Chapter 2

The rescue team arrived incredibly fast. They tracked the signal of my beacon and dug me out.

Aside from a scratch on my arm and minor frostbite, I was completely unharmed.

I insisted on helping the search and rescue team. Fifty yards away from my shelter, we dug Carter out of a deep snow drift.

He was incredibly lucky. A fallen pine tree had blocked the brunt of the impact, saving his life.

But his leg was snapped, his skin was a sickly shade of purple, and he was screaming in agony as they loaded him onto the stretcher.

Once we arrived at the hospital, I got my arm bandaged up and prepared to head back to my hotel.

The moment I stepped into the lobby, my phone started vibrating like crazy.

Maya sent me a panicked voice note.

*— "Chloe! Oh my god, look at the trending topics on Twitter! You’re being doxxed!"*

I opened Twitter.

Sitting at the very top of the trending list was: **#SkiResortGoldDiggerTriedToKillInfluencer**

I clicked on it. It was a screen recording of Carter broadcasting live from his hospital bed.

His head was wrapped in gauze, and he was literally sobbing into the camera, snot and tears running down his face.

"Guys... I almost didn't make it," Carter whimpered.

"When the avalanche hit, I could have made it to safety."

"But that girl in the pink jacket... she pushed me from behind just to save her own skin."

"She used me as a human shield so she could hide behind a rock."

"I was just trying to be a good guy and tell her to stop taking selfies on a dangerous run, and she tried to kill me!"

The live chat was a wall of pure rage from his loyal fans.

*— 'This is insane! Put that psycho in jail!'*

*— 'Find her! Ruin her life!'*

*— 'She is a literal murderer. Call the cops!'*

Watching Carter spin this sick lie on screen, I let out a dry, angry laugh.

In my past life, he stole my beacon and built his fame on my corpse.

In this life, since he couldn't steal it, he made up a murder charge instead.

This man would literally feed on human blood if it gave him views.

I immediately dialed the police, reporting the incident at the resort and filing a defamation claim against Carter.

The deputy promised they would look into it, but the internet's trial moved a million times faster than the law.

Carter was a massive influencer with ten million followers. His brand was built on "calling out fakes," "social justice," and being a "no-nonsense alpha male."

His fanbase was incredibly toxic and aggressive.

In less than thirty minutes, my entire life was laid bare online.

My name, my photos, and even my employer were leaked.

*— 'Chloe Vance? A deputy researcher at the National Polar Research Institute?'*

*— 'Yeah right! A federal scientist wearing neon pink on the slopes to hook up with rich guys? Please.'*

*— 'She probably slept her way to the top. She’s an academic bimbo!'*

*— 'How is a literal murderer working for a federally funded institute? Taxpayer money is paying her salary!'*

*— 'Guys, spam the Institute's social media accounts! Get this bitch fired!'*

My phone started ringing nonstop with calls from random numbers. Every time I answered, a wave of sickening slurs and death threats blasted through the speaker.

I shut the phone off completely.

When I got back to my hotel room and turned it back on, the first call was from Dr. Evans, the director of my institute.

"Chloe, you need to book the first flight back to the office right now," his voice was tense and exhausted.

"The internet is in an absolute uproar. The Board of Trustees has already been notified."

"You are suspended effective immediately pending an internal investigation. We need a full explanation."

I tried to explain. "Dr. Evans, he’s lying. He maliciousy ripped my research jacket before the avalanche even happened."

"That was the new sub-zero arctic suit we’re supposed to test in Antarctica next month. It costs twelve thousand dollars."

Dr. Evans cut me off.

"This isn't about a jacket anymore, Chloe."

"Carter's followers have completely crashed our phone lines. Our Instagram and Twitter pages are flooded with thousands of comments calling us accomplices to murder."

"We are a prestigious federal research institution. We cannot have this kind of stain on our reputation."

"Go home, lay low, and wait for the investigation."

The line went dead.

I gripped my phone, a familiar feeling of helplessness creeping in. But I wasn't going to lie down and die this time.

I opened my laptop and began gathering my ammunition.

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