Tangled Fate, just that Night

Chapter one "Snow? Shine? Wake up—you’re going to be late for school." Desire's voice was a soft whisper as she tapped her two boys gently. She moved carefully through the dimly lit room, careful not to make noise and wake the other people sleeping under the same roof. Snow, ever the light sleeper, stirred first. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, then climbed down from the upper bunk bed. Still half-asleep, he walked straight into his mother’s arms, wrapping his small hands around her waist. “Good morning, Mummy,” he mumbled sleepily, his head resting against her stomach. “Hi, baby,” Desire whispered, brushing his hair with her fingers. “Did you sleep well?” He nodded, eyes still droopy. Then he turned toward the bed where his twin brother, Shine, still lay bundled under the covers, reluctant to move. “I’ll wake him,” Snow offered with a sleepy smile. Desire nodded, kissed his forehead, and tiptoed out of the room toward the small kitchen. She had taken it upon herself to care for the boys and never once wanted to be a burden to her parents—even though they had never truly forgiven her. Five years ago, her life had derailed. One night. One reckless, anger-fueled night with a stranger, and everything changed. She’d stormed out of the house that evening, boiling with frustration after another heated argument with her father. Desire had always dreamed of being a professional dancer. In high school, she was the star of the dance team—graceful, expressive, unforgettable. Her teachers, peers, and even guest judges believed she would one day perform on global stages. Art school had always been her dream. But her father, a stern and practical man, called her ambition foolish. He told her that dancing was a “waste of youth,” and without telling her, he ordered her homeroom teacher to change her application to Fashion Design. She had cried that night, screamed even. But no one heard her—not truly. Her mother had stayed silent, torn between loyalty to her husband and love for her daughter. When the university acceptance came in, it was not for dance but fashion. Just as her father wanted. The first year at the university was hell. She didn’t care about textiles or sewing patterns. She barely understood the assignments, and her grades reflected her disinterest. But Desire was nothing if not stubborn. She refused to quit. She pushed through each semester, her heart breaking slowly with every sketch she turned in instead of a performance. Despite her beauty, natural talent, and captivating voice, she became bitter. Resentful. And perhaps that was why she walked straight into a trap. It happened one rainy afternoon. She was walking across campus when she ran into two old rivals—Lila Nile and Brian Winter. Lila, the queen of envy, had always harbored a burning jealousy for Desire’s natural charm and grace. In high school, they had been sworn enemies—competing in dance, popularity, and attention. Seeing Desire struggling now was a treat Lila couldn't pass up. "Still breathing, Desire?" Lila said with a smirk. "There's a dance battle tonight at Rivery Hall. I doubt you still got it." Brian grinned, handing over a shiny black invitation card. "Show up… if you're not scared of losing." It was a dare, wrapped in mockery. Desire, prideful and furious, took the ticket without hesitation. “See you tonight,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. She had no idea she was walking into a trap. Her younger brother, Nate, heard about it from some of his friends. He cornered her later that evening as she was getting ready in their shared room. "Dee, don't go," he pleaded. "Please. I heard things. This isn't just a normal battle. They’re planning something." Desire scoffed, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “I’m not afraid of Lila. Let her try whatever she wants. I’ll crush her on the dance floor like always.” “But—" “Leave it, Nate. I’ve made up my mind.” And with that, she slammed the door behind her, wearing her confidence like armor. Desire stepped out into the night, the cool breeze brushing against her skin as she made her way to Rivery Hall, heart pounding with a mixture of defiance and anticipation. Rivery Hall was alive—more than she had expected. The space was a massive, open industrial-style venue with high ceilings, pulsating neon lights, and the lingering scent of sweat, cologne, and popcorn. The stage was lit in shades of red and blue, casting dramatic shadows across the graffiti-painted walls. Teams of dancers occupied different corners of the room, each surrounded by hype crews, stylists, and buzzing spectators. Laughter and loud music filled the air as cups clinked, smoke curled in the air, and people cheered at every new performance. Spectators lined the railings and filled every seat—some with drinks in hand, others recording on their phones, waiting for the battle they had all come to see. It was more than just a dance event. It was a war zone of talent, ego, and hidden motives. The host, wearing a metallic jacket and oversized glasses, grabbed the mic. “Aye! Make some noise, Rivery Hall! Tonight we’re turning up the heat!” Cheers erupted as the host continued calling out names. One by one, dancers took the stage in explosive duels—hip-hop, krump, breakdance, afro-fusion. The room throbbed with energy. Then, the host paused. “Now… what we’ve all been waiting for. The Solo Showdown.” The crowd buzzed louder. “Lila Nile... and Desire Lopez” A spotlight lit the middle of the dance floor. Lila stepped out first, hips swaying confidently, her eyes burning with smugness. Desire followed, jaw set, fire