It was me.

I drugged myself.

What a joke.

“You’re smarter than I thought,” I muttered, staring down at the grainy footage like it owed me rent.

The nerve of this bitch.

The woman in the footage—me, smiled directly at the camera. Her walk, her hair, her height. Perfect mimicry. But the second she turned slightly…

I saw it.

A fucking mask of my face. Not a metaphor. Not a disguise. A literal rubber Arianna face like I was watching Scooby-Doo meets Gone Girl.

I didn’t expect that.

I snapped the phone shut like it burned.

“Fuck you, author,” I hissed. “What kind of deranged Wattpad-Netflix crossover is this? How...