Reborn To Ruin My Ex And His Muse

The day I announced my retirement, the internet threw a party. Twitter threads unraveled my career, Reddit celebrated my demise, and the industry breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Only one person defended me publicly. Sophie. My boyfriends childhood best friend.

Maya is a brilliant voice in our industry. Losing her is a tragedy for cinema, she posted, adorned with a heartbroken emoji.

I was a top-tier screenwriter. My scripts didnt just get made; they started bidding wars. But in my past life, Sophie had turned in a script identical to mine at the prestigious Horizon Screenwriting Lab.

On the day of the awards, my boyfriend, Adrianthe golden boy of indie filmproduced evidence that I was the thief. He claimed he was protecting the true talent: Sophie.

I was buried under an avalanche of cancel culture. Lawsuits piled up. The debt collectors banged on my door at all hours. And on the day Adrian and Sophie went public with their romance, I drowned in the bathtub of my foreclosed apartment.

Then, I opened my eyes.

I was back. The Horizon Awards. The moment before the fall.

1

This is it, Maya. This is the one. Were talking Oscars.

The voice belonged to Silas Grant, a director with a Midas touch and a sharks smile.

I jolted, the phantom sensation of water filling my lungs making me gasp. I blinked, the harsh studio lights stinging my eyes. I wasnt in the tub. I was in the conference room at Paradigm Studios.

My assistant and the legal team were staring at me.

Maya? The pen, Silas urged, sliding the thick contract across the mahogany table. Sign it so we can pop the champagne.

I didnt reach for it.

This script, The Unraveling, was my magnum opus. It had taken two years of bloodletting to write. In my previous life, I signed this contract with a shaking, happy hand. Thirty minutes later, Sophie was announced as the winner of the Horizon Grant with a script that mirrored mine scene for scene.

Later, I wrote a short film to try and save my career. When I submitted it, I was told it was a 90% match to a script Sophie had registered the day before.

She had mailed the drafts to herself to establish a timeline. I couldn't prove a thing. Overnight, I went from Genius to Hack.

I looked up at Silas. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. Im sorry, Silas. I cant sign this.

Silass smile didnt drop, but his eyes went cold. Excuse me? We agreed on terms. Walking away at the eleventh hour is suicide in this town.

I cant explain right now, I said, my voice steadying. I will give you a result, I promise. But I cannot put my signature on this document today.

He slammed a hand on the table. Do you know how much prep weve done? You think you can toy with us because you have a couple of hits? Youre nobody without a director, Maya.

Silas could blacklist me with a phone call. He was the gatekeeper.

But before I could speak, a junior exec checked her phone and gasped. Sophie just started trending. She sold a script to Apex... the logline sounds exactly like The Unraveling.

Silas snatched the phone, read the tweet, and glared at me. What is this?

I frowned, feigning confusion. Silas, I swear, I didnt plagiarize.

You didnt? He laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. So what, she plagiarized you? The girl whos been locked in a wifi-free writers colony for a month?

That was the trap. The Horizon Lab was a black box. No internet, monitored devices. If I claimed the script was mine now, everyone would assume I was the one who stole it from the sequestered genius.

I stood up, smoothing my blazer. Give me one week. I will write you something new. Something better. I wont delay production.

Silas stared at me, calculating. My track record bought me a sliver of grace.

One week, he hissed. If you dont have a script that blows my mind, youre finished in Los Angeles.

2

On the drive home, my phone buzzed.

Adrian: Babe, Sophie won the grant! Taking her out for drinks to celebrate. Dont wait up.

Adrian and Sophie. They shared a history I couldnt touchsandbox friends, secrets, a bond forged in their quaint hometown.

I used to edit Sophies work at Adrians request. It was amateurish, derivative. When I gave notes, shed cry, and Adrian would accuse me of being threatened by her raw potential. I eventually stopped trying.

In my last life, Adrian had been the one to twist the knife. He went on Good Morning America with timestamps and metadata, claiming I had access to Sophies cloud.

It was all premeditated. Adrian had been funneling my work to her.

But right now, rage was a luxury I couldnt afford. I needed a new script.

I packed a bagjust sweats and my laptopand drove three hours to my cabin in Idyllwild. I bought this place last year as a sanctuary. In the other timeline, the bank seized it before I ever spent a night.

I locked the doors. I unplugged the router.

For seven days, I wrote like a woman possessed. I poured the grief of my death, the cold water, the betrayal, and the burning desire for rebirth into the pages.

Adrian didnt call once. He was probably too busy toasting to their victory.

When I typed FADE OUT, I felt lightheaded. It was dark, gritty, and real.

I drove to the local library to use their secure connection and emailed the PDF to Silas.

Ten minutes later, he called.

Maya, he breathed, the aggression gone. This is... visceral. Youre a witch. Come to the office tomorrow. Were fast-tracking this.

Ill be there.

I drove back to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed, sleeping for fourteen hours straight.

I woke up to my ringtone screaming.

It was Silas. He sounded apoplectic. What kind of game are you playing? Sophie just signed a deal with Apex for a script that is virtually identical to what you sent me!

I sat up, the room spinning. Thats impossible.

Check Twitter, he spat. And lose my number. Were done.