My obnoxious roommate recently started dating a “rich boy” and made it her life’s mission to target me. She stole my scholarship and even rallied a mob to harass me online. “Tsk, tsk, the ‘top student of the department’ won’t even donate when a classmate’s family is in need. My boyfriend donated a whole million dollars!” I was speechless. The anonymous $1 million donation… was actually from me. She wasn’t satisfied with just the online harassment and decided to show off her boyfriend to intimidate me. Wait a second—wasn’t that my family’s security guard? And when exactly did he start driving my car to pick up girls? My roommate, Rachel, had been showing off her “rich boyfriend” non-stop lately. “Look at the Cartier bracelet he just gave me,” she said, holding up her wrist so the sunlight reflected off the bracelet like a dazzling beam of light. “Wow, that must’ve cost a fortune! Your boyfriend is so good to you,” one of our roommates exclaimed. “Totally! Rachel, does your boyfriend have any single friends? Hook us up!” The other roommates surrounded her, showering her with compliments until her face bloomed with pride. Rachel, clearly enjoying the attention, casually handed out branded makeup products from her collection to the others. The room was filled with gasps and flattery as they fawned over her generosity. I sat in the corner reading a book, ignoring the commotion. Rachel noticed and frowned. “Chloe, what do you think of my Cartier bracelet? It’s 100% solid gold—not like that cheap silver bracelet you always wear.” I glanced at her bracelet, instantly recognizing it as a knockoff. The “silver bracelet” on my wrist? It was actually a limited-edition Tiffany piece, understated but worth more than her entire outfit. Still, I didn’t want to embarrass her. “It’s nice,” I said calmly. “My bracelet’s nothing special.” Rachel’s mood lifted at my response, and her frown dissolved into a smug grin. She walked over and slammed my book shut. “Seriously, Chloe, you should invest in some real jewelry. Standing next to me with that thing? You’re making me look bad.” I sighed inwardly. Rachel’s family wasn’t well-off. They weren’t even middle-class. Before she met her “rich boyfriend,” she’d been wearing $10 t-shirts with worn-out jeans. Now, she acted like she’d forgotten where she came from. I gave her a polite nod, pretending to agree, while mentally trying to figure out which page I’d left off on. Our other roommate, Lily, looped her arm through Rachel’s and said sweetly, “Rachel, don’t bother with her. You two are on completely different levels. Let’s grab dinner tonight, and you can tell me more about your boyfriend.” Rachel glanced at her, then raised her voice dramatically. “Sorry, no can do. I’m meeting my boyfriend tonight!” A flicker of jealousy flashed across Lily’s face, but she quickly masked it. “Must be at some fancy restaurant, huh? Don’t forget to post pictures on Instagram.” Rachel didn’t respond, too busy applying makeup in front of the mirror. She put on the only dress in her wardrobe that cost more than $100, then strutted out of the dorm like a proud peacock. That evening, as I sat in the dorm happily eating spicy hot pot takeout, Lily suddenly let out a shriek. “Rachel just posted on Instagram! Look—foie gras, caviar, red wine, steak… oh my god!” The other roommates rushed over to see her post, leaving me with my hot pot. Lily glanced at me disdainfully. “Some people get to wear fancy dresses and go on romantic dates with rich guys. Others…” She sneered at my hot pot. “…are stuck eating $5 takeout. Life just isn’t fair, is it?” I paused, chopsticks halfway to my mouth, and looked at her. What’s wrong with eating hot pot? How does it bother her? When I didn’t respond, Lily shoved her phone in my face. “Look! Rachel and her boyfriend are so perfect for each other.” I glanced at the photo, and my interest was instantly piqued. The “rich boyfriend” in the picture? That was my family’s newly hired security guard. Here’s a little backstory: My dad got rich after winning the lottery, using the money to kickstart his first business. Since then, his investments had snowballed, turning him into one of the wealthiest people in Ashbourne City. Growing up, I’d been chauffeured to school in luxury cars, and my school uniform was paired with the latest designer collections. But all that attention came with risks—I was almost kidnapped once. The incident scared my dad so much that he insisted I keep a low profile in college. Even though he bought me a private villa near campus, he told me to live in the dorms to avoid drawing attention. So here I was, wearing plain clothes and pretending to be ordinary. The truth? Even my “cheapest” outfits cost at least $300. When I first arrived on campus, I made the mistake of wearing a designer outfit. My classmates immediately recognized its value. To avoid standing out, I told them it was a knockoff. From then on, I was labeled as someone who liked fake luxury goods. I didn’t mind. I was here to study, not impress anyone. My dad, who hadn’t gone to college, was obsessed with education. “Chloe, we’re poor in everything but money. You better study hard and make me proud!” Our house had an entire wall covered with my awards and certificates—worth only a few dollars each but priceless to my dad. Back to Rachel’s “boyfriend.” A few months ago, one of our security guards quit, recommending his nephew for the job. His nephew seemed hardworking, so I approved the hire. Who would’ve thought he’d turn around and pretend to be a rich kid to date Rachel? As my roommates huddled around Rachel’s Instagram post, I leaned back and thought about what to do next.
