My Murderer Bought My FakeChapter 1

At the company holiday gala, my name was pulled for the grand prize: a Hermès Kelly bag with a market value of around forty-five thousand dollars.

Thrilled, I had rushed out to get it authenticated so I could sell it and finally have some breathing room. Instead, the appraiser looked at me with pity and told me it was a cheap knockoff.

After the holidays, I went straight to the office to report it to our CEO. But I was intercepted by our Head of Operations.

"Don't bother Valerie with trivial things," she had said, her voice smooth and dismissive. "Bring the bag to me. I'll handle the feedback process."

That same afternoon, I was handed a termination notice and a lawsuit.

The Operations Manager's face twisted into a victorious sneer. "The seal on the box was broken. You expect us to believe your ridiculous story? You obviously sold the real bag, bought a counterfeit, and now you're trying to extort the company!"

I was buried under a mountain of legal fees and debt. Crushed by the suffocating weight of it all, I stepped off the roof of my apartment building.

Then, I blinked.

The heavy bass of the holiday gala's DJ filled my ears. I was back.

Gemma, the Operations Manager, was standing right in front of me, handing me a pristine, shrink-wrapped orange box with a strange, calculating glint in her eyes.

I took a breath, letting the phantom feeling of the wind whipping past my falling body fade away. I turned on my heel, walked straight up to our CEO in front of a dozen colleagues, and held the box out to her.

"Thank you for everything you've done for us, Valerie," I said, pitching my voice bright and loud. "A gift this exquisite really belongs to you."

* * *

Valerie’s eyes lit up.

"Oh, Harper, that's… I couldn't possibly," she murmured.

But her hand was already lifting, reaching for the iconic orange packaging.

This was exactly why I chose her. Valerie was a woman obsessed with status symbols. In my past life, I’d heard rumors that she had been aggressively hunting for a Kelly bag to complete her collection.

If she was the one who received the fake bag, what would happen? Would a wealthy, fierce executive with zero tolerance for embarrassment be more capable of unearthing the rot in this company than a powerless junior employee like me?

"Wait!"

Gemma practically sprinted over, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. Panic flared in her eyes.

"Harper, company policy strictly states that gala prizes are registered to the winner. They are non-transferable." She positioned herself between the box and Valerie. "Operations is about to log all the winning serial numbers. If you just give it away, it throws the entire inventory process into chaos."

Valerie’s hand froze mid-air. The warm smile on her face iced over.

I sneered internally, but kept my face a mask of wide-eyed confusion.

"But it hasn't been logged yet, right?" I asked innocently. "Gemma, couldn't you just write Valerie's name down instead of mine? The raffle ticket was blank anyway. It’s just whoever holds the prize."

Gemma flinched. She clearly hadn't expected me to push back so directly. She darted a nervous glance at Valerie and realized the CEO was staring at her, eyes narrowed in sharp displeasure.

Desperation made Gemma’s voice sharp. "Corporate benefits are meant for the employees, Harper. Using a company prize to kiss up to your boss? How does that look? What will the rest of the team think?"

The room went dead silent. That crossed a line.

Heads turned. People at the nearby tables were blatantly eavesdropping now.

The implication was ugly enough to make Valerie flush. Her pride couldn't take the public hit. She withdrew her hand, her tone turning clipped and distant. "It’s a sweet thought, Harper, but we do need to follow policy. Gemma is right. Keep your prize."

She didn't look at the orange box again.

My heart sank. I awkwardly pulled the box back to my chest, apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry, Valerie. I wasn't thinking."

Gemma let out an audible breath of relief and patted my shoulder, her grip a little too tight. "Just remember to come over to the registration desk before you leave, Harper. Don't hold up the line."

My mind was a chaotic blur. I set the box down at my assigned table and headed straight for the restroom.

I knew one thing for sure: the ballroom was heavily surveilled. As long as I didn't leave the building with the bag, no one could accuse me of swapping it.

I had just locked myself in a stall and sat down on the closed toilet lid when I heard the click-clack of Gemma's heels storming into the bathroom.