Chapter 4

"Did you see this?"

Maya sent me a screenshot.

I tapped it open.

It was Ethan’s Instagram. A photo of two hands tightly holding each other.

The caption: "Sorry I made you wait so long."

Hailey had reposted the same photo.

Her caption was longer: "After everything, it’s still you. If some people don’t know how to cherish what they have, someone else will."

The comments below were filled with hearts.

"You two were always meant to be."

"So happy for you, Hailey! True love wins."

"I knew it! Ethan’s eyes have always been only on you."

I scrolled to the very bottom. A random account had commented:

"Wait, what about the ex-girlfriend? Didn't they just break up? Isn't this a bit fast?"

Hailey replied: "I don't know who you're talking about. What’s between us has nothing to do with anyone else."

I put my phone down.

"Sorry I made you wait so long."

That was meant for Hailey. It meant that during the five years he was with me, Hailey had been waiting in the wings.

He knew it. She knew it. I was the only one kept in the dark.

Or maybe I knew. I was just too afraid to admit it.

Maya called me. "Stop looking at it."

"I already saw."

"How do you feel?"

I thought about it for a moment.

It wasn't sadness. It was a strange sense of relief.

"He said 'sorry I made you wait so long,'" I said. "That is the only honest thing he has said in five years."

Maya didn't know what to say.

By 8:00 PM, my phone began to buzz incessantly.

It wasn't Ethan. It was Hailey's friends.

The first was Hailey’s best friend, who went by the handle @Lily_Rose.

She commented under a selfie I had posted three months ago: "Still keeping the matching couple's profile picture after a breakup? That's just pathetic."

I didn't have a matching couple's profile picture. My profile picture was a cat illustration I had drawn myself.

The second was Hailey's coworker, who posted in a mutual Snapchat group we both shared:

"Some people just love playing the victim to get sympathy and clout after a breakup. It's honestly embarrassing."

She didn't tag me, but I was the only outsider in that group.

The third was the most ridiculous. A completely anonymous account sent me a DM with a screenshot.

It was Hailey's Instagram, showing one of her latest digital illustrations.

It was a watercolor-style piece depicting a girl standing in a field of flowers.

The style was identical to mine.

No, it wasn't just "identical." It was a direct copy.

The composition, the color palette, the brushstrokes, and even the angle of the girl’s hair blowing in the wind were a perfect match to an illustration I had posted on my Twitter portfolio two years ago.

The sender wrote: "Hey, is this your art? She claims she painted it, but the style looks exactly like yours."

I pulled up my original file from two years ago and placed them side by side.

Hailey’s work wasn't just inspired by mine.

She had traced it.

I scrolled down her feed. It wasn't just one piece.

Almost every illustration she had posted over the past two years could be traced back to an original piece on my profile.

She hadn't just stolen my boyfriend.

She had copied my aesthetic, my art style, and my taste, and then used them to present herself to Ethan.

Ethan had never actually loved Hailey.

He loved a younger, more submissive, and more worshipful version of me.

Maya called again. "Why aren't you talking?"

"I found out something."

"What?"

"She plagiarized my art."

There was a solid ten seconds of silence on the other end.

"Chloe, listen to me," Maya's voice was sharp and determined. "Gather all your evidence. The original files, the publication dates, the layered PSD files, the scanned sketches. You still have them, right?"

"I have everything."

"From this day on, you are no longer the victim. You are the plaintiff."