It was noon, the day before Valentine’s Day, and the hottest thread on the campus anonymous app had my name written all over it. [BREAKING] It’s Official! Student Body President Chloe Vance is dating campus golden boy, Julian Hayes! I was sitting in the dining hall, eating lunch with my best friend. Riley shoved her phone right into my face. “Chloe, you’re dating someone? Why am I the last to know?” Julian Hayes stood right in front of my table. His white button-down shirt was crisp and clean. The entire dining hall was whistling and cheering. He looked down at me and said, “Everyone already knows about us. Are you still not going to make it official?” In my past life, drowned out by this ridiculous, roaring crowd, I stayed silent for thirty seconds. And just like that, I defaulted into being his girlfriend. From that day on, he started checking my socials, dictating who I could talk to, and cornering me between classes. Eventually, he spread rumors that I was a “serial cheater playing the field.” I was stripped of my Student Body President title. My spot in the national finance decathlon was revoked. Driven to the edge, my depression relapsed. I took a medical leave—and eventually, took my own life. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in the dining hall, right at the peak of the cheering. This time, I set my fork down and looked right up at him. “Dude, who even are you?” 1 For a few seconds, a wave of hushed laughter rippled through the crowd. Julian’s expression froze. He was undeniably good-looking. Cold eyes, tall, athletic—the kind of face that flooded the campus app every single day. In my past life, under that heavy gaze, my heart had skipped a beat. Paired with the crowd chanting, “Get together!” I hadn’t managed to tear down his setup in time. I had thought my silence was just saving us both from public embarrassment. Now, Julian frowned at me. “Chloe, stop messing around.” He said my name so naturally, like we were actually close. Beside me, Riley immediately held up her phone and started recording. She was a pre-med student, having just rushed over from the lab, still wearing her white coat. “Getting this on video just in case,” she muttered. “This guy’s vibe is way off.” I nodded and turned my attention back to Julian. “I’m not messing around. I’m asking you a question.” “You said we’re dating. Do you have any proof?” Julian’s face darkened. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Madame President is just shy!” “The whole school knows, why are you playing dumb?” I turned to look directly at the people holding up their phones. “Whoever is recording this right now, make sure you get the whole thing.” “Because I stand by every single word I’m about to say.” The cheering slowly died down. I stood up, looked Julian dead in the eye, and enunciated every word: “First, I barely know you.” “Second, I am not, and have never been, in a relationship with anyone.” “Third, please move. You’re ruining everyone’s lunch.” A flash of sheer embarrassment crossed Julian’s eyes. He reached out, trying to grab my shoulder. I took a sharp step back. “Back off.” His hand hung in the air. His face turned ice-cold. “Chloe Vance, do you really have to do this?” “Do what?” I shot back. “Refuse to confess to something I never did? Is that what you mean?” Julian’s face went from pale to flushed. He let out a cold laugh. “Chloe, denying it now just makes you look like a buzzkill.” I stared right through him. “I don’t care.” I picked up my tray, grabbed Riley’s arm, and walked away. As I brushed past Julian, he leaned in and whispered, “You’re going to regret this.” I stopped, tilted my head, and smiled. “Regret what? Not dating a piece of trash like you?” Stepping out of the dining hall, the midday sun was almost blinding. Riley tugged my sleeve, whispering, “Since when did you get so savage?” I didn’t answer. 2 Over the next few days, Julian spawned around me like a glitchy NPC. He wouldn’t approach. He wouldn’t speak. He just stood a few yards away, watching me with this intense, suffocating glare. One evening, as I was leaving the Student Union office, the hallway lights flickered on. Julian was standing at the end of the hall, like he’d been waiting for hours. The moment I saw him, I stopped and discreetly hit ‘Record’ on my phone. He walked up, his voice dripping with anger right out of the gate. “Who is the guy liking every single one of your Instagram posts?” My stomach dropped. I looked up at him. “What guy?” He scoffed. “The one with the black geometric profile picture. Initial ‘H’.” “You posted about the stage setup for the Spring Gala. He liked it.” “You posted your mock portfolio returns for the finance competition. He liked it.” “And the night run you posted two days ago? He was the first to like it.” He was too detailed. So detailed that a cold sweat broke out across my back. I just looked at him and asked: “Julian, you and I aren’t friends on Instagram. How can you see my likes?” He clearly froze. Then he looked away. “Someone told me.” “Who?” He snapped, “Does it matter?” I pulled out my phone and immediately initiated a FaceTime call. A few seconds later, the screen lit up. A man in a dark grey tailored suit