My Roommate’s Dating Theory Killed Me, So Reborn I Let Her Go Chapter 07

My Roommate’s Dating Theory Killed Me, So Reborn I Let Her Go Chapter 07

My phone screen lit up.

It was the resident group chat from my old apartment building. I’d forgotten to leave it.

Someone had shared a local news article.

[Woman at 742 Evergreen Ave Deliberately Left Apartment Unlocked to Recreate “Home Invasion Romance” From Fiction. Roommate Nearly Killed.]

The comments had already climbed into the thousands.

Almost every one of them was condemning her.

Then someone dug up screenshots of Clara’s old messages from the group chat and reposted them with the caption:

[This Is the Girl Who Wanted Her Love Story.]

The mood of the entire chat flipped overnight.

The same people who had been telling me to “be more understanding” just two days ago were now tearing Clara apart.

[She’s a walking disaster.]

[Completely selfish. She never cared if someone else got hurt.]

[Thank God Vivian always locked her bedroom door. Otherwise she’d probably be dead.]

I read a few comments before setting my phone aside.

—

The voices sounded exactly like they had a few days earlier.

Only the target had changed.

I’d learned that lesson in my previous life.

Public opinion was the least reliable thing in the world.

People could turn someone into an angel in three days.

Then bury that same person in hell three days later.

The only person I could ever depend on was myself.

Before bed, I checked every lock on the apartment one more time.

Then I verified that my fingerprints had been properly registered with the new smart lock.

Only after everything was secure did I turn off the lights.

I lay awake in the darkness for a long time.

Eventually my breathing slowed.

Only then did I finally drift off to sleep.

The next day was Saturday.

I woke naturally to warm sunlight filtering through the curtains.

My fingers brushed the bandage around my neck.

The wound was healing well.

No signs of infection.

—

I got up, washed up, boiled myself a bowl of pasta, and ate breakfast by the window at an unhurried pace.

Several messages were waiting on my phone.

Mrs. Higgins had checked in to see how I was doing.

Mr. Potts had sent another apology.

A few neighbors had forwarded the news article.

I replied to each of them briefly before opening a job search website.

I wanted a fresh start.

Somewhere far away from my old neighborhood.

That afternoon, the doorbell rang.

I looked through the peephole.

A uniformed police officer stood outside with his badge clipped to his chest.

I opened the door.

It was the young officer from the night before.

He held a manila folder.

“Ms. Rhodes? We uncovered some additional information about last night’s case. Do you have a few minutes?”

I stepped aside and invited him in.

He sat on the living room couch and spread several pages of

—

interview notes across the coffee table.

“We recovered messages from Clara’s phone,” he began.

“She belonged to an online romance novel fan group. They’d been discussing a fictional scenario involving falling in love during a home invasion.”

He paused before continuing.

“Several people in the group warned her it was incredibly dangerous.”

“But she replied…”

[I know what I’m doing. My roommate always locks her bedroom door.]

“The night of the attack, she secretly took your key, unlocked the apartment’s front door, and later posted another message.”

He looked up at me.

[Tonight’s going to be entertaining.]

“We therefore have reason to believe this wasn’t simple negligence.”

“It appears to have been planned.”

“We believe she wanted you to ‘experience’ one of those romance novel scenarios. She may even have intended to record what happened and post it online.”

“Our investigation is still ongoing, but if the evidence supports it, she could face criminal charges as an accomplice to intentional assault.”

My palms turned cold.

—

In my previous life, Clara had only said,

“She brought it on herself.”

I’d assumed she was just trying to dodge responsibility.

Now I realized the truth.

She had never seen me as a real person.

To her, I had been nothing more than a prop in her fantasy.

A disposable extra.

A piece of scenery she could throw away the moment something went wrong.

“There’s one more thing.”

The officer closed the folder.

“The man who broke into your apartment had never met Clara.”

“He was a repeat offender who targeted random apartment buildings.”

“He told us he noticed your front door had been left unlocked while scouting the building.”

“He also admitted he hid in the hallway for over thirty minutes until he was sure only two young women lived there.”

“Only then did he decide to act.”

The officer’s expression grew serious.

—

“Whether she intended it or not, Clara opening that door sent him a clear signal that the apartment was an easy target.”

—

I sat in silence for a long moment, processing his words.

“So she knew what she was doing,” I finally said. “She knew it was dangerous. She was warned. And she did it anyway.”

The officer nodded. “That’s what the evidence suggests. We’re still building the case, but it’s looking increasingly likely that she’ll face charges.”

I stared at the papers spread across the coffee table. The screenshots of her messages. The timeline of events. The cold, calculated way she had set everything in motion.

“I want to press charges,” I said quietly. “To the fullest extent of the law.”

The officer looked at me, something like approval flickering in his eyes. “That’s your right. And based on what we’ve found, the prosecution has a strong case.”

He stood and gathered the papers. “I’ll be in touch as the investigation progresses. In the meantime, take care of yourself. And keep your doors locked.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

After he left, I sat alone in the apartment.

The sunlight had shifted, casting long shadows across the floor.

I thought about Clara’s mother, begging for forgiveness.

I thought about Clara, treating my life like a plot device in her personal fantasy.

I thought about the old Vivian, who would have forgiven her, would have made excuses, would have let herself be guilt-tripped into silence.

I reached up and touched the bandage on my neck.

The new Vivian was still healing.

But she was also still standing.

And she wasn’t going to let anyone treat her life like a story again.