I was born with the kind of body that demands attention. Between the natural curves and my preference for tailored, form-fitting silhouettes, the internet had affectionately labeled me the "Ice Queen Mother." Whenever I went out with my roommate, she’d joke that we looked like a stepmother taking her middle-schooler for a walk. Even the stray dogs on campus seemed to stop and stare a little too long. Before we ever met in person, the guy I was seeing online sent me a photo. My roommate, Gwen, recognized him instantly. She let out a piercing scream. "Shut up! Jenny, your mystery man is Hudson Christian? His dad is literally on the Board of Trustees. He’s the golden boy of the university. But there’s a catch—he’s got this 'childhood friend,' Daisy Vance, who’s obsessed with playing the eternal toddler." Before I could even ask for details, Gwen had the student forums pulled up, giving me the full dossier on Daisy. "Look at this, Jenny. Daisy is a piece of work. She’s built her whole personality around being 'tiny' and 'innocent.' People call her the 'Weaponized Toddler.' If you two cross paths, it’s going to be a clash of the titans: the ultimate Femme Fatale versus the world’s oldest baby. I’d pay for a front-row seat to that." I ran a hand through my long, dark waves, admiring my fresh manicure with a practiced indifference. "Let her play house," I said, my voice smooth. "Tomorrow, when we meet, I’ll make sure she understands one thing: in the face of real femininity, 'cute' is just a consolation prize." … To be honest, I have zero interest in "girl hate," and I wasn't exactly looking for love. But Hudson Christian was obscenely wealthy. We’d been "dating" online for a week without meeting, and he’d already "gifted" me ten thousand dollars—voluntarily. I was planning to go to Caltech for my PhD, and I was frantically saving for tuition. Hudson wasn't just a boyfriend; he was a bridge to my future. The secret to maximizing your take in a relationship like this? Never be the one at fault. With a "baby-brained" childhood friend in the mix, walking away with a cool million seemed less like a dream and more like a business plan. We agreed to meet at 2:00 PM in the University Hall. I happened to have an award to pick up there anyway. A minor crisis in the lab held me up, and by the time I pushed through the heavy oak doors, I was twenty minutes late. I could hear voices drifting from the back of the hall. "Hudson, where is she? Maybe she’s too scared to show up." The voice was high-pitched, syrupy, and cloyingly sweet. Every sentence ended with a little upward lilt, like a question from a toddler. That had to be Daisy. "Maybe she’s a three-hundred-pound catfish who’s just a pro at Photoshop," another male voice chimed in, snickering. "Stop it," Hudson’s voice was low, resonant, but carried a hint of hesitation. "I’ve heard her voice. She sounds… sophisticated." Daisy let out a soft huff. "Voices can be faked, Hudson. There are so many girls online who use filters and voice changers. I’m just worried you’re being scammed. I just want to protect you." "Exactly, man. You’ve got to be careful these days—" I chose that moment to push the door wide. Sunlight flooded in behind me, silhouetting my figure against the bright afternoon. I was wearing a charcoal-grey bandage dress that hit just above the knee, the neckline framing my collarbones perfectly. My hair fell in heavy waves over one shoulder, and my pearl earrings caught the light as I moved. The hall went silent. A guy who had been mid-sip of his water choked, coughing violently. I scanned the room, my gaze landing on Hudson in the back row. He was even better-looking than his photos—high brow bones, a sharp jawline, and an air of cool detachment. Right now, though, that detachment was gone. He was staring at me, his thumb frozen over his phone screen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I walked toward them, the rhythmic click of my heels echoing in the cavernous room. I took my time. "So sorry I’m late," I said, stopping in front of Hudson and leaning in slightly. "Lab emergency." He looked up at me, his voice a bit raspy. "You’re… Jenny?" "In the flesh." I gave him a slow, knowing smile. "Why? Are you disappointed I’m not a three-hundred-pound catfish?" The tips of Hudson’s ears turned a vivid shade of red. A guy with glasses nearby theatrically clutched his chest. "Holy hell. Nice to meet you, Sister-in-law. I’m Mike. I wasn't the one who said 'catfish,' it was this idiot—" He pointed shamelessly at the guy next to him, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. I laughed, and the tension in the room broke. "Isn't that dress a little… much for campus?" Daisy’s voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle. She was practically glued to Hudson’s side, clutching his sleeve like a security blanket. I took her in: pigtails, a Peter Pan collar, a pink bow, and a quilted purse. Wow. She really was leaning into the "Precious Moments" aesthetic. "Is it?" I sat down across from them, my movements deliberate and graceful. I looked her in the eye, my voice dripping with faux-kindness. "Sweetie, when you have a woman’s body, everything looks 'much.' But I actually love your look. It’s so… retro." I paused, my eyes traveling from her pigtails down to her Mary Janes, then back up to her flat chest. "It’s a shame, really. Only a girl with a flat, childlike frame can pull off those doll dresses. On a woman like me, the buttons would probably become shrapnel." Daisy’s face went from pale to beet-red in three seconds. "Who are you calling flat?!" she