Word for word. Every single word identical to the novel I'd just finished.
And the timestamp on his post was ten minutes *before* I'd even completed mine.
I lost it. I was clawing at my scalp, going in circles, and none of it made sense.
I'd already cut myself off from Clementine and Clara.
No matter how many times they tried to reach me during that stretch, I never went back.
So how the hell was Geoffrey Harrington still getting every detail of my contest submission?
Part of me just wanted to lie down and rot. Let it all burn.
That was when a notification popped up on my phone.
The state lottery ticket I'd bought two days ago had hit. Eighty million dollars.
I almost jumped off my feet.
My family had never had money. I'd been paying my college tuition with manuscript fees and student loans.
The only reason I'd entered this contest in the first place was for the three-hundred-thousand-dollar prize.
Now that I had money, the contest result didn't matter anymore.
And just like that, a plan hit me—a way to make Geoffrey Harrington, that shameless habitual thief, pay the price.
I didn't tell a soul about the win.
Instead, I revised my contest submission and uploaded it.
Geoffrey liked to copy?