Revenge on My Ex: No One Escapes This Time

Three days after our engagement, my family’s group chat exploded.

An anonymous account leaked "explicit photos" and hotel checkin records of me, claiming I had a wild, messy sex life.

My fiancé called off the wedding on the spot. My mother sent three screaming voice memos, calling me a disgrace, and kicked me out of the group.

In my past life, the cyberbullying drove me into a deep depression, and I eventually died in a tragic accident in my rented apartment, completely alone.

It was only later that I found out—

Those photos were AIdeepfakes. The records were completely forged.

And the IP address of that anonymous sender? It came directly from my fiancé’s private study.

Reborn into this life, I looked at the screen full of "friends and family" waiting for me to lose my mind. I slowly and calmly screenshotted every single piece of evidence.

This time, no one is getting away with it.

Three days after our engagement, my family's Snapchat group lit up with three notifications.

The first was a photo of me, completely naked. My face had been AIswapped onto a disgusting, suggestive body.

The second was a detailed "hotel log," packed with dates and room numbers. The last was a text from an anonymous account: "Chloe, you really played the innocent act well, didn't you?"

My phone started vibrating violently.

People were already screenshotting and sharing it in the neighborhood Facebook group, my college alumni chat, and even my work Slack channels. The notifications flooded in like a relentless drumbeat, making my scalp go numb.

I opened the family chat just in time to see my mom, Helen, sending a barrage of voice memos.

"Chloe! Look at what you’ve done!"

"You’ve completely ruined our family reputation! I am utterly humiliated!"

"Don’t you dare call me Mom ever again. I don't have a daughter like you!"

The rapidfire messages felt like she was reading a final will.

A second later, a notification popped up: "You have been removed from the group."

I stared at the red exclamation mark for about ten seconds before my phone buzzed again.

It was a text from Ethan.

"Chloe, we're over. The engagement is off."

I scrolled up and saw the long paragraph he had posted in his own family chat. He used words like "deeply humiliated," "unacceptable," and "ending the relationship effective immediately." It was so wellworded, it looked like a press release from a PR firm.

I placed my phone face down on the desk, listening to my racing heart.

And then, I burst into laughter.

Not because I wasn't hurt.

But because I had already lived through this nightmare once.

In my past life, also on the third day of our engagement, these exact photos and logs were leaked.

I had tried so hard to explain. I made calls, sent voice notes, and wrote long essays, begging everyone to believe me.

I screenshotted my actual chats, made a spreadsheet of my whereabouts for the past three months, and even went to those hotels one by one to verify their records. But no one looked. No one listened. People only believe what they want to believe.

My mom screamed at me on the phone for forty minutes before throwing out her final words: "Why don't you just go die?"

And Ethan never answered a single one of my calls.

Later, I found out the photos were AIdeepfakes, and the hotel records were completely forged.

And the anonymous sender's IP address? It came directly from the MacBook in Ethan's private study.

He and his new mistress had spent three months planning this setup. They didn't just want to break off the engagement; they wanted to destroy my reputation, to make me disappear entirely, so he could seamlessly move on with her while playing the "heartbroken victim" of betrayal.

In my past life, they succeeded. I vanished.

I was fired from my job, evicted by my landlord, and people on the street would recognize me and take photos of my face with their phones.

I moved through three different cities, eventually taking a handful of sleeping pills in a cheap rented apartment in a tiny town. By the time they found me, three days had passed.

But this time is different.

This time, I turned on my screen recorder and saved every single message, share, and voice note from every group chat.

Then, I opened my contacts and searched for Ethan’s "new girl"—Melanie.

I hadn't found out about her until it was too late in my previous life.

Her Instagram account was public. Her latest post was from three days ago, geotagged at a luxury hotel, captioned with just one word: "Worthwhile."

In the comments, when someone asked what she was celebrating, she had replied with a blushing emoji.

I screenshotted that post too.

Once I finished, my heart rate finally slowed down. This time, not a single one of them is going to escape.

Immediately after, I dialed a number. The call picked up, and the rapid clatter of a keyboard echoed through the receiver.

"Caleb," I said. "I need you to trace an IP address for me."

That night, I didn't send a single message in any group chat. No explanations, no crying, no hysterics.

