I Rejected My Obsessive Werebeast novel Chapter 50

and official seal.

I turned the page.

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The body of the report listed the findings item by item. Pixel–level discrepancies between the original and the composite. Light angle deviations measured in degrees. Edge artefacts consistent with cut–and- paste extraction. Layer analysis showing two distinct source images merged into one.

The conclusion box at the bottom was clear:

“The submitted images are composite constructions produced through post–processing. They are not original photographic material.”

–

I closed the PDF. Opened my computer. Pulled up the folder I’d been building for days. Dragged everything into it – the originals, the surveillance screenshots, the timeline document. the police report, the comment spread, the authentication report.

Compressed it into a single archive.

Now, the evidence chain was complete.

I sat in front of the computer with the email open, my cursor hovering over the compose button.

I closed the window. A moment later. I opened it again, only to close it

once more.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

How should I release this?

‘Social media was the fastest option. One post could reach thousands within minutes. But once I put it out there, I’d lose control of the story. People might latch onto the scandal and the gossip instead of looking at the evidence.

Sending it only to the company would be too narrow. The project might

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come back. My reputation at work might recover. But Phoebe would stil be out there. Still free to do it again. To someone else. To me again.

Two steps.

First: official channels. Submit the complete complaint package to the Matching Center’s regulatory division. Let Phoebe face the legal consequences for fabricating image evidence. The Matching Center had rules about this false declarations, forged materials, manipulation of the bonding process. There were penalties. Real ones.

–

Second: public statement. Clean. Factual. No emotion. The original photos. The authentication report’s conclusion. The surveillance screenshot of Phoebe’s back. Let people see for themselves.

I opened a new document. Started typing.

–

The complaint material took about an hour and a half. I organized it section by section – identity of the complainant, description of the fabricated image, chain of evidence from studio surveillance to original source retrieval to authentication report, and a formal request for investigation.

When everything was ready, I opened the Matching Center’s complaint portal, uploaded the evidence archive, and filled out the required fields.

My finger hovered over the send button for a moment before I finally clicked it.

“Sent successfully.”

I closed the page.

The public statement was harder.

Not because of the facts – the facts were simple. Hard because every

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word I wrote sounded either too angry or too cold. I didn’t want angry 4 didn’t want cold. I wanted clear.

First draft: too long. Too much explanation.

Second draft: too short. Read like a press release written by a lawyer.

Third draft: right.

“The photo circulating online depicting me in a forest scene with another individual is a composite fabrication. The original photograph and an independent authentication report are attached. All relevant evidence has been submitted to the Matching Center Regulatory Division for formal investigation

No name–calling. No mention of Phoebe. No backstory. Just the facts.

I attached three images: the side–by–side comparison of original versus composite, the conclusion page of the authentication report, and the surveillance screenshot showing Phoebe’s back as she entered the studio building

My cursor hovered over the publish button.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them and clicked.

The page refreshed, and my statement appeared at the top of my feed, pinned for everyone to see

For the first minute, nothing happened. Then another minute passed, and the screen was still quiet.

I kept watching.

Then the numbers started climbing–comments, shares, both rising faster by the second.

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The first comment: “With the comparison this obvious, how did no one see it before?”

The second: “So the sister who put that photo out – who exactly is she?”

–

The third. “That back in the surveillance footage is that her sister? I think I’ve seen this person’s face before.”

I watched for a while. Then locked the phone screen and set it face–down on the couch.

The afternoon didn’t slow down.

The first email came from the Matching Center “We confirm receipt of your complaint materials. An investigation will be initiated within the prescribed timeframe in accordance with regulatory procedures.”

A little later, my phone rang. It was my boss

I answered.

His voice was warmer than before. He said the company had seen my statement and was pleased with the response it was getting. Then he asked if I wanted to come back to the office the next day. The project they‘ d put on hold could be reopened for discussion

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be in tomorrow.”

Then I picked up my phone and opened my messages to Silas. “It’s done.”

He replied fast. Must have been between training sessions. “Saw it. Bringing you cake on the way home.”

I looked at the two lines on the screen. The corner of my mouth went up.

A while later, I found Kane’s chat.

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He’d messaged two hours ago.

Congratulations. The foundation project spot is still yours. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I stared at the message.

He’d sent it two hours ago, while I was still at the computer drafting the statement, hitting send, and watching the numbers climb. He’d seen what was happening and, apparently, his first move was to make sure I knew the door was still open.

I typed back: “Okay.” Then I set the phone down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

The apartment was quiet. My computer had gone to sleep, and late

afternoon light stretched through the blinds in long, pale stripes across the

room.

Everything was in motion now. All I had to do was wait.

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Aurora’s POV

The elevator doors opened.

Before my foot even hit the floor, Mia was already jogging over from her desk. She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the corner of the corridor.

She looked around. Checked that no one was watching. Then leaned in.

“You have no idea what it’s been like here.” she said. Her voice was low but her eyes were bright.

“After you went on leave, Emily started circling the boss’s office every day. Trying to get assigned to Kane’s project. She had a whole pitch prepared → said she could handle the foundation account better.”

Mia paused. Grinned. “But Kane wouldn’t have it.”

“Every time the boss called Kane’s team to discuss a replacement, Kane shut it down. Same answer every time – the project is for Aurora. I don’t work with anyone else. The boss called him three times. Three times, same answer.”

Mia’s grin widened. “You should have seen Emily’s face those days. She kept saying it was just a formality, that the boss would sort it out. But Kane never budged.”

I nodded. Didn’t say much. Patted Mia’s arm and walked toward my desk.

I sat down. Set my bag on the hook. Straightened the papers on the desk.

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Emily stood up from the opposite row.

She didn’t walk over. She just stood there, loud enough for the neighbouring desks to hear.

“Oh. So you’re back.” Her voice carried. “Since when did this place become a shelter? Anyone can just walk in?”

A few heads ducked. Keyboards clacked louder than necessary. Someone peeked over their monitor.

I didn’t look up or answer. I just straightened the folder on my desk.

Emily’s volume went up. “I mean, after everything that happened online you still have the nerve to come to work? It hasn’t even been that long.”

She was mid–sentence when the boss’s office door opened.

He stepped out and walked straight toward us, a thick stack of printed papers clipped together in one hand. He stopped in front of Emily.

“Emily”

She turned. Saw the papers. Her mouth was still open from whatever she‘ d been about to say.

The boss didn’t say a word. He fanned the papers forward and dropped them against her face.

–

They hit her cheek and scattered – some falling to the floor, some sliding off her shoulder. A few pages fluttered down between us.

She glanced at the papers that had landed on my desk–the surveillance screenshot, the authentication report’s conclusion, and the side–by–side comparison.

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Emily’s face went white.

She stumbled back two steps, froze there, as if she’d been slapped.

The boss’s voice was cold and steady. “You’re fired. You spread false rumors about a colleague and undermined trust within the team. I don’t need to explain myself any further.”

Emily froze, all color draining from her face. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

–

“Please give me one more chance. I just I just

The boss cut her off. “You shouldn’t be asking me for forgiveness.” He nodded toward me. “You should be asking her.”