appeared on screen. He was sitting in a boardroom, gold-rimmed glasses resting on his nose, looking sharp and professional. “Chloe?” I turned the screen toward Julian. “Connor, someone is asking me who the guy is that keeps liking all my posts.” The man on the screen raised an eyebrow. “That would be me.” Julian’s face shifted. I introduced him slowly: “Connor Vance. My older brother.” “The ‘H’ you were talking about? That’s his middle name, Harrison.” Julian immediately pushed back: “A brother stalks your Instagram that closely?” On the screen, Connor’s eyes turned lethal. “I like my little sister’s posts about her academic awards, her student council events, and her evening runs. Is that a crime?” “But more importantly, Mr. Hayes.” “You are not my friend on that app, nor are you hers. How exactly are you viewing her private metrics?” Julian’s jaw clenched. “I told you, someone told me.” Connor replied coldly: “Then you better remember exactly who that ‘someone’ is.” Julian’s composed facade finally cracked. I watched him, my heart turning to ice. In my past life, he spun this exact situation into him just “being jealous.” While the campus forum tore me apart for being promiscuous, he had the nerve to act hurt, asking me: “Why do you hide your life from me?” On the phone, Connor instructed: “When you get back to your dorm tonight, check the login history on all your devices.” I promised I would. After hanging up, Julian glared at me. “Chloe, is this really necessary?” I asked back, “When you were invading my privacy, did you ask yourself if that was necessary?” He turned pale. “I just wanted to know how many guys are orbiting you.” “Why do you feel entitled to know that?” “Entitled?” He looked at me like I was the punchline to a joke, taking a step closer. “Chloe, the whole campus knows you’re my girlfriend. And you’re asking me why?” I raised my hand and showed him the recording app running on my screen. “Perfect.” “I got that on tape, too.” Julian froze in his tracks. I walked around him. As I reached the stairwell, he called out from behind me: “Acting like this just makes you look more guilty.” I didn’t bother looking back. That night in my dorm, I followed Connor’s advice and checked my account login activity. My finger stopped. Aside from my own iPhone, there was a login from an unknown device. A model I had never owned. The location pinged locally. I stared at that line of text, my fingertips turning numb. I screenshotted it, forwarded it to Connor, and saved a backup to my cloud. 3 Half an hour later, Connor sent me a contact card. [Ethan Caldwell. A 2L at your university’s law school. He’s a friend. Talk to him.] Ethan’s profile picture was a snowy mountain peak. His first message to me was sharp and professional: [Hi Chloe. Your brother gave me the rundown. Do not delete anything, and do not provoke him privately anymore.] I stared at the message for a long time. I replied: [I won’t accept a private settlement. I won’t accept a verbal apology.] He replied instantly: [Understood. Meet me at the campus Legal Aid clinic tomorrow. We’ll start building the evidence binder.] The next morning, I went to the library to meet my oldest brother. Liam Vance had just flown back from Europe. He was an independent graphic designer who had done visual branding for major art exhibitions. The student union’s Spring Arts Festival poster looked like a cheap real estate flyer, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I begged him to come rescue it. He was sitting by the library window in a light linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tweaking the color palette on my laptop. After he finished, he glanced over my financial modeling spreadsheet and casually corrected two formula errors. I rested my chin on my hands, watching him. “Liam, how are you literally good at everything?” Liam chuckled. “Because I have a little sister who loves waiting until the last minute.” I was about to argue when a familiar, icy voice cut through the air behind me. “So this is why you rejected my invite?” I closed my eyes. Riley was right. Julian really was a glitching NPC. A few people in the library looked up. Julian stood by the table, staring daggers at Liam, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage. “Chloe, you’re my girlfriend, but you’re out here on a library date with him?” Before I could speak, Liam looked up. His aura was gentle, his tone extremely polite. “Excuse me, we’re in a library. Keep your voice down.” Julian sneered: “And who the hell are you?” Liam closed the laptop. “Liam Vance. Chloe’s oldest brother.” Julian paused. “Another brother?” The moment he emphasized the word “another”, people around us started whispering. “Wasn’t the guy on Instagram her second brother?” “Now the oldest brother?” “She sure has a lot of ‘brothers’…” I deadpanned, opening my recording app. “Julian, you sound disappointed.” A flash of irritation crossed his eyes. “Who knows if you’re telling the truth?” Liam slid his driver’s license and his campus visitor pass across the table. “If you need to, I can accompany you to campus security to verify my identity.” “But before we do that, I have a question.” “In what capacity are you interrogating