GEEKY GIRL REVENGE

"You’ve always been beautiful and captivating, Ana."

It’s the compliment I’ve heard so often over the past few years. Strangely, instead of feeling flattered, I feel disgusted by it.

With the way I look now, people treat me kindly—always. But everything I’ve been through makes me wonder: Is this world only kind to those who look good? And if that’s true, then this world is deeply regressing. Then how would they treat me if I showed up as the old Tatiana—

After the bullying I went through five years ago, my parents moved me to a different country. The trauma from that time never fully left me. I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and for a long while, I had to avoid places and people that reminded me of what happened. Even now, I still attend therapy—though not as frequently as in the first year.

In this new place, I changed my nickname to Ana on purpose. Not just the name—I changed my entire appearance. I did everything I could to avoid going through the same pain again.

But making peace with the past hasn’t been easy. That fear still lingers, creeping in whenever my thoughts unintentionally return to that time. It all started with a single page, stolen from my diary. That one piece of paper turned my quiet life into a nightmare. My innermost thoughts were exposed—twisted with disgusting sentences written by someone I never identified. The boy I wrote about—the center of those pages—was furious when he read it. His anger only deepened my humiliation. He rejected me in public, using words that cut deeper than he could imagine. His rage sparked a wave of mockery across the campus. Worse, I was viciously bullied by his obsessive fan group.

I’ll never be able to forget the chain of cruel events sparked by whoever stole my diary—and by that heartless guy.

Even now, I still wonder—was it truly wrong of me to change my appearance? All I ever wanted was to hide my true identity. I hoped to build sincere, meaningful connections—ones not shaped by status or outward appearances. Yes, my family comes from privilege, but I never wanted that to define who I am. Still, I was mistaken. The genuine friendships I longed for may have been nothing more than wishful thinking. Because here, in this new place, with this new look, I was accepted effortlessly. And now, I have four friends who show me nothing but warmth and kindness.

"You’re right, Ana’s always stunning. Wait—we need to capture this moment!" one of my friends said excitedly.

It had been two years since graduation, and this was my first time attending a departmental reunion. My father had entrusted me with one of the subsidiary companies he built from the ground up. Naturally, my first year there drained most of my time and energy.

After taking enough videos and photos, my friends dragged me down to the dance floor. Three of them were already busy entertaining their boyfriends, while I swayed alone to the rhythm of the music—accompanied only by Cecil, who was nursing a fresh heartbreak.

"You’re right, Ana’s always stunning. Wait—we need to capture this moment!" one of my friends said excitedly.

It had been two years since graduation, and this was my first time attending a departmental reunion. My father had entrusted me with one of the subsidiary companies he built from the ground up. Naturally, my first year there drained most of my time and energy.

After taking enough videos and photos, my friends dragged me down to the dance floor. Three of them were already busy entertaining their boyfriends, while I swayed alone to the rhythm of the music—accompanied only by Cecil, who was nursing a fresh heartbreak.

"Never trust any man. They’re all jerks!" she ranted, carrying a wine bottle she refused to let go of.

"Don’t get too drunk—you didn’t bring a driver," I said, trying to be heard over the music.

"But I have you. You’ll always look after me, Ana!" she replied, already halfway drunk.

"I want to drink ‘til I black out!" she added before stumbling away toward the bar again, leaving me to dance alone. I shook my head as I watched her go, then let myself get lost once more in the rhythm.

A few minutes passed when I suddenly felt someone pressing against me from behind.

"Mind if I join you?" a whisper startled me.

I quickly turned around—and of course, it was Dario, the senior who used to be known as the campus playboy.

"Sorry, but I’m tired," I said, stepping away. But before I could move, he grabbed my wrist.

"Can’t you just keep me company for a bit?" he asked, not letting go. I shook my head and tried to pull my hand free, but his grip tightened.

"No one says no to me, Ana," he said, pulling me closer.

"And I still want to say no," I snapped, kicking him hard in the shin and stomping my heel onto his foot.

"Sorry," I added dryly, without a hint of guilt, before walking away as he cursed in pain behind me.

"What a creep," I muttered, making my way to the bar—only to find Cecilia passed out cold, half of her body slumped over the counter.

I scanned the room, searching for the rest of my friends. Only one of them caught my eye—Grace. She waved at me from across the room. A few minutes later, she was standing beside me, slightly out of breath.

“I’m heading out soon,” she said, taking a sip from her wine glass. Before drinking, she gave me a look and asked, “Are you okay handling her by yourself?” She glanced at Cecil, still slumped over at the bar.

“Go ahead. I’ll have my assistant take care of her later,” I replied.

“You’re always so thoughtful. I’ll call you later, okay?” she said, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before reaching for her clutch.

“Oh wait—” she suddenly turned back to me.

“Cecil’s cousin contacted me earlier. He said if she gets too drunk, I should let him know. So, if a handsome guy with a ridiculously perfect body comes looking for her, just give her to him. No need to bother your assistant.”

“Hey, that sounds more of a hassle than calling my assistant,” I said with a sigh.

“Ana, come on. I already told him Cecil was in your care,” Grace replied.

I muttered a soft curse, my eyes narrowing as she spoke. But she didn’t seem to notice my reaction. Instead, she kept talking while tapping on her phone.

“He’s just her cousin—totally harmless. I’ve met him several times. He’s sweet, trust me.”

Then, leaning closer, she whispered, “He’s seriously hot.”

I pulled my head back as she gave me a playful wink and grin.

“Just go! I’ll wait for him here,” I said, raising my voice slightly. Grace laughed at my expression.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” she giggled as she turned and walked away.

“Fvck! What’s his name?” I muttered under my breath, suddenly realizing I never asked.

I let out a frustrated sigh when I still didn’t get a response from Grace. I kept checking my phone over and over again. No replies. No calls. Then it hit me—I had forgotten one important thing. Once Grace is with her boyfriend, not even an earthquake could get her attention.

“Grace…” I muttered irritably. What if the person coming to pick up Cecil wasn’t actually her cousin? What if it was one of her exes—the ones she always called rude and aggressive for not accepting her one-sided breakups? I never really knew who Cecil had dated. Out of all four of my friends, she was the most private when it came to her relationships.

My fingers danced over my phone screen again, this time sending a message to my assistant.

I blinked, swallowing hard as my entire body went rigid. Standing right in front of me was a man I couldn’t mistake for anyone else. Hugo Maximiliano Cassilas. The bastard who had dragged me into the nightmare of public humiliation five years ago. Just the sight of him yanked me straight back into that dark past.

“Thanks for looking after Cecil for me. Sorry if I kept you waiting too long,” he said calmly.

I gave him a stiff smile in response, forcing myself to keep it together. But the moment his strong hand reached out to touch Cecil, I instinctively stepped forward, brushing his hand away.

“I’m sorry, but I have to look after my friend,” I said, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest.

“She’s currently dealing with a very disrespectful man, and I don’t know who he is. I also don’t know much about Cecil’s family. So, could you show me something—anything—to prove you’re who you say you are?”

It took everything in me to say those words to him. Hugo chuckled, his dark eyes never leaving mine. Then he slowly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone.

“Will this do?” he asked, showing me a photo of what looked like a big family gathering.

“You can take her,” I finally said, giving my permission.

But instead of moving toward Cecil, Hugo stepped forward—closing the distance between us.

“Don’t you recognize me?” he asked, his voice low.

I looked up, our eyes meeting in a long, charged stare.