warned him to leave the studio. I was on a hospital rooftop, a hostage in a live-streamed crisis. The entire hospital, the entire city, was my alibi.

I wanted to see how she could frame me now. How could "I" send those texts? How could "I" kill him?

As the police negotiators drew the man’s attention, his grip on me tightened unconsciously.

This was my chance. I timed my move, striking his wrist and sending the knife clattering to the rooftop floor.

The police swarmed him instantly, tackling him to the ground.

But in his final, desperate struggle, he shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, over the edge of the roof.

Luckily, a second-floor awning broke my fall. I survived, escaping with nothing more than a broken arm.

As they loaded me onto a stretcher, the influencers who had been live-streaming the event gave me thumbs-ups.

“What a heroic doctor,” one of them marveled.

A flood of praise and concern washed over me, and I had to stop myself from laughing.

In my last life, I had worked a full night shift, then stayed to help with a morning surgery. I was exhausted when I got home. I fell asleep at 2:00 PM and didn’t wake up until 5:00. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the police, there to arrest me.

No matter how many awards I had won, no matter how much the hospital vouched for me, it couldn’t stop the tide of public outrage. In the face of that damning video, my entire life’s work meant nothing.