"Miss, could you look up my husband's room number? His name is Kevin Brown, he's about forty."

That familiar shrill voice pierced my ears like an explosion.

The phantom pain in my chest hadn't faded yet. After a few seconds, my buzzing head finally cleared.

In front of me stood a woman with disheveled hair, fuming with rage.

Behind her were four or five people, phones raised, ready for drama.

This familiar scene.

The scene I couldn't forget, even in death.

I pinched my arm hard.

"Ouch—"

The pain was real.

This wasn't a dream or illusion.

That's when it hit me.

I was back on that night that ruined my life.

The night that changed my fate in my previous life.

It was my first overnight shift, around 3 AM, just like this moment.

During front desk training, the manager had drilled it into us: never reveal guest information, never call the police - it would hurt the hotel's image. Breaking these rules meant losing your monthly pay or immediate termination, even getting blacklisted in the industry.

I didn't care about being blacklisted, but I couldn't afford to lose this job or my pay.

I'd just graduated high school and got into our local state university.

After the excitement came the reality - four years of tuition and living expenses to figure out.

My dad passed away years ago from illness, leaving just mom and me.

Mom wasn't in good health either, barely making ends meet doing construction work and collecting recycling to get me through high school.

After graduation, with less academic pressure, I wanted to work part-time to help out at home.

This hotel front desk job seemed perfect when I found it.

Never thought my first overnight shift would turn into this nightmare.

I strictly followed the manager's rules, refusing to give any information despite their threats, bribes, or tears.

Back then, I naively believed if I just followed hotel policy and did my job right, the hotel would handle the situation.

I kept trying to explain I couldn't help them, that I had to follow hotel policy.

Meanwhile, under the desk, I kept dialing the manager's number on the hotel phone, but no answer.

Melissa wouldn't give up, and her crew kept livestreaming.

They read me the nasty comments from their stream - calling me "the mistress's accomplice," "the cheater's guardian"...