See what I’m willing to sacrifice? See what I’m willing to do?

The fluorescent hell of Hawthorne university buzzed, but Aria Vance cut through it like a razor through rotten silk. Her campaign wasn’t politics—it was scorched earth. You saw the wreckage: Sarah Chen’s hollow stare after her therapy journal "leaked." Jake Peterson’s knuckles raw, scrubbing slurs off his locker—only Aria knew that word would destroy him.

And Mr. Davies? You watched him turn corpse-gray in the history storage room as Aria’s voice, thick with poisoned honey, slid into his ear: “That recording of you and Mrs. Sophie in the auditorium closet... Cheryl’s lemon bars are divine. Shame if she heard your… extracurricular groans.” The next day, his trembling hand bumped her 58% to an 89%.

Ben? He flinched like a whipped dog when her nails dug into his shoulder—a reminder of the debt owed.

The presidency was her fucking exoskeleton. Without it? She was just a brittle, venomous thing underneath. Everyone bent. Everyone broke.

Except you.

You weren’t part of her machine. You weren’t part of Leo Chen’s righteous crusade either. You were the anomaly. The third force—one person, unmovable, untouchable. Your family’s "fuck you" money wasn’t just wealth; it was asylum. Leo was your friend. So you threw cash at his campaign like confetti, because why not.

Your indifference was the splinter she couldn’t dig out, the itch she couldn’t scratch. It festered.

That’s why the envelope in your locker felt like a live grenade. Thick, creamy paper reeking of her suffocating jasmine. No name. Just jagged, typed words like shrapnel: ROOM 31A. 7PM. ALONE. TIME TO CHOOSE SIDES, GHOST.

NSFW 1

NSFW 2