After transferring schools, I became a target for the rich boys—just another pawn in their twisted games. They acted like they were interested in me, but behind my back, they made bets about who could take my virginity first. What I thought was love was nothing more than a cruel wager. They shared my photos, my private messages, and even drugged me. Eventually, the whole school mocked me, calling me pathetic, desperate, and trash. I was bullied to death by their fanatical admirers. But when I opened my eyes again, the school’s golden boy grinned at me and said, “Rhea, what a beautiful name. May I take you to dinner?” Dinner? Sure. This time, let’s make it your last meal. It was my first day at St. Augustine Academy—a prestigious private school—and also the day I was reborn. I had originally been a top student at a public high school. But St. Augustine had lured me in with promises of a better future, offering me a full scholarship and, after graduation, a $150,000 bonus. That’s five years’ worth of my parents’ combined salaries. The tuition at St. Augustine was so outrageous that my family couldn’t afford even a single semester, even if we starved ourselves for a decade. But with their offer, I couldn’t resist. I thought transferring here would change my life. And I wasn’t wrong—it did. I became their prey, their entertainment, nothing more than a joke to pass the time. They chatted with me sweetly while secretly spreading my private messages and photos. They even made bets about my “first night.” The entire school looked at me like I was a walking punchline. In the end, I was cornered in a bathroom by a group of jealous girls—fans of the boys who had pretended to like me. They drowned me in a toilet, all while hurling insults: “Pathetic loser.” “Desperate fool.” “Daydreaming nerd.” I died humiliated, staring at the photos and messages they had plastered all over the school. As my life slipped away, all I could think about was how much I hated the ones who had orchestrated it all. I wanted to tear those monsters apart. But my consciousness faded before I could even begin to imagine revenge. And then… I woke up. I came back. If there’s such a thing as divine intervention, this was it. I didn’t have much time to bask in the joy of my second chance before I ran into one of the masterminds: Ethan Monroe. Ethan Monroe—the ever-charming gentleman with a smile so warm it could melt anyone’s defenses. How fitting for the heir to a family that monopolized the country’s energy industry. He had enough “electricity” to toy with anyone he pleased. “You must be the new transfer student,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. I pretended to be naïve, nodding shyly. Ethan glanced at the enrollment form in my hand. “Senior class 1A? What a coincidence—looks like we’re in the same class.” His smile was radiant, the kind of smile that had fooled me in my past life. I had fallen so deeply into the web he spun that I didn’t even realize it was a trap until the very end. What I hadn’t known back then was that none of this was a coincidence. Even my transfer to St. Augustine had been part of their plan. I was their carefully chosen prey. And Ethan? He was one of the ringleaders. I could still hear the mocking voices of his admirers in my mind. They had shown me videos of him—the perfect gentleman, his eyes filled with arrogance and disdain. “It’s too boring around here. Of course, we need someone to play with.” “She’s perfect. So desperate to change her fate. It’s hilarious.” And just like that, I had become their entertainment. As we walked toward the classroom, Ethan started giving me a brief rundown of the school’s history, describing it as a haven for the wealthy and privileged. “These kids don’t need good grades to secure their futures,” he said with a laugh. I wasn’t really listening. My mind was already planning. Ethan waved his hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Rhea Carter. What a beautiful name. May I take you to dinner?” Dinner? Sure. This time, I’ll make it your last supper.
