Chapter 3

I spun around. Two girls at the next table were talking, both dressed in matching pink hoodies.

When they saw me looking, neither backed down. Instead, one of them rolled her eyes and raised her voice. "What are you looking at? Am I wrong? Some people string a guy along and then humiliate him in public. She's a snake in disguise. She takes all his kindness, then turns around and runs to another man. Unbelievable."

Each word landed like a slap across my face.

I gripped my pen until my knuckles turned white. I wanted to snap back, but when I opened my mouth, all I felt was exhaustion.

Arguing with them would only prove that I was "lashing out in shame." That was exactly the effect Bryce wanted. He did not have to do anything. All he had to do was play the wounded, devoted victim, and everyone else would happily nail me to the cross for him.

I took a deep breath, gathered my things, and moved to the farthest corner of the study room.

The moment I reached my new seat, I saw it: the same little bear thermos, sitting on the corner of the desk. As if it had eyes of its own, it had found my new spot with perfect precision.

Someone walked past, spotted the thermos, and immediately started whispering, "She hid all the way over here, and he still found her. He's really persistent. If it were me, I would've been touched to tears already. How can she be so cold-hearted?"

I shoved the thermos aside. In this life, I would not touch it, not even once.

…

By Wednesday, things had gotten much worse.

At lunch, my phone would not stop buzzing. I opened the grad exam group chat and found hundreds of unread messages.

I had barely scrolled through two screens before my head started pounding.

Someone had posted a photo with the caption: [Girl accepts water from her senior while openly keeping a backup boyfriend on the side. Real player.]

The photo had been taken in secret from a sharp angle. It captured the exact moment I reached out to take the thermos. Sunlight fell across my face, and somehow, I actually looked like I was smiling.

The comments exploded.

[Knew she wasn't a good person.]

[Poor Bryce, running into a girl like this.]

[The grad exam circle is so small. Isn't she embarrassed?]

[Someone should tell her to switch study rooms. It's uncomfortable just looking at her.]

I stared at the screen, then laughed.

So this was what it felt like to have everyone turn against you.

I had done nothing wrong. All I wanted was to stay away from a man who was going to get me killed. Yet in everyone else's eyes, I had become the worst kind of woman.

…

I went to the cafeteria to buy breakfast. The moment I reached the entrance, I saw it: a long white banner hanging from the parasol tree beside the door.

The words had been scrawled in crooked black marker, but they were impossible to miss: [I like you, Whitney Lynch!]

Heat rushed to my head. I stormed into the study room and slammed my hand down on Bryce's desk.

"Bryce! Did you have someone put up that banner outside?" My voice shook with days of pent-up anger and hurt.

The few people still in the study room lifted their heads and looked over.

Bryce slowly closed his book and raised his eyes to me. A trace of hurt flickered in them.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle and measured, almost as if he were giving a lecture, yet loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "I only wanted to be good to you. It's fine if you don't want to accept that."

He paused and fixed his gaze on me, a faint sense of grievance in his expression. "But calling another man your boyfriend that day... That really did hurt me."

As soon as he finished, the study room fell silent. Everyone stared at me with the kind of look reserved for a criminal, as if I had committed some unforgivable offense and Bryce was the innocent victim.

I opened my mouth, but suddenly, the whole situation felt absurd. He was the one who had stalked me, harassed me, and backed me into a corner with nowhere to run. Yet somehow, I was the one in the wrong.

"Cut the act!" My voice trembled with anger. "You know exactly what you are..."

"What am I?" He met my gaze, his eyes calm. "I like you, so I wanted to be good to you. Whitney, I never forced you to do anything. Bringing you water was my choice. You don't owe me anything for it."