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1041 Words
By noon, Emma’s name was trending on three different campus forums.
Not for a scholarship win. Not for academic excellence.
For a kiss. A photo. A lie.
Someone had layered her face over a fake OnlyFans ad. Another created a t****k slideshow of her from different angles, mid-laugh, reading in the library, bent over her notes, paired with the audio of her moaning a name she never said out loud.
Jace.
Her inbox was a warzone.
Anonymous: You play innocent, but you look like you beg for it.
Another: Is the Carter kid that good? Asking for science.
Another: Slut alert: she faked her way in, now she’s faking it on camera.
Emma didn’t respond. She stopped reading. She stopped breathing.
By two p.m., someone painted a mural on the back of the psych building. It showed a cartoon version of her, hair flaming red, bent over a stack of textbooks with fire licking up her thighs. Under it, in bold black spray paint:
“Scholar-Shipwrecked.”
She stared at it for two full minutes before turning around and walking away. She didn’t cry. Not here.
When she reached the dean’s office, they were already waiting.
“We understand you’re under significant stress,” the woman said carefully. “The university is sympathetic!”
“No,” Emma cut in. “You’re not.”
The dean blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not sympathetic. You’re scared I’ll make this worse. You’re scared I’ll make you look bad.”
A long pause.
The other faculty member, a man she didn’t recognize, cleared his throat. “Until this cools down, we recommend you step back from any public-facing roles. Leadership boards, honor council, group events.”
“You’re asking me to disappear.”
“We’re asking you to protect your reputation.”
“My reputation?” she said, voice cold. “Or the school’s?”
Silence.
Emma stood. “I won’t play dead for your PR.”
She left before they could say anything else. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
By the time she reached her dorm, she could barely unzip her coat. Her hands shook. Her vision blurred. She dropped to the floor beside her bed, legs giving out.
She had tried everything. Apologies. Reason. Waiting. Silence.
None of it worked.
They wanted her gone.
They wanted her broken.
And she was so close.
She curled into herself, not to cry, but to disappear. Just for a second.
But the knock came anyway.
Not on the door.
On her window.
Emma blinked. Lifted her head.
Elias.
He stood outside in the dark, tapping once with his knuckle like he wasn’t breaking a thousand invisible rules.
She pushed open the glass an inch.
“I can’t talk right now,” she said hoarsely.
“Then listen.”
He reached into his coat pocket and held something up between two fingers.
A flash drive.
She stared. “More proof?”
“Not just proof.” He handed it through the gap. “It’s the original. The raw version. No edits. No audio overlay.”
“I don’t want to see it.”
“You need to.”
“I said I don’t!…”
“They planned it, Emma.”
That stopped her.
He looked straight at her, no smirk, no joke. Just steel.
“You weren’t supposed to be there that night. He was. You weren’t.”
The flash drive burned in her palm.
Elias stepped back. “They used you. But you don’t have to stay used.”
She closed the window. Her hands trembled as she plugged the drive into her laptop. The screen blinked. One file.
“REC001_FINAL”
She hesitated. Then clicked.
The screen was dark at first. Then shapes came into focus, trees, firelight, two figures moving.
Her and Jace.
Kissing.
But that wasn’t the part that broke her.
It was the voice.
“She’ll fall for it. Watch.”
“Make it look real.”
“Get the shot. He’ll cover the rest.”
Her breath stilled.
She paused. Rewound. Played it again. And again. And again.
“She’ll fall for it.”
“Make it look real.”
Her stomach flipped. Her throat closed. She crawled away from the screen like it might reach out and drag her into the past again.
They didn’t just capture a moment.
They crafted it.
They baited her. Framed her. Leaked her.
And Jace?
He hadn’t warned her. He hadn’t stopped it. He kissed her like he wanted her, but he let the whole thing happen like she was just background noise in a bigger story.
Emma sat back against the wall, the edges of her vision blurry with rage.
She had been used.
But now?
Now she knew the rules.
And she wasn’t playing fair anymore.
The next morning, she dressed like armor. Black jeans. Black hoodie. No makeup. Hair pulled back so tight it hurt. She walked across campus with the flash drive in her pocket and fire in her chest.
At lunch, someone snickered when she passed.
She didn’t flinch.
Someone held up a phone.
She didn’t slow down.
She reached the library, walked straight to the last row of tables, and stopped.
Jace sat there, alone, flipping through a book.
He looked up and froze.
She didn’t speak.
She tossed the flash drive on the table in front of him.
His brows pulled together. “What’s this?”
“Your scene. Uncut.”
He picked it up slowly. “Where did you? ”
“I know what you did.”
“Emma…”
“No. Don’t you dare say my name like you care.”
His jaw clenched. His voice lowered. “You weren’t supposed to be there.”
“I was,” she snapped. “Because I thought you might be human.”
He closed the book. “It wasn’t all fake.”
“It was enough.”
She stepped back, eyes burning. “You made me your scandal.”
She turned to leave.
Elias stood at the end of the aisle, leaning against the shelf like he’d been there the whole time.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded positively.
They walked out together. Two ghosts. One fire.
- Writer