St. Augustine Academy was known for its sky-high tuition fees and rigorous admission process, which naturally kept the student population small. The entire high school division had only about 600 students. Among them, the most famous were Ethan Monroe and his three closest friends. Ethan, the golden boy, was the school’s heartthrob—charming, gentlemanly, and adored by all the girls. Chris Langston, the artsy intellectual, was the principal’s son and had a brooding, poetic vibe that made him stand out. Logan Brooks, the star athlete, had bronzed skin and a muscular build that made hearts race. And finally, Ryan Chase, the senior class valedictorian, was both a top-tier scholar and devastatingly attractive. Together, they were inseparable, and the rest of the school called them the “St. Augustine F4.” In my previous life, all four of them had conveniently “fallen” for me. The rest of my classmates were overly friendly on my first day, going so far as to give me the best seat in the classroom—a spot with a perfect view of the board. But I knew better. These people had treated me as a joke in my past life. My death had been tied to every single one of them. So I played along, smiling politely on the outside while cursing them to hell on the inside. At lunchtime, Ethan led me to his family’s private dining room on campus. The table was overflowing with gourmet dishes, and sitting around it were his three loyal friends. This wasn’t my first time here. In my past life, Ethan had also brought me to this restaurant. I’d stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to act, surrounded by handsome boys and an intimidating spread of international cuisine. I hadn’t dared move a muscle, let alone sit down. The entire meal, I’d been too nervous to speak or eat, instead watching Ethan for cues on what to do. Little did I know, every awkward moment had been caught on camera. They had uploaded the footage to the school’s private online forum, mocking me for my “small-town ignorance,” my inability to use proper table manners, and my so-called “wannabe” behavior. If they wanted a battle of public opinion, fine. Two could play that game. This time, I pulled out my phone and started recording. “Oh my gosh, is this truffle? It looks just like chocolate!” “And this? French foie gras? Isn’t that just… fatty liver?” “I can’t believe how lucky I am to receive such warm treatment from my classmates! Let’s all say thank you to our generous host!” I looked up from my phone, aiming my most innocent smile at Ethan, whose expression had soured into something resembling constipation. “Ethan, you’re so handsome. You wouldn’t mind if I shared this video to help everyone learn a little more about fine dining, would you?” Ethan forced a tight smile, his jaw visibly clenched. “Of course not.” In my past life, my high grades and desire to earn extra money for my family had led me to run a small social media account. Though it hadn’t made much, I’d gained a modest following at school. Ethan and his crew had chosen me as their target because they wanted to tear down the positive, hardworking image I’d built online. Well, if exposure was what they wanted, I’d give it to them—on my terms this time.
In my previous life, I’d been too young and naive to enjoy the luxury of the food in front of me. This time, I glanced at the four boys sitting around me. “No wonder everyone dreams of being a sugar mommy. Turns out spoiling a group of pretty boys feels this good!” The smiles on their faces froze instantly. Feigning surprise, I quickly added, “Oh no, did I just say that out loud? My bad!” “Don’t be shy, everyone! Let’s dig in—pretend we’re all family!” Channeling the spirit of a true host, I didn’t hold back, savoring every dish like a queen. Why let all this good food go to waste by just staring at it? After I’d eaten my fill, Logan Brooks eyed the empty plates in front of me with a mix of shock and admiration. “Rhea, your appetite is impressive. Want to go burn some of that off with me?” I glanced at his deliberately flexed bicep and flashed a bright smile. “Sure! But do you have an eight-pack?” He grinned. “Only six. Is that okay?” I shrugged, pretending to be excited as I raised my phone. “Guess we’ll have to see for ourselves!” But when it came time for Logan to show off his so-called six-pack, he hesitated and awkwardly pulled up his shirt halfway. I took a quick photo, then glanced at it with a raised brow. Wow. Bold of you to brag with… this. Are you not worried about the internet teaching you a lesson? Logan, however, seemed unbothered. He even tried to drag me to the school’s private gym to “show me the joys of fitness.” The gym, of course, was as luxurious as you’d expect from a place like St. Augustine—spotless, fully equipped, and free of the usual sweaty smell. As always, I whipped out my phone, angling it carefully to capture the entire scene before recording Logan as he guided me through the equipment. “Let’s start with pull-ups!” he said confidently. In my past life, I’d been so flustered and nervous that I hadn’t managed to do a single pull-up. Logan had taken the opportunity to “help” by wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me. We’d been so close, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Blushing and weak, I couldn’t muster any strength. The school’s private forum had later exploded with the headline: “Chubby Girl Goes for the Kill”—mocking me mercilessly. Now, Logan stood in the same position, asking, “Need me to show you how it’s done?” I nodded, stretching my wrists and ankles. Fitness was Logan’s comfort zone, and after the embarrassment over his “abs,” he was eager to prove himself. He jumped up, knocked out a few pull-ups, and even flashed a sliver of his stomach. I watched through my phone’s screen, already imagining the views this footage would bring me. When Logan finished, sweat dripping down his face, he turned to me. “Want me to guide you through it?” I waved him off, grabbed the bar, and cranked out a set of pull-ups far more impressive than his. “Oh, by the way,” I said casually as I hopped down, “I used to be a personal trainer.”
