Not This Time, Scammer

My engagement party was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

My fiancé, Ethan, announced he had a $100,000 down payment for our dream house, all real cash.

Then, his mother dramatically collapsed, feigning a heart attack, and Ethan immediately demanded my $50,000 paramedic bonus for her emergency surgery.

But I knew this wasn't real. I'd lived this day before.

Last time, I believed him, handed over my money, and watched as his elaborate scam unfolded.

They framed my father with fake texts demanding more money, stressing him into a fatal heart attack.

I lost everything-my father, my reputation, battled crushing debt, and in my despair, ended my own life.

But by some miracle, I woke up, back in my bed, just before the party.

I had a second chance. This time, I wouldn' t be the naive victim.

As Ethan pleaded, a perfect picture of terror for the crowd, I just looked him dead in the eye and said, "No."

Forget the money. I had a camera phone, a past life's bitter knowledge, and a plan to expose every single one of their lies, save my dad, and utterly destroy them.

The VFW hall was buzzing, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and my dad' s favorite pot roast.

It was my engagement party, but it felt more like a performance.

Ethan, my fiancé, stood on the makeshift stage, his car salesman smile plastered on his face. He held up a sleek, black briefcase.

"To my beautiful Gabrielle," he announced, his voice booming through the old microphone. "For our future. A down payment on our dream house. One hundred thousand dollars, all in cash!"

The crowd of family and friends erupted in applause.

My dad, Mr. Jones, beamed from his seat, looking prouder than I' d seen him in years. He has a bad heart, and moments like this, moments of pure joy, are what I live for.

But my smile was a mask. This was my second chance. I had lived this day before, and I knew the joy was a lie.

Just as Ethan stepped down from the stage, his mother, Mrs. Lester, let out a gasp. She clutched her chest, her face contorting in pain before she collapsed onto the floor.

Panic swept through the room.

Ethan rushed to her side, his face a perfect picture of terror. "Mom! Oh my God, Mom!"

He looked up at me, his eyes wide and pleading. I' m a paramedic, so everyone turned to me.

"Gabrielle, it' s her heart! It' s a massive heart attack! The doctor said she needs an emergency bypass, right now!"

He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. "The surgery... it' s $50,000. We don' t have it. I just spent everything on the down payment, on your ring. Please, Gabrielle. You have the cash. It' s the only way to save her."

His words were a ghost, an echo from a life I' d already lost.

Last time, I believed him. Last time, I handed over the money without a second thought.

This time, I looked him dead in the eye.

"No."

The word hung in the air, cold and sharp.

Ethan stared at me, his perfect mask of worry cracking for a split second. "What?"

I pulled my arm away and took out my phone. I opened my social media app and hit the 'Go Live' button.

"I said no," I repeated, my voice steady as I aimed the camera at his face. "I' m not giving you a dime."

The live stream counter started ticking up. Ten viewers. Fifty. A hundred.

"What are you doing?" Ethan hissed, his panic turning to rage.

"I' m showing everyone what a scam you' re running," I said calmly, making sure the phone captured his mother, still theatrically groaning on the floor. "You and your whole family."

The comment section on the live stream exploded.

"What is she doing? Her future mother-in-law is dying!"

"This is sick. She' s so cold."

Ethan' s father, Mr. Lester, rushed over, his face a mask of desperation. He and Ethan dropped to their knees in front of me.

"Gabrielle, please," Mr. Lester begged, tears welling in his eyes. "I' m begging you. Don' t let my wife die. We' ll pay you back, I swear."

Ethan held up my hand, showing the diamond ring to the camera. "I spent my life savings on this ring, on that down payment for us! And you won' t trust me to save my own mother' s life?"

The audience online was eating it up, calling me heartless, a monster.

I didn' t flinch. I knew the truth.

The pressure in the room was suffocating. Everyone was staring at me, their faces a mix of shock and disgust.

"You want the money?" I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "Fine. But I' m taking this briefcase to the bank first. I' ll lend it to you after I deposit the cash and confirm it' s real."

Ethan' s face went pale. "Confirm it' s real? What are you talking about? My mother is on the floor!"

"A paramedic is on the way," I said flatly. "They can assess her. But your money, Ethan, that' s something I need to assess myself."

My own father, his face etched with worry for Mrs. Lester, stood up and walked towards me. He knew all too well the terror of a heart condition.

"Gabby, honey," he said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe... maybe just give him the money. It' s a life. We can figure out the rest later."

His empathy was a weapon they had used against us before. It led to his death in my past life.

I turned to him, my expression unyielding. "Dad, stop. Do not get involved in this. Sit down."

The harshness in my tone shocked him into silence. He looked at me like he didn' t recognize his own daughter.

Ethan saw his opening. He pointed a shaking finger at me, his voice dripping with righteous anger for the live stream audience.

"See? See how she talks to her own father? And she has the money! I know you just got that $50,000 overtime bonus from the department, Gabrielle! You can afford this!"

The comments on my phone went wild.

"OMG she has the money and won' t help???"

"She' s a gold digger! Waited for him to show the cash and now she' s holding it hostage!"

"Heartless bitch."

I laughed, a cold, empty sound. "You' re right, I do have that bonus. And it' s my money. For my father' s medical bills. Not for your family' s theater production."

I snatched the briefcase from the gift table. The weight felt familiar, a cheap imitation of real cash.

"I' m going to the credit union. It' s just down the street."

I started walking towards the exit, the live stream still running.

The crowd parted for me, their glares burning into my back. This was the part I dreaded, the public humiliation. But it was a small price to pay to avoid repeating the past.