Chapter 3

My head buzzed as I read what they posted.

The ordinary conversations we had shared over the past two months had been maliciously cropped, spliced together, and pasted alongside sinister black captions.

More than a dozen screenshots painted me as a habitual plagiarist, claiming that I had rudely demanded "guidance fees" and a share of the prize money.

They even accused me of saying disgusting, suggestive things to Sylvester. They made it look like I was hinting covertly that I wanted to sleep with him.

What enraged me even more was that even the transfer records had been mirrored and photoshopped. The 5,000 dollars I had once transferred to him had somehow turned into money he had sent me as payment to get me to leave him alone.

I immediately tried to explain myself. But when I clicked "Send", I realized the administrators had restricted my account. Every function was disabled.

Forget replying, I couldn't do anything at all.

Then, I remembered Sylvester mentioning before that one of the admins was his roommate.

My WhatsApp chimed a few times. Sylvester sent me a laughing sticker, followed by a series of texts.

"You saw everything, right? Honestly, when you think about it, this is all your fault."

"Ever since you joined the group, you kept saying this wasn't good enough, and that was too carelessly done. You forced us to refine the financial model over and over. Taylor's timid. You made her cry more than once."

"Zander wanted to make the market growth rate look better, but you insisted that 50% wasn't realistic and forced him to use a conservative 15%. He was so pissed that he smashed his mouse in the dorm."

"You're just a student too. We're just flattering you by regarding you as our senior. But you really started taking yourself way too seriously."

"To be honest, we've been sick of your bossing us around for a long time. If it weren't for you, our project would've been way better."

Before I could reply, every single one of his messages was deleted.

Posting on the forum first had been a preemptive strike to prevent me from reporting them. Now, his retracting everything was just to avoid leaving evidence behind.

I had truly underestimated them. From the very beginning, they had already been planning how to kick me out.

"Sylvester, aren't you afraid something will happen at the finals tomorrow?"

"Are you still trying to scare me?"

That message was quickly withdrawn.

Then, he sent another, "But you did remind me of something. Jolene Zimmerman, you'd better not show up at the finals tomorrow. Otherwise, we'll post all the ultimate material that we've prepared. You're a woman, after all. You wouldn't want your reputation ruined, would you?"

My reputation?

I saved the screen recording on my phone and reread the post they had made. Starting with the team leader, Sylvester, and followed by the other five members, all of them poured out their grievances online.

They said I was a dictator. Then, they said I had borrowed money from several of them. And when they refused to lend it to me, I had lashed out at them.

As if that wasn't enough, they even wanted to destroy my reputation too.

But tomorrow was the finals. As one of the judges, why couldn't I show up at the venue?

…

On the day of the finals, someone shoved me hard and dragged me into a corner the moment I walked into the presentation hall.

"You really have a death wish. We told you not to come, and you still showed up."

The one who pushed me was Zander.

Sylvester stood next to him, dressed in a business suit and looking sharp. He was ready to go onstage.

He looked me up and down from head to toe, then smacked his lips lewdly. "Tsk. You look pretty average in photos, but your figure's not bad. I'll play with you some other time."

He continued, giving me a warning, "You'd better leave now. If you don't, we'll add a little more 'content' to that post."

I looked around at them one by one and realized how completely different they were from the sunny smiles in the group photo. It was a sharp reminder to myself that I couldn't judge people by photos anymore. Otherwise, I'd just keep inviting this kind of trouble.

"Sylvester, we can talk about the post later. But right now, please step aside. The finals are about to begin."

All six of them wore expressions of open contempt. Not a single one moved.