Rebirth on a Cliff: No Drone, No Mercy

"Let me tell you something, Lauren. In this company, whatever I say goes. Be smart and sign it, or I'll ruin you completely."

I took the pen. "Fine. I'll sign."

I deliberately signed my name crookedly across the page, then slapped the paper against her chest. "Now, can I leave?"

Melissa flicked the paper with satisfaction. "Get lost. And don't forget to prepare the money. Max is a purebred Mastiff. With your pathetic salary, it'll take years to pay me back."

I ignored her and walked out of the campsite. The sky was darkening—the mountain wind cut like daggers, chilling me to the bone.

I didn't go far. Instead, I stopped at a sheltered spot not far from the campsite, high enough to overlook the entire site.

I sat on a rock, wiping the blood from my hand. The wound still hurt. But after what I suffered in my last life, the pain only sharpened my patience.

Lights flickered on in the camp. Melissa sat by the fire, laughing as Greg handed her a piece of roasted meat. She laughed and smiled, looking nothing like someone who had just lost her "beloved" dog.

Night fell completely. The signal in the mountains was weak, cutting on and off. I pulled out my backup phone and slipped in an anonymous SIM card.

As soon as the internet connected, my WhatsApp exploded. In the company group chat, Melissa had posted a long message, accusing me of cruelty.

The message read, "Everyone, please judge for yourselves. I only wanted to borrow her drone to find Max, but she kicked it straight into the lake. Max is still lost in the forest, probably dead, and she just walked away. How can someone be so cold and vicious?"

On top of that, she attached several photos—the sinking drone, her tear-streaked face, and my back as I left camp.

Greg was the first to respond. "Lauren isn't even human! Keeping someone like her in the company is a ticking time bomb. Who knows when she'll stab us in the back?"

Mr. Woodruff chimed in. "Lauren's behavior is a serious violation of team discipline. I've already punished her. Let this be a warning to everyone."

Other colleagues joined in.

"She's terrifying. She's always so quiet, but actually so scheming deep down."

"I strongly suggest the company fire her!"

I stared at the screen, reading their cruel words.

In my last life, I had fought desperately to explain myself and prove my innocence. All it had earned me was harsher online abuse.

They didn't care about the truth. They only wanted a scapegoat.

But this time, I wouldn't explain.

I opened Melissa's Instagram feed. Her latest post, posted half an hour ago, mirrored her message in the group. The only difference was that she added a screenshot of the location.

I sneered, saving every piece of evidence.

Just then, commotion rose from the camp. I leaned forward to see.

Melissa was in the center, holding up a selfie stick, livestreaming. "Hey, everyone. It's Melissa. My dog Max is missing. I'm so scared…" She squeezed out a few tears for the camera, her voice trembling.

I muted the sound and watched her performance.

Go ahead and make noise. The bigger, the better.

Early the next morning, the mountain mist had yet to clear. I leaned against a tree trunk, sleepless and freezing. Checking my backup phone, I saw that Melissa's livestream had run all night.

The livestream title was designed to grab attention.

"Cold-Hearted Coworker Refuses to Help. My Mastiff Remains Lost in the Wilderness, Fate Unknown."