1 Someone was blowing up the Crestwood University group chat with questions in the middle of the night. I sent a quick message reminding him to check the time. A second later, a friend request popped up. The moment I accepted, the bombardment began. [Hey, is that you in your profile pic? Do you always dress that sexy on campus?] [I’m starting at Crestwood soon. If I see you around, how am I supposed to focus on my studies? You’re going to be a major distraction.] I found his string of questions deeply offensive and chose to ignore him. But I never imagined he would take a screenshot and post it on his own social media feed. When I warned him to delete it, he just scoffed. [Everyone in the comments agrees with me. As a future classmate, I’m advising you to focus on your schoolwork instead of trying to sleep your way to the top!] His words made me laugh. Because at that very moment, his application for the student hardship fund was sitting in my email inbox. … My phone wouldn't stop vibrating. The verbal assault from him showed no signs of letting up. [You girls are always hiding behind ‘freedom of dress.’ You think we can’t see what you’re really after? Take my advice and turn back before you go too far down that slutty path!] [Is that a Chanel bag? Heh, it’s so easy for women like you to make a quick buck. Just spread your legs and you get everything you want.] [Don’t think I don’t know what your type comes to university for—to hook a rich guy, right? This campus is a place of learning. It won’t be tainted by trash like you!] The messages popped up one after another, each one a sledgehammer to my sense of decency. The profile picture was, in fact, me. A candid shot my best friend, Lily, took during our college days. I was wearing a black slip dress, a bright smile on my face. But in his mouth, the photo was twisted into something as sordid as a nude. Fighting the urge to gag, I muted his notifications. The next day, I went to Crestwood University to meet Lily, as planned. Walking down the tree-lined path, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back, but every time I turned around, I saw nothing. That evening, I remembered the creep on my phone and was about to delete him when another message arrived. This time, it was a screenshot from an online forum. The psycho hadn’t just stolen all the photos from my social media; he’d also included a candid shot of me and Lily from our shopping trip the day before. The caption was vile. [Check her out, guys. That chest, that waist, that ass… classic gold-digger material. If you know, you know!] [Playing all high-and-mighty in the group chat at midnight, just trying to get my attention. Stop pretending to be some innocent little virgin!] [Too bad I’m not some bald old rich guy. Guess I’m not good enough for Her Highness!] The comments below the post were even more disgusting. [I'd give up ten years of my life for a body like that!] [Damn, another cheap whore sleeping her way to the top!] [Dude, go conquer her! Show those old geezers what a real man is!] I suppressed my rage and sent a warning. [Listen, what you're doing—slander, defamation, and stalking—is enough to land you in jail. Delete it all and apologize. Now.] It was as if he'd been waiting for me. He replied instantly. [Aww, did I touch a nerve? Which part of what I said was wrong?] [You dress like that on campus, aren’t you just putting a price tag on yourself, begging for a sugar daddy?] [I’m doing you a favor. Don’t be ungrateful!] I knew there was no point in reasoning with scum like him. I simply screenshotted the entire chat log and the forum post, saving everything. Just as I finished, a new email notification appeared. I opened it. It was the list of this year's applicants for Crestwood's hardship fund. As I scrolled through the first few applications, a familiar name caught my eye—Dylan Thorne. It was an exact match for the creep’s user ID. I clicked on his social media profile. It was filled with nine-panel grids of his selfies, the captions cringeworthy. [What’s it like waking up this handsome every day?] [If a rich cougar wanted to throw money at me for my looks, would you guys be jealous?] [Today's motivation: Don't underestimate a guy when he's broke! Just watch, I'll have the rich girls chasing me tomorrow.] Fighting back my nausea, I carefully compared his social media photos with the ID picture on his application. Even with all the filters, those distinctive narrow eyes and acne scars were unmistakable. It was the same person. 2 I started reading his financial aid application more carefully. [Name: Dylan Thorne.] [Personal Strengths: Enthusiastic, outgoing, my morals are as good as my looks, sociable, polite, knows how to respect others…] I couldn’t help but snort with laughter when I read the “personal strengths” section. The self-proclaimed virtues were a perfect, ironic contrast to the filth he spewed online. I read on. He briefly described his family situation. Both parents were disabled and lived on government assistance. His entire university education was funded by student loans and financial aid. At the end of the document, there was an officially stamped proof of hardship. For a moment, I felt a swirl of conflicting emotions. His family's situation did give me a moment’s pause. This grant was undoubtedly crucial for him. If I exposed this at Crestwood, he wouldn't get a cent from any sponsor. He might even get expelled. I gathered all the evidence and compiled it into an email. My eyes fell on the photo attached to his file, the one showing his gray-haired, disabled parents. My finger hovered over the send button. But in the end, I pulled it away. The next day, I met Lily for lunch. Lily and I had been classmates, and after graduation, she’d taken a position at our alma mater, Crestwood. Over our meal, I casually told her about Dylan. Lily was shocked. She pulled up the student directory, then a class photo. “Is it this guy?” I nodded. “A student with such rotten character is a disgrace to Crestwood! I have to report this to the Dean's office. We need to get him off the financial aid list immediately!” I stopped