The week before movein day at Preston University, I got a direct message in the official incoming freshman Discord server from a sophomore named Emma.

Her messages were effortlessly charming—dry, clever, and just warm enough to keep me hooked.

The voice notes she sent had that low, sleepy rasp that sounded dangerously intimate through AirPods. And the photos she casually dropped into the chat?

Goldenhour selfies in vintage oversized crewnecks, messy blonde hair, high cheekbones, aesthetic film grain.

She looked like a girl pulled straight from an East Hampton summer campaign.

We spent July and August in that dizzying, latenight texttether where neither of us had drawn the official line yet, but both of us knew exactly what the game was.

Two days before orientation, she texted: Ten o’clock Monday. The Roasted Bean on College Ave. My treat. Let’s see if you look as good in person as you do on my lock screen.

On Monday morning, I pushed open the frostedglass door of the cafe, the smell of burnt espresso and damp autumn air hitting my face.

The girl waiting in the corner leather booth didn’t look a single thing like the photos. Her skin was grayishbrown and badly congested with cystic acne scars.

She wore a stained, pilled sweater that hung awkwardly over a sluggish, heavy frame.

The moment our eyes locked, she pushed herself up from the booth with a nervous, uncoordinated jerk, smiling wide enough to display two front teeth heavily yellowed by cigarette smoke. "T—Travis!" she stammered, her voice a thick, nasal whine that sounded like someone dragging nails across drywall. "I've had feelings for you for so long.

Will you be my boyfriend?" A prickle of icy revulsion crawled straight up my neck. My fightorflight kicked in instantly. I spun on my heel toward the exit.

And right then, a translucent string of glowing neon text scrolled straight through my vision, hovering in midair like a Twitch livestream chat. Hurry up and say yes!

The real female lead is hiding in the back booth watching the whole thing! Poor Emma, her attachment anxiety is so heartbreaking.

She only set up this catfish test because she’s terrified he only loves her for her looks. Her insecurity is actually so cute.

She fell for him at first sight, she just needs to know his soul is genuine.

All he has to do is prove he looks past the surface, and Emma will step out, reveal it was a loyalty test, and we’ll get our endgame HEA!

I paused midstride, my peripheral vision cutting toward the secluded highbacked booth near the emergency exit.

Sure enough, a girl was leaning forward, peeking over the mahogany divider. The sharp jawline, the framed blonde waves—an exact match for the summer photos.

The floating text accelerated into a frantic blur: Why isn't he answering yet? The secondhand anxiety is killing me! How much longer is he gonna make our girl wait?!

The invisible crowd was holding its breath, waiting for me to recite my line like a welltrained dog so they could have their prefabricated romance.

I looked back at the stranger standing before me, feeling nothing but a profound, chilling disgust. "No," I said, voice flat and clear enough to carry across the room. "What on earth makes you think you’re in my league?" 1 Watching those glowing words hang in the air, I almost laughed out loud.

Did I think Emma was cute over the summer? Sure. But we hadn't even had a first date.

I didn't owe her fidelity, I didn't owe her my future, and she had zero damn right to subject me to some amateur psychological loyalty test.

Having delivered my answer, I turned back toward the exit. Humiliated by the sheer bluntness of my rejection, Brittany’s eyes widened with manic entitlement.

She lunged forward, her dirty fingernails clawing toward my leather jacket. "You're saying no?

Who the hell do you think you are to say no?" she screeched, loud enough to cut through the hum of the espresso machine. "We talked every single night!

In what world am I not good enough for you?" Her complete lack of selfawareness bordered on medical insanity.

I stopped, letting my eyes rake over her from unwashed sneakers to greasy roots, letting the silence do the talking. Where did she find the audacity?

Was there a single metric—looks, hygiene, basic sanity—where she imagined we existed in the same universe?

If I had known today was an audition for a freak show, I wouldn't have wasted twenty minutes styling my hair.

That silent, contemptuous look struck whatever fragile delusion she had left. Her sallow face flushed a violent, mottled purple.