Rachel came back from her date decked out in a knockoff Chanel outfit, lugging a pile of gifts. She began unwrapping them one by one, making the rest of the roommates green with envy. “Rachel, your Chanel outfit looks amazing!” “Wow, is that Gucci perfume? Can I hold it for a second? It’s so expensive!” “Rachel, I’m so jealous. You must’ve had dinner at a five-star hotel last night, right?” Rachel’s smug smile didn’t leave her face for a second. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye before pulling out a bag from her pile of gifts and holding it up. “Chloe,” she said, “didn’t you say you also have this same Hermès bag? Why don’t you take it out so we can compare?” I took out my earbuds, about to respond, but Rachel didn’t give me the chance. She went straight to my closet, opened it without asking, and pulled out my Hermès “picnic” bag. She placed the two bags side by side. I looked at my now messy closet and frowned. Just as I was about to snap at her, Rachel raised her voice deliberately. “Oh wow, Chloe, why does your bag look so different from mine?” The difference was obvious. Rachel’s bag was brighter in color, the edges were thicker, and the texture was unnaturally smooth with fewer grains. As the other roommates gathered around, Rachel put on an exaggerated look of surprise. “How could they be different? My boyfriend got me this as a date gift. And yours? Oh right, you said you brought it from home, didn’t you?” Lily, ever eager to join the drama, chimed in with a smirk. “Remember when Chloe first came to school wearing knockoff designer clothes? It’s no surprise her bag’s fake too. It can’t compare to Rachel’s bag!” “Chloe,” she added condescendingly, “you really shouldn’t rely on fake bags. I mean, you can’t change your family background, but being materialistic and pretending to be rich will only make it harder for you to face reality.” Rachel smirked at Lily approvingly, then turned to me. “I just don’t want a roommate with ‘questionable morals,’ you know?” I looked at the pair of them, their little back-and-forth act, and honestly wanted to throw my purchase receipt in their faces. But then I remembered my dad’s constant reminder to stay low-key, and I forced myself to calm down. “Rachel,” I said, keeping my tone steady, “you think it’s ‘moral’ to go through someone’s closet without permission? And Lily, your shameless flattery is truly impressive.” Rachel let out a mocking laugh, then grabbed the scissors from my desk. “If I hadn’t checked your closet, I wouldn’t have discovered how obsessed you are with fake designer goods. Tell you what, Chloe, since we’re roommates, I’ll help you out and get rid of this counterfeit bag for you.” She raised the scissors, aiming them at my bag. Lily stepped forward, signaling a few other roommates to hold me back. I didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. My voice remained calm. “Rachel, I don’t really care what you do. But if you so much as scratch that bag, you better be ready to pay up.” “Even if, hypothetically, my bag is a Hermès knockoff, it would still cost at least a couple of thousand dollars. Are you sure you can afford that?” “And you just started dating your boyfriend—you wouldn’t want to ask him for money because you destroyed your roommate’s stuff, would you?” Rachel hesitated, the scissors hovering midair. After a long pause, she lowered them reluctantly, glaring at me as she returned to her seat. The other roommates, seeing Rachel back down, quickly dispersed. I hadn’t expected Rachel to be so easy to handle. Her own “Hermès” bag was clearly a cheap knockoff, probably no more than a couple hundred bucks. I shot her a casual glance. “By the way, Rachel, make sure you clean up my closet.” Lily immediately jumped in, her voice sharp. “Chloe, don’t push it!” Rachel ignored me completely, humming to herself as she stood in front of the mirror removing her makeup. I didn’t raise my voice this time. “Rachel,” I said coldly, “I won’t repeat myself. Clean up my closet.” Rachel clicked her tongue in annoyance and strolled leisurely to the sink to wash her face. Lily shot me a smug look, as if daring me to do something about it. I stood up without a word and, with one swift motion, kicked Rachel’s chair over with a loud bang. “I won’t say it a third time.” The room fell silent. My roommates, all pampered girls who’d probably never experienced real confrontation, froze in place. Even Lily shut her mouth. Rachel flinched, her whole body trembling. She clenched her fists like she wanted to argue but ultimately gave in, gritting her teeth as she started tidying my closet. I heard her mutter a curse under her breath, her voice trembling with tears. I felt nothing. When she finished, I inspected my now-neat closet, nodded in satisfaction, and returned to my desk. I picked up my English textbook and began reading aloud. My clear, deliberate voice echoed through the still, silent room.