shrieked, her "baby" voice cracking into something much shriller. I widened my eyes, pulling a face more innocent than hers could ever be. "Oh, honey, I was just stating a fact. You aren't upset, are you? I forgot how sensitive children can be." "You—!" Daisy looked like she was about to have a full-blown tantrum. "Daisy," Hudson interrupted, his brow furrowed. He gently pulled his sleeve out of her grip. "Sit down. Don't make a scene." Daisy looked at him in total betrayal, her eyes instantly welling with tears. "Hudson? You’re taking her side? She just insulted me!" "I didn't insult you," I said softly, my tone incredibly sincere. "I was calling you cute. Grown women envy that kind of youthfulness, Daisy. We can't all be 'babies' forever." Daisy’s lip trembled. She pointed a shaking finger at me. "So you have a chest! Big deal! Big boobs, no brains!" Before I could respond, the hall’s PA system crackled to life with a burst of static. Then, a booming male voice filled the room. "And now, please join me in welcoming our top honor recipient for the National Life Sciences Competition, Jenny Jiang, to the stage." The room erupted in applause. Daisy’s words died in the air, making her look utterly ridiculous. She stood there with her mouth open, unable to find a comeback. Hudson’s gaze stayed on me, and this time, there was something more than just physical attraction in his eyes. There was genuine intrigue. I looked up at the stage and saw Richard Christian—Hudson’s father—holding a gold-embossed certificate and a medal. He was scanning the crowd. I stood up, smoothed my dress, and walked to the stage under the gaze of three hundred people. That night, Hudson wired twenty thousand dollars to my account as a "congratulatory gift." Just as I was starting to think this would be easy, my advisor called. Her tone was grim. She told me to get to the department office immediately. There were five people waiting for me, all looking like they were at a funeral. The head of the ethics committee pushed a stack of papers toward me. "Jenny, we’ve received an anonymous tip accusing you of academic fraud. These are screenshots of your alleged chat logs." I flipped through them. It was a fake account using my photo and name, chatting with someone labeled "Essay Ghostwriter." The messages were blunt: payment details, prompts, deadlines. The tone was a decent imitation of mine. "This isn't my account," I said, sliding the papers back. "The whistleblower provided a photo of your student ID as proof of identity." "My ID went missing last week." The committee head adjusted his glasses. "We have to investigate. Until then, your fellowship and prize money are suspended." I didn't argue. The money wasn't the point; a fraud charge would kill my chances at Caltech. I picked up the chat logs again and turned to the third page. "Professor, look at the timestamp on this message. 3:12 PM last Tuesday." "And?" "At 3:10 PM, I was on stage in the University Hall receiving an award from Richard Christian. There were three hundred witnesses and a live stream. I wasn't in the back of the room hiring a ghostwriter." The professor’s expression shifted. I tapped the "Ghostwriter’s" profile picture in the screenshot. "And this account? They posted a selfie last night with a location tag at the South Dorms. If you look at the reflection in the mirror behind them, you can clearly see a girl with pigtails and a pink bow." I turned my phone around to show them a photo of Daisy from the forum. "Should I call Daisy Vance in here to clarify, or should we just go straight to the Dean?" The office went silent. The professor took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Jenny, we will handle this with the utmost seriousness—" I stood up, my voice cold. "I expect a formal apology, and I’ll be pursuing a defamation claim." The moment I stepped out of the office, a text from Hudson popped up. How much will it take for you to drop this? I looked up and saw Hudson leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Jenny, can we talk?" He sounded hesitant. "Look, our families have been close forever. Our fathers are business partners. Daisy… she’s been spoiled her whole life. She has a temper, but she isn't a bad person. She’s just… immature. Could you just let this one go? For me?" He said it softly, his voice like a caress. I smiled. "Sure, Hudson. If it’s that important to you." He visibly relaxed. Five minutes later, another hundred thousand dollars hit my account. I stared at the zeroes, and my anger evaporated instantly. Let it go? For a hundred grand, I’d let her set my car on fire. But Daisy wasn't done. That afternoon, I returned to my dorm to find my desk stripped bare. My three thick research journals—the culmination of months of lab work—were gone. "Where are my notes?" I asked Gwen. Gwen looked sick as she pointed toward the trash chute at the end of the hall. I walked over. My journals had been ripped to shreds, soaked in leftover ramen soup and coffee grounds, with a muddy footprint stamped on the cover. "I tried to stop her," Gwen whispered. "But Daisy said she was 'helping you clean' and thought it was just scrap paper. When I told her it wasn't, she started crying, saying she was 'just trying to be a good girl' and ran off." I stared at the trash for a long time. Those notes contained three months of raw experimental data. My mid-term defense was next week. Without that data, my thesis was dead. I took a photo and sent it to Hudson. No text, no accusations. Just the image. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Bank Notification: +$20,000. Memo: Don't be mad. Buy something nice. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then tucked my phone away and headed to the campus print shop. I pulled up my cloud drive and hit "Print" on a fresh set of data. Gwen stared at me, jaw dropped. "When did you scan those?" "The first day I started in the lab," I said, watching the printer whir to life. "Anyone in research who doesn't have a backup is asking for a disaster." Gwen was silent for a moment. "Jenny… you’re so cold it’s almost scary." I didn't answer. Soon after, it was Daisy’s birthday. Hudson rented out the entire local theme park for her. The school forums were flooded with photos. “Golden Boy throws royal bash for his Princess.” “Hudson and Daisy: A Real-Life Fairy Tale.” Gwen looked at me with concern. "Jenny, he’s technically your boyfriend. Doesn't this bother you?" I shrugged, sipping my tea. "It’s a business transaction, Gwen. You don't catch feelings for your ATM." Gwen nodded, then added, "You know, Hudson’s dad really likes you. You could actually marry into that family if you wanted to." I let out a short, sharp laugh. Since I started seeing Hudson, Richard Christian had already "invited" me for a private chat. "The Christian family needs a daughter-in-law who prioritizes the home," he’d told me. "This research, these competitions… they’re nice hobbies. But after graduation, you’ll be expected to settle down and focus on supporting Hudson. Can you do that?" Like hell I can. My life plan was mine to write. I went back to my laptop, refining my final paper. Daisy burst into my dorm at 10:00 PM that night. When she saw me sitting calmly at my desk, she faltered. "Don't you check the forums, Jenny?" "I saw the photos," I said, not looking up from my screen. "The pink balloons really brought out your complexion." Her smirk vanished. "You aren't even mad?" I turned around and smiled at her. "Why would I be? Hudson told me all about it. Family obligations, social appearances… I understand perfectly." Daisy’s expression twisted. She stared at my laptop screen. "Your screen looks so dusty, Jenny. Let me help you." She picked up a bottle of industrial-strength bleach from my cleaning supply caddy and unscrewed the cap. "I’m just being a good little helper!" She poured the entire bottle directly onto my keyboard. The liquid seeped into the keys, the screen flickered violently, sizzled, and then went black. Daisy tilted her head, blinking those big, "innocent" eyes. "Oops! Did I do a bad thing again? Oh well. Hudson always fixes things for me anyway." She skipped out of the room, looking triumphant. Gwen came back with coffee, saw the wreckage, and nearly dropped her mug. She started reaching for her shoes to go find Daisy. I caught her arm. "Relax. I have a plan." I took a deep breath, photographed the dead laptop, and sent it to Hudson. Caption: She was "helping" me clean again. The reply came faster this time. Bank Notification: +$30,000. Memo: Don't fight with her. Buy a new one. And then, a different notification popped up. An email from Caltech. We are pleased to inform you… I stared at the words for three full minutes. Then I turned off my phone, leaned back in my chair, and let out a long, slow breath. Every moment of patience, every time I "let it go," every bit of swallowed pride—it was all worth it. My offer was here. Screw this. I’m done playing nice. That night, I tallied the balance in my accounts. Then a thought struck me. If I broke up with Hudson now, could he try to claw the money back? In the eyes of the law, "gifts" and "loans" can get messy when a relationship ends. If he felt cheated, he could claim I scammed him under the guise of romance. I needed the breakup to be his fault, not mine. The next day, I texted him. Are you free tonight? I want to grab a drink. He replied instantly. Where? I picked a dimly lit lounge just off-campus. When I arrived, he was already there, sitting in a velvet booth with his sleeves rolled up, a glass of scotch in his hand. I sat closer to him than usual. "What’s up?" he asked, looking at me. "Nothing." I took his glass and took a sip. The scotch was harsh, and I winced. He took the glass back and pushed a glass of orange juice toward me. "Drink that instead." I rested my chin on my hand, watching him. The low light hit the planes of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome. His Adam’s apple moved as he took a drink. "Jenny." "Hmm?" "Don't go back to the dorms tonight, okay?" Before he could finish the thought, his phone buzzed. The name Daisy flashed on the screen. Hudson went to silence it, but I caught his wrist. I took the phone, swiped to answer, and held it to my ear. "Hudson? Why aren't you back yet? I’m scared being all by myself—" Daisy’s sugary voice filled the air. I smiled into the receiver. "Hey, Daisy." The line went dead silent. "You? Where’s Hudson? Put him on!" "He’s a little busy right now." "Why?!" I glanced at Hudson. He was watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I spoke into the phone, my voice low and playful. "Because Hudson and I are about to do 'grown-up' things. And there isn't really room for a baby." I hung up and tossed the phone onto the table. Hudson was stunned for a second, then he let out a short laugh, his ears turning pink. "You’re doing that just to spite her." "Maybe. She’s been getting on my nerves lately." Hudson didn't argue. He took another drink, a smirk tugging at his lips. My phone buzzed in my lap. A text from Gwen: Everything is set. She’s on her way.
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