her. “Wait.” She looked at me, bewildered. “You’re just going to let this go? You’re not even going to teach him a lesson?” I clenched my fist. “I just feel like it wasn’t easy for his parents to raise a university student. Let’s handle it privately. If he apologizes, we can just leave it at that.” Lily shook her head, smiling at my soft-heartedness, and went back to scrolling on her phone. Suddenly, she gasped, her brow furrowing. “What is it?” I asked. She just handed me her phone. On the screen was a photo, framed to look compromising. It was me, walking ahead in a little black dress. A man in his fifties was walking behind me, a Chanel bag in his hand, with his other hand resting on my shoulder. Beneath the picture was Dylan’s comment. [I know this girl! Her social media is full of slutty pics. Total professional, you can tell.] [How can she stand to be with a fat old pig like that? She really has no shame when it comes to money.] Lily’s fists were clenched so tight her nails were digging into her palms. “That little bastard! I’m getting him arrested today! This is way beyond what campus security can handle!” she seethed. “Spreading these disgusting rumors in broad daylight… he’s absolutely shameless!” I knew why Lily was so furious. When she was in university, someone had spread a rumor that she was having an affair with a professor. The scandal had been huge at the time, and it nearly pushed her into a depression. Even though the truth eventually came out, the shadow of it remained. Now, seeing history repeat itself, there was no way she would let it slide. I gently placed a hand on hers, my voice turning to ice. “Even if we call the police now, all he’ll get is a lecture. That’s letting him off way too easily.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. He’s obviously done this before. We can’t just let him get away with it.” Over the next few weeks, we had a friend who was good with tech trace Dylan’s IP address and dig up all his online activity. Just as we suspected, Lily and I were far from his only victims. Dylan, oblivious to our investigation, escalated his online attacks, spreading even more rumors about me. He claimed he saw me on campus all the time, always in different designer clothes, and that the “old man” with me was the one keeping me. The internet was flooded with hate. Dylan even took screenshots and sent them to me, gloating. [I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. How does it feel to be public enemy number one?] [Why hasn’t your old sugar daddy spent some money to get these posts deleted? Guess he doesn’t care about you that much, huh?] [Told you so. Only people like us, who work hard for a living, can stand on solid ground!] I ignored all his provocations. Until the day of the final review for the student hardship fund. There, Dylan and I finally came face to face. 3 When Dylan saw me, a flicker of admiration crossed his eyes before twisting into a sneer. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous ‘socialite’ who slept her way to the top.” “Isn’t your closet already overflowing with Chanel? Why are you here, trying to steal this little bit of aid money from us poor students?” He raised his voice deliberately, then glanced at the sponsors present before leaning in and lowering his voice to a hiss. “How many of the old geezers in this room have sent you money in the middle of the night?” The room fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned to stare at me. I walked past him without a word, my expression unreadable, and took a seat near the back of the classroom. The review proceeded as scheduled. Applicants from each department came up one by one to present their family situations. A review panel would then score them to determine the recipients and the amount of aid. Just as the last self-introduction ended, Dylan shot to his feet, his voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Professor! Why does someone get to skip their introduction?” The professor leading the panel looked confused. He checked the list and, after a careful review, replied, “All the students on the list have completed their introductions. No one was missed.” Dylan clearly didn’t buy it. He stood there, a paragon of virtue. “Impossible! I distinctly saw that girl come in! But she never went on stage!” He scoffed. “Oh, I get it. It was already a done deal. You couldn't even be bothered to put on a show for us, right?” The professor’s face darkened. “Young man, please watch your words! Our review process is fair, just, and transparent! There are absolutely no predetermined outcomes!” Instead of backing down, Dylan grew louder, his voice cracking with rage. “Bullshit! I saw her walk in with my own two eyes! What, did her old man buy her special privileges?” He shoved aside a security guard who tried to intervene, his face contorted in a euphoric frenzy. “This is ridiculous! What’s the point of us fighting for a chance? We should just drop our pants and climb into some old man’s bed!” His words sent a buzz through the classroom as everyone started whispering. Countless curious eyes were fixed on me. When a security guard tried to escort Dylan out, he dodged and whipped out his phone, starting a livestream and pointing the camera directly at the review panel. “Everyone in the livestream, take a good look! This is the corruption happening at Crestwood University!” he yelled. “A female student sells her body to get ahead, and the school officials cover it up!” “We study our asses off for over a decade! Why should we be trampled on by some filthy whore?!” He looked magnificent, like a revolutionary hero leading an uprising. As his impassioned cries echoed through the room, the buzz of discussion grew louder. Seeing this, Dylan’s spirits soared. He reached the peak of his performance. “Drag that bitch out here! Let the whole internet see just how dirty this filthy flower really is!” I slowly rose from my seat in the back row, leaning against a desk with a faint smile. “Are you talking about me?”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386631", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel