Ghost Exorciser: The Oust Fake Heiress Strikes-Chapter 389: Yale

The blackmailer destroyed the assistant’s family and continuously blackmailed him.

And in the end... the assistant couldn’t take it anymore.

A tragic end. And Garrison?

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t even aware. He was somewhere else... laughing and cheering.

Standing beside Brenda. Enjoying himself. The contrast hit him like a blow.

His breath grew uneven. ’What... is this...?’ 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

For so long, he had believed himself to be a good person. Generous. Considerate.

Someone who took care of others.

But now... Watching everything unfold from this perspective...

A harsh truth surfaced. ’I wasn’t even human ...’

His chest tightened. ’I was just... petty.’

A petty man, blinded by his own pride.

Maybe... what he had seen wasn’t even reality.

The thought lingered in Garrison’s mind like a faint whisper, cold and persistent. ’What if... the past life wasn’t the truth?’

Maybe the Lana from that so-called past life was different from what he remembered.

Maybe there were things he hadn’t seen... things he hadn’t understood.

But... His expression hardened. ’No.’

He refused to accept it. Because accepting it would mean admitting that he was wrong.

And that... That was something Garrison could not tolerate.

.......................

Meanwhile, Lana, who had spent an entire month preparing quietly, found herself sitting in her classroom one afternoon.

A group of her classmates was discussing something with unusual excitement.

"There’s a web design competition coming up," Betty said, her voice filled with anticipation.

Lana, who had been idly flipping through her notebook, paused.

Her gaze lifted slightly. ’A competition...’

She leaned back in her chair, her expression calm, almost indifferent. ’Cassandra will definitely participate.’

Not just her... A few talented designers would join as well.

But the outcome? Lana already knew it. ’She’ll win.’

Because Cassandra didn’t rely solely on her own abilities. She had that system.

The one that allowed her to copy. The one that twisted fairness into something ugly.

Lana’s eyes narrowed slightly. A thought flickered through her mind.

’This time...’

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

........................

As expected... Cassandra won.

The announcement spread quickly, her name praised, celebrated, admired.

But Lana only watched quietly. There was no surprise in her expression.

Without hesitation, she began searching for a way... A method... To expose Cassandra completely.

In her past life, she had been too inexperienced. Too naive. She had failed to uncover a solid way to reveal the truth.

But this time? ’I won’t fail again.’

She wanted everyone to see it. To know it. To understand exactly what Cassandra was.

And so... She reached out. To the one person most affected by all of this.

.........................

At the same time, another piece of news had begun trending.

A name... Yale. A plagiarism scandal.

Both Yale and Cassandra had reached the finals. But when their designs were revealed, they were nearly identical.

And the conclusion? Yale was labeled a plagiarist.

Because Cassandra had always been faster. Always finishing first.

So when Yale tried to defend himself, claiming that it was Cassandra who had copied him... No one believed him.

..................

Back in the classroom...

"Who do you think is telling the truth?" Betty asked, turning toward Layla.

Layla crossed her arms lightly, her gaze fixed on the poster displayed on the screen. Her voice remained calm, analytical.

"From what we can see... the designs are indeed identical," she said. "And Cassandra has a history of producing high-quality work quickly."

She paused briefly. "So it’s natural to assume she’s innocent."

A few of them nodded. But Layla wasn’t done.

"However," she continued, her tone sharpening slightly, "there’s something else."

Everyone turned to her.

"Yale’s past works," she said. "If you look at them closely... his style has always been consistent."

She gestured toward the screen. "And if you compare that to Cassandra’s current work... There are similarities."

A murmur spread through the room.

"It almost looks like..." Layla narrowed her eyes slightly, "Cassandra is mimicking Yale’s design style."

The atmosphere shifted. Students began pulling up references, comparing works, cross-checking details.

But then... Fay interrupted.

"Even if that’s true," they said, frowning, "how do we prove Cassandra is the plagiarist?"

Silence followed. Then Richard, who had been quiet until now, spoke up.

"If they were both asked to draw something completely different on the spot," he suggested, "then we could see who the real plagiarist is."

Several heads nodded in agreement. But... Lana shook her head slightly. ’That won’t work.’

She had already tried that in her past life.

Back then, she had proposed the same idea, forcing both participants to step outside their usual styles.

The goal had been simple. To prove that even with different styles...

Cassandra would still copy. And yet... It had failed.

Because whatever was controlling Cassandra... whatever that system was... It wasn’t limited. It could shift targets. It could copy anyone.

Even someone who wasn’t directly involved. She still remembered it clearly.

Cassandra had copied a design straight from a judge’s mind.

A design that hadn’t even been fully formed yet. The judge had been stunned, confused.

And because Cassandra had added just enough of her own skill to refine it...

No one suspected her. Meanwhile, Lana... Unfamiliar with that style...

Had been completely overshadowed. Forced to watch as Cassandra’s design was praised.

Celebrated. Victorious. The memory made her fingers tighten slightly.

From the side, Wade’s lazy voice cut in.

"If it were me," he muttered casually, leaning back in his chair, "I’d just laze around."

A few of them shot him disapproving looks. "What kind of solution is that?" Fay scoffed.

But... Lana froze. Her eyes flickered.

Something clicked. A spark of inspiration ignited in her mind.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. ’I’ve got it.’

Meanwhile... Yale sat alone in his dimly lit room.

The curtains were drawn, blocking out most of the light. The air felt stale, heavy, and suffocating. His fingers trembled as he scrolled through his phone.

Comment after comment. Accusation after accusation.

"Have some shame and leave the industry on your own!"

"Exactly what a disgrace you are!"

"You don’t deserve to be in this industry."