Chapter 2

He blinked. "What? What are you saying?"

I repeated. "I'm breaking up with you."

He stared at me like I'd switched languages mid-sentence. "Because of this? Seriously?"

He took a deep breath. "You're upset I didn't defend you?"

"Do you think it was okay for her to lift my skirt and let a group of guys film me?" I looked up, staring straight at him.

He frowned. "Of course that wasn't okay. But she was joking. You overreacted."

There it was again.

She was joking.

Last time, everyone used that line to shut me up.

"If I pulled your pants down in front of a crowd and called it a joke, would that be funny?" I asked.

His expression hardened. "That's not the same."

I sneered, "How is it different? Because I'm a girl? Because I'm supposed to just take it?"

"Nina, stop twisting this." His patience snapped. "Emily was shaken. She's still defending you. Why can't you at least acknowledge that?"

I laughed.

It surprised even me. It wasn't happy. It wasn't angry. It was just clear.

This was the boy I had loved for two years.

He was always on her side and always convinced I was the problem.

"Zak, you're right," I said softly.

"You're not wrong," I continued. "You're just clueless."

Then I walked away without looking back.

When I got back to my dorm, I pulled out my phone and called my mom.

She picked up on the first ring. I didn't even get a word out before she started in. "Nina, have you completely lost your mind? Are you trying to embarrass this family?"

"The advisor called me. He said you brought a knife to school and hurt someone. What is wrong with you?"

Her voice was so sharp I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

She went on. "Do you have any idea your sister is applying to grad school right now? If this gets out, do you know how bad that looks for her?"

Of course. Sophie.

She had always been the golden child—straight A's, polite, responsible, the one teachers adored.

And I was the comparison no one asked for.

I began. "Mom, Emily started it—"

"I don't want excuses," she snapped. "I've met Emily. She's sweet. She's respectful. Why would she bully you? So this has to be your fault. Again."

I took a slow breath and cut in before she could keep going, "The advisor wants you and Dad to come to campus."

She sneered, "Oh, great. As if we don't have enough to deal with. Fine. We'll be there tomorrow. Don't you move."

She hung up without another word.

I stared at my phone for a long time before setting it down and sliding onto the cold floor.

Last time, this was how it started. The people who were supposed to have my back chipped away at me instead.

They didn't believe me. They called me dramatic. They made me apologize.

They locked me in my room. They forced me to kneel in front of Emily and beg for forgiveness.

In the end, the school put me on disciplinary probation.

Emily, meanwhile, was praised for being "gracious".

Soon after, the photos taken in the classroom started making the rounds in different WhatsApp groups.

In the photos, my skirt was flipped up, lace underwear on full display.

Someone had added a caption: [Westbridge University finance star. Not so innocent after all?]

Rumors exploded overnight.

I became campus entertainment.

Whispers followed me everywhere. People pointed. Some didn't even bother lowering their voices.

Eventually, I spiraled into severe depression and had to drop out.

Emily walked away with the Dean's List Scholarship that should have been mine and transferred to a top university with glowing recommendations.

The irony would've been funny if it hadn't destroyed me.

This time, I wasn't going to cry.

I opened my laptop and logged into an encrypted email account.

There was one unread message.

The sender's name was mine.

I had scheduled it before I died. It was a message to myself.

Inside was a detailed record of everything Emily had done since freshman year—the things no one else knew.

There were copies of the papers she'd plagiarized, side-by-side comparisons showing exactly what she stole.

There were the photos she'd edited to ruin classmates she didn't like, timestamps still embedded in the files.

There were messages proving how she used her father's position in the local education bureau to make problems quietly disappear whenever things got messy.

Every claim came with evidence.

Last time, I was too soft. I thought if I kept my head down and kept giving in, everything would settle on its own.

It never did. I only woke up at the very end. Before I died, I had gathered everything—every receipt, every file, every lie she thought she had buried.

But by then, it was too late. I never got the chance to use any of it.

Now those files were in my hands. They were my sharpest weapon.

Emily, you liked playing games, didn't you?

Fine. We would play.