CHAPTER 62— The world is cruel

The university email had barely been open for thirty seconds when my phone lit up with notifications again. Not congratulations. Not even the grudging “welcome back” messages I’d half-expected from a few debate teammates. It was a forwarded screenshot from an anonymous campus confession page. The post was timestamped 2:17 a.m. last night hours after Lila had left the apartment with her tear-streaked apology. > “He forced me to come to his friends’ place last night. Threatened to ruin me if I didn’t retract everything. They recorded me ‘confessing’ so they could blackmail me later. I’m terrified. Please don’t let him get away with this again. #JusticeForSurvivors” Attached was a blurry photo: the outside of Aldric’s building at night, the intercom panel visible in the corner. Someone had circled the apartment number in red. My stomach dropped through the floor. I showed the screen to Aldric first. He went still, dangerously still, the way he did right before he started planning

CHAPTER 63— The second wave

Classes were still weeks away from me attempting to waltz in again because the moment I tried logging into my student portal, the system flagged my account for “additional verification.” A polite way of saying someone higher up was dragging their feet. They definitely believed her too, no one believed me, not one call from my parents. It seemed really convenient, as I wasn't rushing over to them to get justice they also were eager to have nothing to do with me. I stayed in the apartment. No point testing the waters when every time I thought about stepping outside, my stomach turned to lead. That afternoon, the GoFundMe hit ₦3.4 million. Aldric showed me the screenshot without comment. The description had been updated overnight: > Thank you for the overwhelming support. I’m safe for now, but the retaliation hasn’t stopped. Last night I was coerced into visiting the accused’s friends’ apartment under threat of further defamation. They recorded me “apologizing” to use against me

CHAPTER —The final play (1)

The lawyer’s office smelled like printer ink and old coffee. We sat in a row of stiff chairs while she laid out the plan like a chessboard, letters from Lila and the anonymous page admins, list of those who had said harmful words and sent threats, a formal defamation complaint against with the university’s legal office for not issuing a perfect investigation, a public timeline video, ready to drop the second we were ready to release evidence.Aldric spoke first. “We include the hallway footage of her visit. The calm walk out. The lack of visible distress.”The lawyer nodded. “And the vandalism at your door. The anonymous threats. We frame it as a pattern of escalating harassment against Zero, not an attack on her.”Seraphiel leaned forward. “We want her account suspended. The GoFundMe taken down. Everything.”“Platform policies are slow,” the lawyer warned. “But once the defamation suit is public record, GoFundMe usually freezes funds pending review. And if we can prove fraud—”I cut

CHAPTER 65— The final play (2)

The bus dropped me at the edge of our house, still as huge as always, the streetlights flickered on. No welcoming gate, no relatives waiting with phones out, and I was thankful. Just the hum of traffic, neon from the 24-hour bodega, and the faint smell of rain on hot asphalt. My old studio apartment was still sublet to some random grad student, it was a reward for many of my achievements, my own apartment outside my parents.. but I couldn’t go back there anyway, so I dragged my duffel to the cheapest motel on the outskirts, I couldn't deal with them just yet, good thing I haven't told them I was coming home. I felt dread thinking of how they'd bully me. The motel had the kind with flickering vacancy signs and stains on the carpet you don’t ask about. I paid cash. The clerk barely looked up. Inside the room I dropped onto the sagging mattress, back against the headboard, staring at the peeling wallpaper. No family to face. No cousins laughing in the hallway. Just silence and the

CHAPTER 66 — Midnight drift

Seraphiel slipped out of the apartment at 1:47 a.m., leaving Aldric asleep on the couch amid the war-room wreckage of laptops and printouts. He didn’t leave a note. He just grabbed his keys, his black hoodie, and the burner phone the PI had slipped him earlier that day.Aldric had tracked him to a quiet Airbnb on the east side of the city, small, anonymous, paid in cash for the week. Seraphiel knew the address by heart now. He drove with the windows down, city wind cutting through the car, trying to shake the restless heat under his skin. He hadn’t touched Zero in weeks, not like that, and the ache had turned vicious.He parked two blocks away. Walked the rest. The building was old brick, no doorman, buzzer broken. He climbed the fire escape like they’d done a dozen times before until he reached the third-floor window Zero always left cracked for air.He tapped the glass once.Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the blue glow of Zero’s phone screen. Zero sat on the edge of the bed i

CHAPTER 67— Slick and slow

The motel room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional car passing on the wet street outside. Rain had started again...soft, steady, drumming against the window like it was trying to drown out the world. Seraphiel hadn’t left after the first round. He’d stayed buried inside Zero for long minutes, softening slowly, kissing the sweat from his temples until Zero’s breathing evened out. Neither of them had spoken much. Words felt too heavy tonight.Eventually Seraphiel eased out, both of them wincing at the sudden emptiness. He rolled to the side, pulling Zero against his chest, one arm slung possessively over his waist. Zero’s back pressed to Seraphiel’s front, skin still flushed and sticky. They lay like that for a while, limbs tangled, hearts slowing in tandem, until Seraphiel’s hand started wandering again. Lazy circles over Zero’s stomach, dipping lower, brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.Zero shivered. “You’re insatiable.”Seraphiel’s