I Quit, and the Plagiarist Fell Apart Chapter 01

I Quit, and the Plagiarist Fell Apart Chapter 01

The day I announced I was putting down my pen for good, the room erupted in cheers.

Only Ivy Blake—the rising-star novelist and self-proclaimed “closest friend” of my boyfriend Rowan Hale—stormed forward in protest.

In the viral clip, she wore a mask of practiced devastation, her eyes glassy with crocodile tears.

“It’s all a terrible misunderstanding! I adore Maeve’s work more than anyone!”

“I beg her, for every reader who’s ever loved her words, to pick up her pen again.”

I powered off my phone and let her pleas fade into silence.

In my last life, my serialized novel appeared online word-for-word identical to hers.

The internet branded me a plagiarist. Brazen. A fraud.

I was shattered. I posted my entire creative process, my full outline, every draft I’d ever saved.

But her document’s last-edited timestamp was ten minutes ahead of mine.

Ten minutes.

Those ten minutes bought me three years of unrelenting hate mail, death threats, and sleepless nights.

The ceaseless cyberbullying hollowed me out until I could barely recognize myself.

My parents fought to clear my name—and were swarmed by the same mob, their reputations dragged through the mud.

On the night Ivy’s novel won the National Book Award, I ended my life.

Then I opened my eyes again. Reborn. Back to the day my new book was scheduled to go live.

“Your preorders just hit two hundred thousand! At this pace, the Penfield Award for Best Novelist is already yours!”

My editor Wendy Forester clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched so violently that she stumbled backward.

Wendy pointed at my laptop. “Nine minutes to launch. You’ve got the auto-publish set, right?”

I stared at the scheduled time glowing on the screen and yanked my finger back inches from the Enter key.

Wendy didn’t notice the tremor in my hands. She checked her watch, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door.

“The fan forums are losing their minds waiting. Hit publish—I’ve got a dinner with the Random House reps!”

“Wait. I need to check something first.”

I didn’t bother explaining. I pulled out my phone and navigated to Ivy’s Twitter feed.

Three minutes ago, she’d posted a long-form graphic thread.

“If you had one chance to time-travel, how would you survive the horrors of 14th-century Europe?”

I tapped the first image. One glance. And I slumped back into my chair as if every bone in my body had turned to water.

Wendy doubled back, confused, and plucked the phone from my grip.

A few minutes later, she gasped so sharply I thought she might choke. “What the hell—this is your novel!”

“The setting, the protagonist, every plot beat—it’s identical. How did Ivy get her hands on your unpublished manuscript?”

“Did someone at the publisher leak it? Hang on, I’m calling the editorial director right now!”

She fumbled for her phone, already dialing.

I let out a hollow laugh and shook my head. “Cancel the print run. Before they send a single copy to press.”

Last time, being accused of stealing Ivy’s work had destroyed me.

I’d posted my creative notes and outline to defend myself.

But Ivy had “proof” too.

Her document’s last-edit timestamp was ten minutes earlier than mine.

“Plagiarists like her should be blacklisted for life!”

“She posted an outline? Must’ve killed her to copy that much.”

“Has the nerve to publish this when everyone knows she stole it.”

My editor and the publisher’s director vouched for me—and were branded my accomplices.

When the scandal peaked, my influencer boyfriend released a video statement.

The man who’d refused to acknowledge our relationship in public stood on camera, declared his love for Ivy, then tore me apart for “theft.”

I couldn’t believe it.

He’d been the first person to read my new draft—and he’d lied through his teeth to shield Ivy.

With him leading the charge, his fanbase went feral.

They flooded my socials with death threats, slurs, and vitriol.

Friends stopped returning my calls. Colleagues crossed the street to avoid me.

Just as they’d wanted, I was blacklisted. Expelled from the Authors Guild. My film adaptation shelved indefinitely.

Years of relentless bullying crushed me into a depression so deep I couldn’t see the surface.

And on the night Ivy’s novel won its award, I ended my pathetic life.

But the universe had given me a second chance.

This time, I’d find out exactly how she’d done it.

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