my sister?” Julian went silent for two seconds before actually saying: “I am her boyfriend.” I let out a laugh. “I publicly denied it in the dining hall.” “I told you we had no relationship outside the union office.” “When you cornered me about my Instagram likes, I reminded you we aren’t even friends on the app.” “Julian, do you only hear the voices inside your own head?” More eyes were on us now. In my past life, in this exact scenario, I frantically tried to explain that Liam was my brother. Someone filmed only the part where Julian questioned me, and I looked panicked. When it hit the campus app, the headline was: [Caught in the Act: Chloe Vance panics when Julian Hayes busts her.] This time, I didn’t panic. I looked up at a guy leaning over the second-floor balcony, phone in hand. “You can film, but don’t edit it out of context.” The guy jumped, nearly dropping his phone. A librarian was already power-walking toward us, hissing, “Quiet down! Take this outside immediately.” Julian looked humiliated. He lowered his voice: “Did you have to embarrass me like this?” Liam spoke calmly: “When you hurl baseless accusations at a woman in a public space, did you ever consider if she would be embarrassed?” Julian choked on his words. I packed up my laptop and files, turning to Liam. “Let’s go somewhere else, Liam.” As I walked past Julian, he suddenly reached out to block me. I stopped, staring at his arm. “Move it.” He didn’t budge. The librarian was almost upon us. My voice dropped to absolute zero: “Julian, if you touch me, I am calling campus security.” Liam stood up. His gentle demeanor completely vanished. “Don’t touch my sister.” Julian’s fingers twitched for a few seconds before he finally pulled his arm back. Liam and I walked out of the library. As we stepped outside, the sun stung my eyes. 4 Over the weekend, my twin sister, Harper, and I took a road trip to an art exhibition in the next city over. “Call me ‘Big Sister’,” she demanded. I rolled my eyes. “Give me my suitcase back first.” Harper was dragging my luggage with one hand and holding an iced Americano with the other. The wind tossed her short, choppy hair. She wore a black leather moto jacket, over-ear headphones resting around her neck. She looked sharp, pale, and incredibly cool. From the back, she honestly looked like a handsome indie-rock boy. She was a cybersecurity prodigy. After I told her about my week, she only had one question: “What kind of narcissistic malware is this Julian guy?” I laughed so hard I almost choked on my coffee. I was in a rare good mood that day, so I posted a short vlog on my public TikTok. The video showed the exhibition entrance, the sunset, our coffees, and a shot of Harper’s back as she dragged my suitcase. The caption read: [Escaping campus for eight hours.] Half an hour later, a text from Julian popped up. [Why are you out of town alone with a guy?] I glanced at it and immediately swiped it away. He texted again: [The guy in the library was your oldest brother. The guy on Instagram was your second brother. Who the hell is this?] [Chloe, do you think I’m stupid?] I screenshotted it and sent it to Ethan. Ethan replied: [Received. Do not reply.] That night, the campus app absolutely exploded. A megathread was pinned to the top, marked with a blazing red “HOT” icon. [EVIDENCE DROPPED! Chloe Vance playing the field: The Golden Boy, the Library Stud, and the Travel Boy. She’s collecting them all.] The post compiled every single picture. The comments were a dumpster fire. [I always knew there was something off about her.] [Poor Julian.] [Impeach her from the Student Union. She shouldn’t represent us.] [Is this how she gets all those prime internships?] My phone buzzed non-stop. No one in the Student Union group chat dared to ask directly, but my private DMs were flooded. The Dean of Students called me. She sounded much sterner than usual. “Chloe, have you seen the forums?” “I have.” “This is causing a major disruption. The administration is getting complaints from students.” I sat by the hotel window, watching the neon lights of the commercial district across the street. “Dean, I am officially requesting to use the Student Center Auditorium tomorrow at 3 PM for a public address.” The Dean paused. “A public address?” “Yes.” “I will clarify every single allegation, all at once.” Silence on the other end. “Are you sure about this?” I let out a slow breath. “I’m sure.” After hanging up, I opened the campus app. I didn’t argue in the comments. I just made one public post from my verified account: [Tomorrow. 3 PM. Student Center, Auditorium 3.] [Regarding the recent posts about me, I will be holding a public address.] [I invite anyone who believes I am ‘playing the field’ to attend in person.] Within a minute, the comments came flooding in. [Wow, she actually has the guts to hold a press conference?] [Can’t wait to see this trainwreck.] I looked at those words and smiled. Harper looked up from her laptop. “What’s funny?” “They’re really looking forward to it,” I said. “Perfect.” She slammed her laptop shut, a cold smirk playing on her lips. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”
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