Ethan texted me three times asking, "You there?" I left him on read.

They wanted to see me break.

I had given them that show in my past life.

But in this life, I was giving them the one thing that keeps criminals awake at night: absolute, deafening silence.

The next morning at 8:00 AM, Caleb's message came through.

He sent a screenshot of an IP address log, which pinned the location right to Ethan's study.

Below it, he wrote: "This IP logged into the anonymous account that posted the photos yesterday at 3:17 PM. The device used was a MacBook named 'Ethan’s MacBook Pro.' Want me to dig deeper?"

I replied with one word: "Dig."

Then, I searched my contacts for Ethan’s mother, Miranda.

My "almost" motherinlaw had sent me a very long, patronizing voice note in my past life when they called off the engagement. Her tone had been gentle, her words polite, saying, "Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry, but Ethan's father just can't accept this kind of behavior.

My hands are tied." She sounded like she was apologizing, but every word was designed to push me off the cliff.

This time, I called her directly on FaceTime.

"Miranda, it’s Chloe," I said, my voice incredibly calm, even sweet. "I need to see you. I have some things I want to discuss in person. Regarding Ethan."

The other end went silent for a couple of seconds.

"About what?" Miranda’s voice sounded guarded.

"You'll see when I get there," I replied. "Tomorrow afternoon at three. I'll come over to your house. Does that work?"

She paused again before saying, "Fine. Come over."

After hanging up, I lay down on my bed. Outside, I could hear some neighbors gossiping about me in the hallway.

My mother had posted "I don't have a daughter anymore" in another chat with our relatives.

Ethan posted a blackandwhite photo on Instagram with the caption: "You can never truly know someone's heart." It already had over twenty likes.

I saw it all.

But I was waiting for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, the real show begins.

When I slammed my hand onto the coffee table in the living room, Miranda almost dropped her mug.

"Chloe! What is the meaning of this?!"

I ignored her, slapping a stack of printed documents onto the table, page by page.

"I had a security firm trace the IP address. The login came directly from Ethan’s MacBook."

"Melanie’s Instagram post from three days ago was geotagged at the Hyatt. That matches the exact hotel and time on Ethan's forged records."

Miranda's face went from flushed red, to pale white, and finally to a sickly green.

"This... this is slander!"

"Slander?" I slapped down the final page. It was a set of photos. "Miranda, look closely. These are photos from Melanie’s private archive. Last month, on the fifteenth, she and Ethan were in Miami.

Ethan told you it was a 'company retreat,' right? Since when do retreats only have two people?"

Miranda fell completely silent.

I pulled out my phone and played an audio file. It was a voice call between Ethan and Melanie that Caleb had recovered for me.

Ethan's voice played: "Did you post the photos? How is her family reacting?"

Melanie giggled, sounding incredibly smug: "It completely blew up. Her mom kicked her out of the family chat immediately!"

Ethan laughed. "Perfect. I'll go cry to my mom in a couple of days, and this will all be over. Once her reputation is completely trashed, we can be together openly, and everyone will pity me."

"You are evil."

"Only for you, babe."

The recording ended, and the living room fell into a suffocating silence.

Miranda’s lips were trembling.

I looked her dead in the eye, pronouncing every single word clearly.

"Miranda, I didn't come here to ask for your help. I came here to notify you."

"Tomorrow morning, I am filing a criminal defamation lawsuit against your son."

"Every single piece of evidence in his study has already been backed up."

I stood up, looking down at her.

"I'll see you both in court."

I turned toward the door, but stopped and glanced back.

"Oh, and one more thing."

"You shared that deepfake photo in the neighborhood group yesterday. I have the screenshot of that, too."

"Under the law, sharing and distributing defamatory material makes you liable. If I choose to press charges against you, you will be going down right alongside him."

Miranda’s face drained of all color.

By the time I left their house, the sun had already set.

My phone was buzzing with dozens of missed calls and texts. I didn't bother opening them, only scanning the previews.

From my mom: "Chloe, have you lost your mind? Why did you go raise a scene at Ethan's house?"

From Cody: "Are you insane? How am I supposed to show my face at work with you acting like this?"

From Ethan: "Chloe, we need to talk."