Chapter 1

Scrolling through my feed late one night, a video caught my eye. An influencer I didn't recognize was giving a tour of her downtown penthouse.

The layout was stunning—open-plan living with cream-colored walls and minimalist furniture. A strange familiarity settled over me. It all looked exactly like my apartment.

But the way she arranged the room was a bit different.

Then I scrolled to a shot of the painting she had hanging on her wall.

It was the portrait I'd had made of my cat after she went to heaven.

This was my apartment. No question.

So who the hell was she?

*****

I was on the high-speed train home when I scrolled across her post.

The cream-colored decor and wooden furniture—I couldn't shake the feeling I'd seen it somewhere before.

The caption read: [Thanks to my brother for the house!]

I clicked on the profile and saw it was posted by Rebecca Shaw, who seemed like a small-time influencer.

The post was fresh, and her fans were already flooding the comments with envy.

[This place is huge!]

[And those floor-to-ceiling windows? That's my dream home.]

[So jealous. When will I get a brother who gives me a house?]

I scrolled through her profile. Most of her posts were selfies, with the occasional post showing off her wealth.

I went back to those photos, and the more I looked, the more confused I got.

The place really did look just like my apartment—the decor and furniture matched perfectly, but the layout was just a little different.

While I was still trying to figure it out, she posted more photos.

This time, it was close-ups of the little decorations around the room.

The vases, plushies, and knick-knacks—they were all so familiar. My confusion just kept growing.

Then I scrolled to a shot of the painting on her wall. It was a custom cat portrait I'd had made.

It was my cat—the one I'd lost to kitty heaven. Now I was certain—this was my place.

So who the hell was she? And who was her brother?

*****

I dropped a comment under her post: [Wait, this is my apartment. Who are you and how did you get pics of my place?]

Reception on the train sucked, but she replied almost instantly: [Are you nuts? This is my place.]

I replied: [But everything in your pics—the decor, the furniture—is exactly like mine.]

I added a photo of my own apartment to my reply.

I'd been working overseas for years and hadn't set foot back home in ages, but I still had pics from when the place was freshly renovated.

Rebecca hadn't answered yet, but her stans were already coming to her rescue.

[Are you for real? Just because it looks the same doesn't mean it's yours, duh.]

[Yeah, everyone copies the same designs nowadays. It's not that deep if two places look identical.]

[Rebecca's getting popular now, so of course there are people clout-chasing.]

Rebecca finally replied: [This is my place. Don't just grab some promo shot and claim it's your apartment.]

I frowned. My photo was from right after the renovation—totally empty, no signs of anyone living there yet, no personal stuff or decorations.

However, her fans kept roasting me.

[Nice try, but you totally failed at flexing. My cousin does interior design and can whip up 800 of these pics a day.]

[Bet you just used Rebecca's photos to train some AI and faked your own.]

I was starting to get pissed. No doubt about it—that was my apartment, and that painting was the proof.

I snapped a screenshot of the painting she posted and shot her a message.

[You say this is your place? Then what about this painting? I had it custom-made of my cat. It's one of a kind.]

This time, Rebecca shot back right away: [I found that wall art on a resale app. No clue whose cat it is—I just thought it was cute, so I bought it.]

I rolled my eyes. Come on, couldn't she at least come up with a better excuse?

But then Rebecca dropped another pic. It was a screenshot of her purchase on a resale app.

The product photo was tiny, but it was definitely the same painting.

I couldn't help but blurt out, eyes wide, "No way! Photoshopped, right? How could that even happen?"

I found the artist online and only ever messaged him on WhatsApp.

[Rebecca showed the receipts. Why's the wannabe silent now?]

[Watch, she's gonna say Rebecca faked that pic.]

[You can't even show any proof, but you've got the nerve to accuse someone else?]

Rebecca's fans were back at it, coming for me again.

Now, they wanted proofs, right? Posting a photo of my cat wouldn't help.

The portrait was pretty abstract, and my cat was just a regular tabby—people would just clown on me for it.

As for my old chats with the artist? I opened my chat app and scrolled all the way through my contacts. But the artist was nowhere to be found.

It had been so long, and after the commission, I never messaged him again. I probably deleted him ages ago, and all our chat history was gone, too.

Honestly, I had zero proof to back myself up.