Desperate to seize some moral high ground, she raised her voice to a theatrical shriek. "You're acting like you never cared?

If you didn't, why were you texting me for two months straight?" "You're just shallow! You hate me because I'm not a trustfund bimbo with a nose job!

You're a disgusting, superficial frat boy who never cared about an honest girl's heart!" I stared at her, genuinely fascinated by the mental gymnastics.

If she already knew she looked like a walking biohazard and didn't have a dime to her name, where did she get the confidence to demand me as a prize?

She caught the stark mockery in my eyes and lunged again, hands hooked like talons. I took a clean, effortless step backward, easily dodging her reach.

The last shred of my patience snapped. "Since you’re fully aware of your shortcomings, stay the hell away from me," I said, my tone dropping to absolute zero. "Now that you know I don't give a damn about you, do us both a favor: block my number, delete the chat, and don't breathe in my direction again." Hearing that I was cutting the cord for good, Brittany panicked.

She stepped straight into my personal space.

A suffocating wave washed over me—the rank stench of stale sebum, unwashed clothes, and sour sweat that smelled like gym socks left rotting in a plastic bag.

My stomach violently spasmed.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, tightening my grip on my weekend duffel, fighting the raw physical impulse to swing it into her face just to create five feet of breathable air.

Back in the corner booth, Emma realized her little psychological experiment had completely derailed.

Unable to maintain her undercover post, she stormed out and planted herself directly between me and the glass double doors.

For a second, I thought she was stepping up to admit the prank and salvage whatever dignity she had left.

Instead, her fists were clenched, her chest heaving with rehearsed moral outrage as she jumped in to defend Brittany. "Do you have any idea how toxic you're being right now?" Emma hissed. "You led Brittany on for an entire summer!

Our whole hall knows how hard she fell for you, and the second you meet facetoface, you treat her like trash because of her weight and her skin?" "What about the emotional vulnerability she gave you?

What about all those latenight conversations?

Does human connection mean literally nothing to you the second someone doesn't look like an Instagram model?" As her rehearsed speech echoed through the cafe, the floating text exploded into a storm of hearteyes and weeping emojis.

Oh my god, how can the male lead be so heartless? My poor baby Emma's heart is breaking in realtime. She’s so rideordie.

Even after seeing how cruel he is, she’s still protecting her girl. She's too pure for this world. Look at her putting on a tough front while dying inside.

All Travis has to do is swallow his pride, pull her into a hug, and whisper an apology, and she'll forgive him.

Peak romance. 2 I looked at the unhinged, sycophantic text hovering over her head.

Then I looked at Emma, standing there with her arms crossed, glaring at me like a highschool principal caught in a bad teen drama. A low, dry laugh scraped past my throat.

She had the nerve to lecture me on superficiality? When she swiped on my profile in the campus cohort server, how much of that had nothing to do with my face?

If my avatar hadn't been an unedited, highres shot of me on my family’s boat in Newport, would Emma have ever bothered sliding into my DMs?

This whole thing started with mutual visual interest. Pretending it was some profound meeting of twin souls now was pathetic.

I crossed my arms, leaning back slightly. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?" "She asked me out. I turned her down. That is strictly between the two of us.

What business is it of yours?

What kind of campus whiteknight complex are you suffering from?" Emma’s righteous stance faltered, knocked off balance by the sheer lack of recognition in my voice.

She stumbled, grasping for footing. "I... I'm standing up for a friend! Brittany is my roommate, and she is one of the kindest, most selfless people on this campus.

You have no right to humiliate her like this!" "You two shared real intimacy all summer.

Are you telling me you never felt her sincerity?" The chat feed blurred past at breakneck speed. God, hearing Emma beg for someone else's sake is gutwrenching.

I’ve never seen her try this hard to make someone see the truth. What is wrong with this guy? How can he just spit on someone's emotional labor?

The corner of my mouth curled into a vicious sneer. Sincerity? What sincerity? The sincerity of sending loweffort 'thinking of you' texts while bingeing Netflix?

Relationships aren't a charity drive where you drop a few digital pennies in a bucket and automatically buy a boyfriend.