St. Augustine Academy had its perks, but there was one thing I struggled with: the teaching methods. “Elite education” and “holistic development” were great buzzwords, but they didn’t exactly suit someone like me, who had transferred from a public school and still relied on grades to chase my dreams. In a classroom full of students who didn’t need to worry about their futures, I was the only one who cared about the upcoming college entrance exams. My desk partner happened to be Ryan Chase, the resident genius of St. Augustine. When he noticed me struggling with a question, he slid his notebook over. “Need help, Rhea?” I glanced at his messy handwriting, then at his face. To be honest, his handwriting was nowhere near as good as his looks. “Rhea, you seem stuck. Let me walk you through it,” he offered, assuming I needed his assistance. “You’re wrong,” I said bluntly. Ryan froze. “Where am I wrong?” “You’re overcomplicating it. If you use these two points instead, it’s faster and easier to understand.” Ryan looked like a deflated balloon, no longer eager to speak. The entire day passed without me learning much of anything. In my past life, this was exactly how it had gone. But back then, I’d let their words sway me. They’d told me grades weren’t everything, that I was already smart enough and should focus on building relationships instead. And like an idiot, I’d believed them. I’d gotten so caught up in their world of idle chatter and social games that I’d forgotten what mattered most: my studies. This time, I wouldn’t fall for it. We weren’t born equal. The heights they’d reached effortlessly were places I’d have to struggle my entire life to even glimpse. So, I created a strict schedule for myself, sticking to the study habits that had served me well before. After finishing my review for the day, I turned my attention to editing the photos and videos I’d taken. In my past life, the cyberbullying from one school had been enough to suffocate me. This time, I’d expand the battlefield. One school wasn’t enough. I wanted the entire internet to join the party. I uploaded the video to my account with the title: “My First Day at St. Augustine: Gourmet Food, Hot Guys, and Abs!” The name “St. Augustine Academy” was a magnet for attention, and the video’s view count skyrocketed, quickly breaking all my previous records. Comments flooded in: “OMG, how did she get so lucky? A transfer student with a $150,000 scholarship?!” “Those abs aren’t that great, though. Why was he bragging?” “Trying to show off but ended up getting schooled by the girl. I wonder how big his ‘emotional damage’ is right now.” “Girl, stay true to yourself! Don’t let the glitz and glam blind you!” Every single view and comment translated to money. Watching the numbers climb, I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, I slept peacefully that night. Early the next morning, I got up and started memorizing vocabulary words. I had to admit, St. Augustine Academy lived up to its reputation. The campus was stunning, with a tranquil lake surrounded by lush greenery. I sat on a bench by the water, soaking in the scenery as I studied. Just as I was engrossed in my notes, Ethan Monroe appeared, carrying a perfectly arranged breakfast in his hand. “Rhea, you’re up early,” he said with a smile. I mentally reviewed the words I’d just memorized to make sure I had them locked in before turning to him. Ethan’s custom-tailored uniform accentuated his long legs, and he deliberately angled his face to show off his best side. I glanced at the breakfast tray he was holding—milk, bread, and fruit. “Is that for me?” I asked, pretending to gaze at him with wide, admiring eyes. Ethan nodded and even pulled out a picnic blanket, spreading it neatly on the grass. Once everything was set up, I casually pulled out my phone and started snapping pictures.
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