in her eyes. The crowd roared. Music dropped. They danced like enemies in battle—Lila was sharp, calculated, and fierce. But Desire… Desire danced like her soul was on fire. She moved with raw emotion, fluid power, and grace that shut down the noise around her. Her final spin into a flip made the entire hall go wild. When the music stopped, the decision was obvious. Desire won. People stood up and chanted her name. Even those who hadn’t heard of her before were now recording, posting, screaming. She smiled, triumphant for the first time in years. As she caught her breath, Brian Winter approached, holding out a drink with a charming smile. “Victory tastes better with this,” he said. Without much thought, still high on adrenaline, she took it and drank it all in one gulp. Moments later, other dancers came over, asking her to join their crews. She politely declined, brushing them off. “I'm not a dancer anymore,” she said with a smile, turning to leave. That was when everything began to blur. She felt dizzy, but she could still see. Her limbs grew heavier, her thoughts slowed, and her legs swayed beneath her. She figured she just needed to reach her hostel and sleep it off. But she never made it there. Two men in dark hoodies approached her outside, pretending to help. “Are you okay?” one asked. Before she could respond, strong arms grabbed her. Everything after that became a haze—flashing lights, car doors slamming, a hotel corridor, spinning ceilings... Darkness. --- She woke up the next morning, her body aching. Her eyes opened slowly, and she froze. There was a man lying next to her—both of them undressed. Her heart stopped. The stranger was asleep, his back turned, but one thing stood out—the jade pendant hanging from his neck, glowing faintly against his bare skin. Desire’s hands trembled. Her throat tightened. Hickeys littered her neck and shoulders. Her whole body hurt. With silent panic, she scrambled out of bed, pulled on her clothes with trembling fingers, and rushed out, her legs weak beneath her. --- Nate had been pacing all night outside her hostel. The moment he saw her walking up in the early morning sun, clothes rumpled and face pale, he ran to her. “Dee!” he called, rushing toward her. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” She stopped, looked at him—and broke. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she collapsed into his arms. But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say the truth. How could she? Nate was her best friend, her only real family, and just a year younger. They’d always shared everything—jokes, secrets, dreams. But this? This was beyond words. “I… I lost,” she whispered instead. “I didn’t want to come home after that. I’m sorry.” Nate hugged her tighter, brushing her hair gently. “It’s okay, Dee. You’re home. That’s all that matters.” After making sure she was safe, he left for his morning class, though something in her eyes still bothered him. --- Desire entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. She scrubbed her body until her skin was red. As if the soap could erase the night. As if it could undo what happened. Water soaked her long, tail-length black hair, the same hair her mother used to braid while singing softly. Her caramel skin glistened under the stream, but now, it felt unfamiliar. She stared at her reflection—puffy eyes, trembling lips. And then she cried again. Curled up in bed with her wet hair clinging to her back, she let the exhaustion take her. --- The next day, she forced herself to hold her head high and go to school. But whispers followed her like shadows. By noon, her bunkmate Camilla pulled her aside with urgency. “Look, Dee,” she said, handing her a phone. On the screen was a video. A blurry clip of her, or someone who looked exactly like her, in a hotel room—with the campus DJ, DJ Jice. Her face. Her hair. Her voice. But it wasn’t her. She knew it wasn’t. “I… I don’t know anything about this,” Desire said, shaken. “That’s not me.” Camilla looked confused but nodded. “Then we have to find out who did this.” But it was too late. The video had gone viral. Rumors spread like wildfire. By the afternoon, she was summoned by the university disciplinary committee and suspended, pending investigation. Crushed, humiliated, and desperate, she went straight to Nate's university, and for the first time, she told him everything. Nate listened in silence, eyes dark with fury. When she showed him the video, he immediately noticed something off. “This isn’t you,” he said. “What?” “Look.” He rewound it and slowed it down. “The body movement isn’t natural. And the lip-syncing... it’s off. This was generated—likely an A.I. deepfake.” He began analyzing it using his computer engineering tools. Nate was only a freshman, but he had a gift for coding and data tracing. Within hours, he had not only broken down the video metadata but also tracked the IP address linked to the source. “Whoever did this… uploaded it from an edited server,” he said, frowning. “But they made one mistake. I’ve got a match.” He pulled up the real footage—the actual security footage from the hotel, decrypted with skill. What they found was chilling. The real footage showed her being carried, not walking. And the man beside her in the room was not DJ Jice. The person behind the entire setup? Lila Nile. She had paid to ruin Desire’s image, enlisting Brian and a few digital engineers to create the fake. Nate packaged the evidence, and they returned to the university together. Once the authorities saw the real footage, her name was cleared. The university issued an apology. Desire was told to return to school.