If sending a few dozen emojis constituted a binding emotional contract, I could date half the sorority row and send them all DoorDash every morning.

My effort would blow hers out of the water. I only kept the chat alive because the girl in the photos was gorgeous and her banter was tolerable.

If she had used her real face from day one, she would have sat in my message requests until graduation.

If I could turn back the clock to July, I’d punch my past self straight in the jaw with a single reminder: Never accept random friend requests from insecure sophomores.

With my family’s name and portfolio, finding an Ivytier, stunning girl was as easy as walking into a room.

If I asked for a threelegged dog with pedigree papers, people would hire private investigators to track one down for me. The cold amusement in my eyes turned razorsharp.

Emma and Brittany exchanged a quick, furtive look. Seeing me fall quiet, they evidently assumed their moral lecture had struck a nerve—that I was deep in wealthykid guilt.

Brittany took the cue and leaned in again, trying to close the deal. "Travis... even if it's a shock at first, you owe it to us to give this a real chance.

Just spend an hour with me.

Let me show you who I really am." She leaned forward, her nicotinestained fingers reaching to grab my wrist, fixing me with what she clearly believed was a look of soulful longing.

The moment Emma saw Brittany’s hand reach for my skin, her composure snapped. A possessive jealousy flared in her eyes, and she instinctively stepped in to block Brittany's arm.

Before Emma could touch either of us, I spun hard to the side. My diaphragm violently contracted.

I doubled over, my palm slamming over my mouth as a dry heave ripped through my ribs.

The cocktail of Brittany’s greasy hair, the sour reek of unwashed polyester, and that theatrical, suffocating attempt at seduction had officially broken my sensory limit.

I had been holding my breath for three straight minutes; seeing that face twist into a coy, seductive pout made my stomach violently revolt.

I stood there gagging onto the hardwood floor for several agonizing seconds.

Fumbling into my duffel bag, I yanked out a monogrammed linen handkerchief, pressed it hard against my nose, and finally forced the rising bile back down.

I straightened up, my eyes watering with rage, and glared at the two frozen girls. "I don't have a humiliation kink," I rasped through the cloth. "Looking at you makes me physically ill.

Take your 'sincerity' and find someone who can stomach standing within ten feet of you." The insult landed like a physical blow.

The color drained from Brittany’s face before rushing back in an ugly, congested plum. Right behind her, someone in the crowd let out a loud, unrestrained snort.

The Roasted Bean sat directly opposite the campus transit hub, and movein day meant the place was packed with upperclassmen and freshmen dragging suitcases.

Neither Brittany nor Emma had bothered to keep their voices down. A dense semicircle of twenty students had formed around us, watching the drama with iced lattes in hand.

Catching Brittany glaring wildly at him, the guy who had snorted took a step forward, completely unfazed. "What are you looking at me for?

Check a mirror, sweetie," he called out with a grin. "You’re a solid two acting like you’re entitled to a male model.

Since when does looking like a troll give you a VIP pass to a hot guy?" With the ice broken, the rest of the cafe joined in, the collective whispers turning into open mockery. "Seriously, where does she get off trying to guilttrip a guy out of her league?" "If it were the blonde girl, sure, they look like a Greek life power couple.

But the other one?

Delusional." "The sheer entitlement of averagelooking people these days is wild." 3 Brittany stood pinned beneath the laughter, her skin turning an ashen, humiliated gray.

Half a step behind her, a flicker of petty, undeniable satisfaction crossed Emma’s face.

She subtly pulled her shoulders back, accentuating her waist, repeatedly flicking her gaze toward me to make sure I noticed the contrast.

I didn't care about their pathetic passiveaggressive hierarchy. All I wanted was to breathe clean air, far away from this toxic circus.

I hoisted my bag, but before I could take two steps toward the exit, the cafe door chimed open. Dennis, my newly assigned dorm roommate, strolled in.

The second he spotted me, an oily, performative grin split his face, and his voice boomed across the cafe like a bad infomercial. "Travis! Bro!

