Chapter 2

I didn't pack up and leave right away. I acted as if nothing had happened.

If Fred wanted to play games, then fine. I would play along and see this whole twisted competition through.

I had already made up my mind. I was going to drag everything they had done out into the open.

Not just for myself, but for every girl they had lied to and tossed aside. I wanted the whole world to see what they really were behind those polished, fake smiles.

I reopened that post and messaged the girl who wrote it.

She replied not long after.

We agreed to meet at a small coffee shop downtown.

She was tiny, thin, and dressed in simple clothes. She looked like she was still in school. I could see the grievance, mixed with quiet anger, in her gaze.

After getting her permission, I asked her to walk me through everything: how her ex had lied to her and how she found out about the whole selection game.

She had already gathered a stack of evidence.

I recognized her ex right away. He was one of the guys in Fred's group chat. I had met him before; he was polite and soft-spoken, the kind of guy people trusted at first glance.

As it turned out, he was just as disgusting as the rest of them.

I asked if she knew any other girls who had been through the same thing. She nodded and sent me a few contacts.

Over the next few days, I worked quietly, collecting proof and reaching out to more girls who had been used and discarded by that group.

Most of them were willing to speak up.

Only one kept hesitating.

No matter how I tried to reassure her, she wouldn't agree.

"Even if we expose them, what changes? Their families are powerful. We don't have anything. They'll come after us. I tried posting about them before. It got taken down. After that, they harassed me for months. I even got death threats. I had to move three times…"

Her voice made my chest tighten.

I softened my tone. "Hey. It's okay. I'll take the heat. You won't have to face them alone."

I knew exactly who Fred and his friends were.

To most people, they were untouchable.

But to my family, they were nothing.

Still, she hesitated.

I didn't push her. I just told her to think about it and let me know.

When I got home, I heard low, breathy sounds drifting out from the kitchen.

I stopped in my tracks.

The door was slightly open. Through the gap, I could see two figures pressed together, moving in a way that made my stomach turn.

I thought about all the meals I had cooked in there, day after day. It made me feel sick.

I pulled out my phone, turned on the camera, and aimed it quietly at them.

Once I had what I needed, I stepped back, slipped my phone away, and raised my voice as if I'd just walked in.

"Fred, I'm home!"