Chapter 1
A top celebrity lived right across the hall from me.
He was in a relationship and secretly married, but publicly played the single guy.
He didn't want to reveal anything about his private life, but he just couldn't let go of the gifts his fans sent him.
So he dropped a hint about my address on a show, then showed up at my place to collect the gifts.
Later, when his secret marriage was exposed, his crazed fans lost their minds with hate.
They came to my door, convinced I was his non-celebrity wife.
Without warning, they threw acid in my face and stabbed me multiple times.
As I faded out, I saw the guy across the hall muttering, "Good thing I gave them someone else's address."
When I opened my eyes, I was back a few days before I got stabbed.
*****
"Hey there, this is a signature-required delivery. I'll need you to sign for it yourself," the delivery guy said.
He parked two carts overflowing with packages right at my doorstep.
The carts were loaded with luxury handbags, designer perfumes, top-shelf makeup, and a mountain of handwritten letters.
In the delivery guy's hand, he held a small box, set apart from the rest.
It was like déjà vu: just like something straight out of my previous life.
I spaced out for a moment, lost in thought.
"Miss?" the delivery guy called out again, snapping me back to reality.
"Sorry, these aren't mine. Can you take them back?" I replied.
I turned to close the door, but the delivery guy blocked my way.
"Miss, the address and phone number on these packages are yours, so there shouldn't be a mistake," he insisted.
Joe was a top celebrity with a huge following, and every day, my doorstep turned into a drop-off zone for carts full of packages.
The delivery guy had gotten familiar with me, so he was totally thrown off when I started turning the packages away today.
I said, "I didn't order any of this, and the names on the labels aren't mine. I don't have to sign for stuff that isn't mine. Could you please send them back?"
Joe's fame was no secret, and even the delivery guy knew the names on the packages didn't add up.
He used to think I was part of Joe's team, using a fake address to keep things private for the celebrity.
"Understood, miss. I'll take these packages back. Please check with Joe and have him update the correct address soon, so this doesn't happen again," the delivery guy said.
He gathered up the packages and started getting them ready to send back.
On TV, Joe was being interviewed.
He sat in front of the cameras, surrounded by a crowd and a sea of lenses, every move he made drawing everyone's attention.
A reporter asked, "Joe, everyone's dying to know about your love life right now. Can you share a bit with us?"
Joe's eyes flickered for a moment, a hint of something complicated flashing across his face, but he quickly composed himself.
He said, "I'm still single, and I'm not planning on getting into a relationship for at least the next five years.
"I want to put more of my energy into my work and bring everyone more happiness and touching moments through what I do."
As soon as he said that, the whole place erupted with excited gasps and thunderous applause.
Some of his obsessive female fans went absolutely nuts, screaming like crazy, as if this news had just filled them with endless hope and wild fantasies.
I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.
Joe was my neighbor, and he'd actually married a non-celebrity two years ago.
He was afraid his fans would show up and expose his secret marriage, but he just couldn't give up all the gifts they sent him.
So on a show, he 'accidentally' dropped what he said was his own address.
But actually, it was my place.
After that, Joe came over to apologize for his mistake, his gentle, apologetic gaze full of warmth and regret.
He said, "Ms. Smith, I'm truly sorry. My mistake ended up leaking your address.
"You know my situation."
Then he pulled out a delicate little gift box and asked, "Could you help me out by signing for my packages for the time being?"
It was hard to say no when someone was all smiles, and since he was my neighbor, I couldn't really refuse. So, I ended up accepting his apology.
But in my previous life, just a month after that interview aired, the paparazzi snapped Joe getting all close and personal with some mystery woman late at night.
The scandal dominated the trending charts, and his fans went into meltdown, dropping him left and right.
Then those crazy girlfriend stans actually came to my door, convinced I was the woman in the photos, and doused my face with acid.
I clutched my face, howling in pain as I rolled on the floor.
One fan screamed, "You bitch! You used that face to seduce our Joe, didn't you? Shameless!"
Another shouted, "Joe is mine. If it weren't for you, he would never have left me. This is all your fault."
Not satisfied yet, the fans drove the knife into my chest again and again.
As my consciousness faded and my vision blurred, I caught a glimpse of the door across the hall quietly peeking open.
Joe was clutching his chest, relief all over his face as he kept whispering to himself, "Good thing I gave them someone else's address."