Chapter 3
"She got into that globally renowned big-shot's lab. Really amazing."
"She posted on social media. She went to a conference in Northern Maple. All ice and snow. Her photos look like postcards."
"I heard she still doesn't have a boyfriend..."
His tone was calm, as if stating an objective fact, but I could catch that lingering obsession deep in his eyes. Hailey had become an invisible yardstick by which he measured his own life, constantly reminding him of the gap between his ordinary reality and the idealized highlight.
Robert landed a solid job at a local design institute. The work was steady, the routine predictable. After I graduated, I became a financial assistant at a small company, with a meager income. Ariana pushed us to move in together quickly, to look after each other and save on rent. She planned to have Robert move into my old one-bedroom rental, close to his work, with cheap rent, and crucially, I could take care of him.
Robert didn't object. The day he moved in, he dragged his suitcase, scanning the small place with its peeling paint. His gaze swept over my single bed with its cheap floral sheet and finally landed on the wobbly old desk in the corner.
"It's a bit small," he said, his tone unreadable.
"Yeah." I put his toiletries into the narrow bathroom. "Let's unpack first."
Our cohabitation was as still as stagnant water. Robert's job wasn't excessively busy, but overtime was the norm. He habitually tossed dirty clothes and socks aside, left finished instant noodle bowls piled by his computer desk, waiting for me to clean up. He accepted my care as his due, just like he'd accepted the pickles I brought him back then. When he needed it, I was his maid, his emotional dumping ground; when he didn't, I was like a piece of silent old furniture in the room.
Occasionally, late at night when he came back from work, smelling of smoke and exhaustion, he would collapse on the only old sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Tell me," he'd suddenly speak up, his voice abrupt in the silence. "What do you think Hailey is doing right now?"
My heart would drop, then I'd continue wiping the bowl in my hands as if nothing was wrong. "Probably in the lab, or writing her thesis." My fingers would press so hard my knuckles turned white.
"Yeah," he'd tug at the corner of his mouth into a bitter smile. "People like her live in a different world from us."
The air would freeze. I could clearly hear the sound of my heartbeat, thudding heavily against my ribs. The occasional dejection he showed wasn't because of anything I did or didn't do; it was because of that moon he could never reach. I, along with this cramped rental, was just his fallback reality, a compromise.
The days slipped by, like the unscrubbable grease on the stovetop, sticky and silent.
Until that morning, when my phone screen cracked like a pond hit by a stone.
[Hailey Just Fall from Grace?]
That notification, like a silent thunderclap, shattered the already shaky little world Robert and I inhabited.
Robert's phone was still off.
After scrubbing that shirt, I hung it on the only rusty wire on the balcony. Water dripped down, plopping onto the plastic roof of the makeshift shed below, the sound hollow.
The rental was deathly quiet. Outside was the old district's gray sky, pigeons fluttering on the low rooftops. I poured myself a glass of cold water, sat on the creaking plastic stool, and slowly unlocked my phone.
Her name dominated the top three spots on the trending list, followed by jarring keywords: academic fraud, data plagiarism, colluding with supervisors to appropriate research, exorbitant fees for pseudo-scientific lectures...
I clicked on the hottest post. It was detailed, with hard evidence. Not gossip, but real side-by-side comparisons of experimental data, internal email exchanges, even suspicious project fund transfers with her signature. The Hailey that Robert had described was laid utterly bare. Her glossy resume, her international awards, were built on careful calculation and theft. Beneath her gentle, intellectual public image lay insatiable greed and ruthless maneuvering.
The most ironic image was of her in a custom gown from a luxury brand, standing on a lecture stage promoting high-end quantum energy wellness, her smile still gentle, the backdrop displaying sky-high ticket prices and her titles. The caption read: The aloof academic goddess? Just a partner in a money-grabbing scam.
The comments section exploded. The praises that once lifted her to pedestals had turned into the most vicious curses and mockery. The young students who idolized her and saw her as an inspiration were angrily decrying their shattered faith.
My fingers scrolled the screen, the cold plastic case against my palm. Each comment, every screenshot, pierced my vision. My heart beat steadily in my chest, no surge of triumphant satisfaction, just a hollow, detached calm.
Where was Robert?