Chapter 3

The first thing I did when I got back to the dorm was contact the campus forum administrator and ask them to preserve the original post and its data.

I waited half an hour without hearing back.

Meanwhile, the post had exploded, going from just over 700 comments to more than 2,000. Someone even tracked down my social media account and dug up a photo of me at a formal event two years ago.

In the photo, I was wearing a men's watch. People quickly identified it as a luxury watch worth over 30,000 dollars.

"Here's your proof! What college student wears a watch that expensive?"

"Didn't he apply for financial aid?"

"Get your facts straight. That was someone else with the same name."

"Look at all these people scrambling to defend him. How much are they getting paid?"

The watch belonged to my grandfather.

Its face was worn, and it didn't even keep accurate time anymore. I'd only worn it once, on the anniversary of his death.

But no one cared about that. They just needed an expensive watch to make their sleazy accusations seem credible.

I didn't bother responding. I kept taking screenshots instead.

At 9:00 pm, Hugo came back to pack his things. He walked in without looking at me and started tossing his clothes into his suitcase.

"Going home?" I asked.

"No," Hugo replied.

He kept his back to me, packing faster with every passing second. "I've already put in a request to switch dorms."

The dorm fell silent except for the rasp of his zipper as he closed his suitcase.

"I'm sorry, Nate," Hugo said out of nowhere.

He hesitated, then glanced at me, his expression uneasy. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that someone posted a picture of us together, and now people are asking if I have a sugar mama, too."

I looked at him without saying much. "Right."

"My mom saw the post and called me three times. She told me to stay away from you," Hugo admitted.

"Then go ahead and move," I replied.

Hugo stood there for a long moment before finally grabbing his suitcase and leaving. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the dorm eerily quiet.

I stared at the cold coffee on my desk, my fingers stiff. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt.

Three years of living together, and one twelve-second video was all it took to drive us apart.

But I couldn't bring myself to blame him. Not everyone was willing to risk their reputation to stand by a friend.

At midnight, another post appeared on the forum.

"The Luxury Car Was Only the Beginning. Top Student Nate Durham Allegedly Spent the Night at a Five-Star Hotel with a Mysterious Wealthy Woman."

The post included two photos. The first showed Donna carrying my luggage as we walked into a hotel. The second was a screenshot of the hotel's check-in records.

The names listed were Donna's name and mine. Even the last few digits of my ID number matched.

This time, no one came to my defense.

My inbox was soon flooded with messages.

"Hey, handsome. Hook me up with her sometime. I'm younger than you!"

"What's it like sleeping with an older woman?"

"How much do you charge per night?"

I closed my inbox and enlarged the screenshot of the hotel records.

Three months ago, on November 17, I did stay at that hotel.

It was Mom's birthday.

Dad was called away on a last-minute business trip, so he asked me to take Mom to a formal dinner and spend the night with her at the hotel afterward.

Donna had driven us there and carried our luggage.

I called the hotel. After I explained things, the front desk attendant politely said they couldn't release their internal records to me.

"Someone's posted forged check-in records from your hotel online. I need the original records to prove they're fake," I explained.

"I'm sorry, sir, but guest information is confidential. We can only release those to the police or other authorized investigators," the attendant replied.

I frowned, trying to think of another way to get the evidence I needed. "What about the security footage? Do you still have it?"

"We typically keep footage for three months," the attendant explained. "You'll need to check with our security team to confirm whether it's still available."

Today was February 17—exactly three months since that night. The timing couldn't be a coincidence.

I stared at the calendar, a sinking feeling settling in my gut.

This wasn't a random act of malice. Someone had clearly planned this well in advance. They'd been keeping tabs on me for a while.

And that video of me getting into the car might not have been a coincidence, either.