Weren't you supposed to be on an epic coffee date with your dream girl? Why are you packing up already?" "You're unbelievable, man!

You lock down a girlfriend before syllabus week and you don't even introduce her to the guys in the suite?" My eyebrows snapped together.

When I left the dorm an hour ago, I had specifically told him I was grabbing a casual coffee with an online mutual. Where the hell had 'girlfriend' come from?

Dennis didn't care about the warning in my eyes. He sauntered over, and the moment his eyes landed on Brittany, a sleazy, conspiratorial chuckle slipped out. "Well, well!

You must be the lucky lady Travis wouldn't shut up about!" "Listen, don't let his cold face scare you—he’s just emotionally reserved, you know? Highmaintenance trustfund boy.

But deep down, he's totally obsessed with you!" "You take good care of our boy, okay? Don't break his heart!" Those three sentences hit Brittany like pure oxygen on a dying fire.

The shame on her face vanished, replaced by an explosive, desperate mania. She lunged toward me again, practically trembling with greed. "Travis! I knew it!

I knew that's how you really felt!" "If you're that crazy about me, it's settled—we're exclusive now!

You don't have to put on a tough front anymore!" I ignored her completely, narrowing my eyes at Dennis.

Emma and Brittany were standing right next to each other, yet Dennis had bypassed the conventionally gorgeous girl and walked directly up to Brittany with pinpoint, premeditated precision. "Dennis," I said, my voice dropping into that quiet, dangerous register my family's attorneys used before filing a motion. "Who told you she was my girlfriend?" "I never said anything remotely like that in the room.

Today is the first time I've ever laid eyes on either of them." "Are you intentionally manufacturing rumors about me?" Dennis ducked his head with a performative display of fratboy innocence, putting his hands up. "Hey, my bad, bro!

You were checking your reflection so many times before leaving, I just figured you were head over heels!" Then, catching Brittany’s face again, he let out an exaggerated gasp of fauxrevelation, turning to scold me. "Oh, come on, Travis!

Don't tell me you're bailing just because she doesn't look like a TikTok filter!" "Bro, take it from me—you can't be that shallow. Character is what lasts!

A good heart is what matters!" "If your ego ruins things with a devoted girl like this, you're gonna spend your whole life regretting it!" Watching him aggressively push this repulsive pairing onto me, the pieces clicked into place.

The guy was acting like a paid operative. Right on cue, the floating text flickered back into view.

Only this time, the invisible audience wasn't dragging me—they were tearing into Dennis. Ugh, this predatory sidecharacter is so transparent!

He’s trying to saddle the male lead with the ugly sidekick so he can clear the runway to hit on Emma!

Remember when he slid into Emma's friend's DMs last week pretending to be an ally?

He told the group chat he was 'rooting for Emma and Travis,' and I thought he was being a cute wingman! Turns out he was plotting to steal her all along!

Well, every good slowburn romance needs an obstacle! If Dennis doesn't stir the pot, how will Travis realize his true feelings?

After they fight over this, Emma and Travis are gonna be inseparable!

Emma gave Dennis an approving nod, chiming in on cue, her tone sanctimonious and sharp. "I think your roommate is completely right.

How can you judge a person strictly by their shell?

The most important thing about anyone is their character!" Hearing Emma’s validation, Dennis practically glowed, a smug flush creeping up his neck.

I looked at both of them and let out a cold, sharp breath. "Since your souls are so deeply aligned, why don't you two date each other?" 4 Emma froze, her face instantly souring into undisguised disgust.

Dennis, however, went bright red, ducking his head like a dorky teenager who had just been handed a homecoming date with the prom queen.

The floating chat immediately threw a collective fit. How could he say that?! He’s ripping Emma's heart to shreds!

She’s literally suffocating inside, and she still has to pretend she's okay! No girl can handle being shoved into another guy's arms by the person she loves!

How could she ever downgrade from Travis to a desperate loser like Dennis?

