Catfishing With My Face Got Her Ruined

"Celestine, please, just help me this once! If even you can't make him fall for you, then I'll know for sure that he really loves me."

I was fooled by those very words in my previous life.

I softened and agreed to help a friend with a harmless little test, never realizing that the so-called "Wall Street rising star" was nothing more than a con artist living a lavish lifestyle by maxing out his fiancée's credit cards.

When the truth came out, my so-called good friend dumped all the blame on me.

She sold fabricated scandals about me to the tabloids, destroying my reputation throughout New York's PR industry. In the end, she even pushed me from the top floor of the building.

She used my death to win sympathy and build herself a so-called "victim" persona.

But now, I'm back.

This time, I won't test anyone's love for her.

I'll make her watch every lie she fabricated come crashing down, one by one.

The sensation of weightlessness from falling, accompanied by the phantom pain of bones breaking, jolted me awake at my desk.

I gasped for breath. Cold sweat trickled down my back, soaking through my shirt.

The familiar office slowly came back into focus.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, afternoon traffic streamed through Manhattan. My computer screen was still displaying a crisis-management plan for a Hollywood star. Beside it sat a half-finished iced oat milk latte that had already gone cold.

Everything was exactly as I remembered.

"Celestine?"

A familiar voice came from beside me.

My body instantly went rigid, and I turned my head.

Isabella was holding a cup of coffee, her hands clasped together as she gazed at me pleadingly.

"Please, will you help me just this once?"

Looking at the perfectly calculated concern and desperation on her face, I felt a chill settle in my stomach.

This was a high-pressure, elite PR firm in Manhattan. Isabella was famous around the office for being a "sweetheart."

She had no connections and always acted timid and careful. Even when an intern took a proposal she had stayed up all night preparing, she would only smile and say it was fine.

But everything changed six months ago, after she met Casper Lowell on an exclusive dating app.

She started talking about him nonstop at the office: "Wall Street rising star," "trust fund," "low-key."

She showed off the designer bags worth thousands of dollars and expensive restaurant bills he supposedly paid for her. She even flashed screenshots of transfers without bothering to hide the amounts.

But in my second life, I already knew the truth.

Those bags were either knockoffs or bought with her own credit cards. And those seemingly generous online transfers were nothing more than a smokescreen Casper used to drain her savings.

At lunchtime today, she told me she was scared. Casper had suddenly demanded to meet in person, and she didn't dare go.

So she came to me.

"Celestine, men are always falling all over you." Isabella lowered her voice, her tone almost flattering. "Could you do me a tiny favor? Add him and see how he reacts. If even someone like you, a socialite, can't get his attention, then I'll finally be able to relax."

This was where I had agreed to help her in my previous life.

And one wrong step had led to another.

The moment Casper saw my photo, he became obsessed with me.

Isabella lost control of her jealousy, tampered with my coffee, and tried to make me pay for the mountain of debt they had racked up together.

Later, when her scheme was exposed, she beat me to the punch by going to Page Six and leaking stories about me. She destroyed my reputation and caused my family to cut me off financially.

And finally, there was the top floor of that building—and the fatal fall.

Anger slowly rose in my chest.

I tightened my grip on my pen, then slowly relaxed my fingers.

In this life, I couldn't let my emotions make my decisions.

I would make her hand me the knife herself.

"Celestine?" Isabella asked cautiously. "What do you think?"

I looked up at her, my voice completely flat.

"Can't help you."

She froze.

"What?"

"I have no interest in testing someone else's fiancé."

The smile on Isabella's face stiffened. Her eyes reddened slightly, and she quickly slipped into a wounded expression.

"Wow... okay. Sorry. I thought we were friends. I'm just really insecure. I didn't realize you looked down on other people's true love so much."

"If you're so certain he loves you, and so certain it's real love," I cut off her guilt trip, leaning back in my chair, "then you don't need a third person to prove it."

The layer of sweetness finally cracked.

She lowered her voice, her tone turning sharp.

"Celestine, do you really think that highly of yourself?" she hissed. "Sure, you're pretty, and you know how to dress, but Casper isn't that shallow! He likes women who are interesting, intelligent, and actually understand him."

I looked at her and suddenly found it amusing.

"If you're that confident," I said, staring directly into her eyes, "then why are you afraid to meet him?"

Her face stiffened.

"I just..."

"Afraid your photos have been edited too much and the real you won't measure up?" I asked mercilessly.

"Or are you afraid that once he sees you in person, he'll realize you're nothing like the glamorous, wealthy socialite you described yourself as on the app?"

"Shut up!"

Her voice suddenly rose sharply.

Several coworkers nearby stopped typing and looked over.

Isabella's face flushed bright red. Realizing she had lost control, she bit her lip hard and awkwardly returned to her desk.

I ignored her and lowered my head to the files on my desk.

This time, I wasn't going to wade into this mess for her.

Just then—

A sudden FaceTime ringtone rang out from several desks away.

The cheerful sound that normally wouldn't have bothered anyone seemed especially grating in the quiet office.

Isabella stared at the glowing screen.

The color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as paper.