I didn’t waste my energy on Rachel’s antics. My focus was entirely on winning the scholarship. This year, I had the highest GPA in the entire department, a perfect score on my fitness test, and I actively participated in every scholarship-qualifying activity. By all accounts, the only national scholarship slot for our department should’ve been mine. But when the scholarship results were posted, I double-checked the list over and over, unable to believe my eyes. Rachel’s name was at the top of the list with the national scholarship. As for me? Not even the third-place school-level scholarship made it to my name. All my hard work—those sleepless nights of studying, the hours of running drills for the fitness test—had become a joke. Furious and confused, I scrolled down to check the detailed scores. Every category was perfect except for one: personal conduct. For that, my advisor had given me a failing grade. Anger surged through me, my chest heaving as I bolted straight to the advisor’s office. “Professor Lee,” I said, barely keeping my voice calm, “I have some questions about the scholarship results.” “Come in.” I pushed open the door and froze. Rachel was already there, sitting with a smug smile as she chatted with the advisor. When she saw me, she gave me a mocking grin. “Oh, Chloe, I had no idea I’d be so lucky to win the scholarship! Such a shame that you, the top student, didn’t get anything.” I ignored her completely, turning to the advisor instead. “Professor Lee, I’d like to ask about the scholarship results.” The advisor adjusted her glasses, her expression cold. “I know what you’re going to say. Chloe, being good at academics isn’t enough. You lack teamwork and moral character. Naturally, I couldn’t give the scholarship to you.” Her words left me stunned. As the class rep, I was known for helping my classmates, even lending out my notes before exams. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d offended… except the girls in my dorm. I glanced at Rachel, who immediately looked away, guilt flashing in her eyes. In an instant, everything clicked. Suppressing the urge to lash out, I took a deep breath and said, “Professor Lee, if you’re basing this decision on one-sided stories, I don’t think that’s fair to me.” She slammed her hand on the desk and stood up, glaring at me. “What are you trying to say? That I’m biased? That I’m unqualified as an advisor?” Rachel seized the opportunity to play the victim. “Professor, don’t get upset. Chloe’s just… not the most polite person. Let’s not stoop to her level.” I glanced at Rachel, then at the bracelet on the professor’s wrist. It was a Cartier bracelet—one I’d seen Rachel showing off just last week. I chuckled. “Professor Lee, that Cartier bracelet you’re wearing… Rachel gave it to you, didn’t she?” The professor’s face turned red, her composure cracking. I didn’t wait for a response. Turning on my heel, I walked out of the office. Pausing at the door, I left her with one final remark: “There’s always someone above you. If I can’t get justice here, I’ll take it to the dean.” As I walked down the hall, I heard her scoff behind me. “Go ahead. I’m not worried.” Back in the dorm, my roommates were already gossiping about the scholarship drama. The moment I entered, the room fell silent—except for Lily. “Well, well, if it isn’t the department’s top student,” she sneered. “All that hard work, and not even a third-place scholarship to show for it?” I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed the university president’s office. No one picked up. Frustrated, I turned to my laptop and wrote a detailed email, explaining the situation and attaching evidence. I hit send. Days passed. At first, I was hopeful, checking my inbox constantly. But as the week dragged on with no response, hope turned to disappointment. I should’ve known better. The president probably never even saw the email. Rachel went out on another date, and Lily eventually got tired of mocking me. The dorm was quiet, but I couldn’t shake the sadness and frustration. Then, my phone buzzed. I jumped out of my chair, only to see a message from my dad. “Sweetheart, did you forget about your poor dad in all your excitement over the scholarship? Don’t get cocky—this is just recognition of your hard work. Keep it up!” My chest tightened, tears threatening to spill over. I walked to an empty corner of the hallway and called my parents. The moment my dad’s face appeared on the screen, I burst into tears. Startled, he fumbled for words while my mom glared at him and took over. “Chloe, honey, what happened? Tell us everything.” Between sobs, I explained the scholarship situation. My mom’s expression darkened, and she smacked my dad on the shoulder. “Someone’s picking on my baby?! That advisor clearly doesn’t want her job anymore! Go talk to the president and get this fixed!” I sniffled. “I already emailed and called the president, and nothing happened. What could Dad possibly do?” My dad scratched his head sheepishly. “Well… about that. I may have forgotten to tell you… I’m on the school board.” I stared at him, stunned. My tears stopped instantly, replaced by a loud hiccup. Before I even made it back to the dorm, the university president called me personally. “Chloe, on behalf of the university, I sincerely apologize. I assure you the scholarship list will be corrected, and those involved will be disciplined.” As I walked into the dorm, Rachel had just returned, surrounded by roommates showering her with compliments. I put the president on speakerphone. “President, what will happen to my roommate who was involved in this?” “She will face disciplinary action, and the scholarship will be revoked.” “Thank you.” Before I could hang up, Rachel burst out laughing. “Chloe, you’ve lost it. Did you hire someone to pretend to be the president? That’s hilarious!” Lily chimed in, “Yeah, maybe all this stress messed with her head.” The president’s voice rang out clearly. “Who’s speaking?” I smirked. “That would be my roommate.” “Understood. Chloe, the corrected list will be posted on the university website tomorrow.” The call ended. I glanced at Rachel, who still didn’t seem to grasp the situation, and shook my head. Climbing into bed, I decided to let her figure it out on her own.
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