I tuned out the nonsense, keeping my eyes fixed coldly on Brittany. "Dennis went to great lengths to defend your honor just now," I said casually. "Sounds like he genuinely appreciates your inner beauty." "Why don't you two make it official?

Sounds like a match made in heaven." A flicker of raw calculation flared in Brittany’s eyes.

She hadn't been the one chatting with me all summer anyway; she had only agreed to act as the ugly duckling for Emma’s twisted loyalty test.

If she could walk away from this disaster with Dennis—who was cleanshaven, dressed decently, and had a working car—it was still a massive personal win.

Dennis, however, went white as a sheet. His hands flailed in frantic denial. "Whoa, whoa, Travis! What kind of sick joke is that?

You two spent the whole summer building a connection, and now you’re trying to dump her on me?" "I don't mess with another bro's girl!" Catching the eager glint in Brittany’s eyes as she leaned toward him, Dennis's panic spiked into pure terror.

Whatever sleazy little calculation he had running through his head vanished. He didn't even have the composure left to flatter Emma.

Mumbling something about needing to register his parking pass at campus safety, he spun around and bolted through the cafe doors like a shoplifter.

I used the confusion to walk straight out the door. Thinking back on the whole encounter, I felt nothing but intense nausea.

I had come to college looking for a clean slate and maybe an attractive, uncomplicated girlfriend, not to be cornered by two narcissists and an opportunist in a public cafe.

Unfortunately, the headache was just beginning. The second I got back to the dorm, I blocked Emma’s Discord, her number, and her Instagram.

Finding herself completely locked out, Emma ran straight back to Dennis.

Dennis didn't want to get pulled into the crosshairs again, but he was too desperate for Emma's attention to say no.

That very evening, Dennis cornered me in the common room, insisting on treating me to a burger offcampus to "clear the air"—conveniently failing to mention that Emma and Brittany were already waiting at the diner booth.

Thanks to the spoiler alerts scrolling across my vision, I already knew every detail of their little ambush.

Fed up with the games, I shattered the peace right there in the suite. "A burger? There are four guys in this suite, Dennis. Why are you begging only me to go?" "Cut the crap.

Don't act like I don't see what you're doing.

If you have a crush on Emma, grow a spine and ask her out yourself." "Stop using me as your wingman, and stop trying to chain me to that unwashed freak just to make yourself look like a savior.

Don't you make yourself sick?" Our other two suitemates, Ryan and Marcus, paused their game of FIFA and gave Dennis deeply suspicious looks.

Since moving in, I had covered the latenight DoorDash orders, brought an 85inch OLED for the living room, and never acted like a snob.

They naturally sided with me. "Wait, Dennis, what the hell?" Marcus frowned. "Travis is literally a catch.

Why are you trying to force him onto a girl he clearly doesn't want?" Dennis’s face burned, but he dug his heels in. "I’m just trying to make sure people do the right thing!

Character matters!" "Besides, Travis talked to her every day this summer.

Dropping her the second they meet in person makes him a total user!" I leveled him with a deadeyed stare. "Dennis, if her character is so damn pure, go marry her yourself.

Keep her name out of your mouth around me, and don't ever put me in the same sentence as that creature again." Dennis opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Of course he wasn't going to touch Brittany. He found her just as physically repulsive as anyone else would.

I had zero intention of sharing a living space with a parasite who would compromise my safety for a girl's validation.

First thing the next morning, I called my family's real estate manager, packed my bags, and moved straight into a luxury penthouse two blocks from campus.

Outside of mandatory lectures, Dennis couldn't track my movements. Emma, on the other hand, grew completely frantic.

She got my class schedule from Dennis and began staking out the campus perimeter, waiting near the humanities building every single afternoon.

After three weeks of persistent surveillance, she finally cornered me outside the lecture hall.

Her plan had been to pull me aside, stage an emotional intervention, and get me to admit I had felt a spark for Brittany—at which point she would dramatically reveal her true identity, grant her forgiveness, and let us start fresh.

The moment she stepped out from the pillars, however, her eyes locked onto the woman walking beside me. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unhinged fury. "Travis!

You're cheating on me!"