Chapter 1: The Leak

Sean Drake dropped a video into our group chat: me, stepping out, wrapped in nothing but a bath towel.

The second I saw it, my heart plummeted. That bathroom door opened onto the tiny tiled hallway of my apartment, my footsteps echoed, suddenly deafening. I could almost hear the snickers, the hisses of gossip bouncing off every phone. My face flushed hot—shame and fury knotted in my gut. The worst part? I knew that angle. Sean must’ve hidden his phone on my dresser, behind a pile of crumpled college brochures and Polaroids. In that split second, the rich-kid bubble those trust fund kids lived in felt even tighter and meaner. They all saw me, and not one would stick up for me.

Every rich kid who’d ever chased me was in that chat, but none like Sean.

Sean—lazy grin, bedroom eyes, always acting like he owned the place—he was the one who lingered in my mind, sometimes making me grit my teeth. He had a way of making you feel like you were the center of his world, and then reminding you with a smirk that he could erase you with a snap. Even online, his presence was a current I couldn’t ignore—no matter how much I wanted to.

[That’s Sean for you. So, what’s it like finally getting the girl nobody else could? Care to share?]

A row of laughing emojis followed—the kind of laughter that only comes from kids with too much time and zero empathy. I pictured them sprawled across leather couches in penthouses, bored enough to burn someone just to feel something.

[Man, Sean really went for it—dating the valedictorian just to get back at his childhood crush.]

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. To them, my grades were a weapon, like I’d used academic success to lord over them. As if Sean’s drama had anything to do with me or the honor roll. Even in text, their voices dripped with privilege and entitlement.

[Cold-blooded—telling the top student she’s got cancer right before the SATs. No wonder she’s looked so upset lately.]

The rumor mill never quit. I could hear their laughter echoing off pool house walls—half pity, half mockery. To them, everything was a joke. I was just the latest target.

[Break up with her right after the test.]

The message landed with a thud—cruel, careless. Something you say when you’ve never lost anything that matters. Just another joke for kids who’d never wondered if rent would clear.

Sean sent a voice message—gone was the sweet, pitiful act he used on me.

His voice—hard, sarcastic, so far from the gentle way he’d say my name—crackled through the chat. I flinched. All that tenderness, all those soft touches—it was all a costume. Hearing him now, I finally saw the real Sean. Cold. Calculating. Like a guy swapping masks backstage.

I’d missed school over and over to sit with him at the hospital, letting my grades tank.

I remembered the hospital’s flickering lights, the beep of machines, Sean’s hand limp in mine whenever a nurse passed. I skipped chem labs and calculus just to be there for him, telling myself he needed me more than my GPA did. But every absence stacked up. The pile of missed assignments grew until it threatened to bury me.

Sean would lie there, faking weakness, waving a forged cancer diagnosis, his eyes all pretend worry.

"Mia, I’m sorry. I’m the one holding you back. Don’t spend any more money on my treatment."

His voice was fragile, trembling—like a kid auditioning for a school play. But I’d catch him sneaking glances at his phone, even as he squeezed my hand. Sometimes I wondered if he was even sick, but the paperwork looked real. I was desperate enough to buy it.

He knew I’d spent everything I had on his so-called illness.

I pawned the last of my mom’s jewelry, sold my laptop, even borrowed from neighbors. All for him. Sean watched my bank account drain with the same sad-puppy look—never offering to pay me back, never thanking me. I was empty, both in my wallet and my heart.

Sean waited for me to quit, but he didn’t think I’d scrape together another thirty grand to save his life.

I took every gig I could—babysitting, cleaning offices at midnight, delivering groceries on my rusted-out bike through pouring rain. The money was slow and dirty, but I did it. For Sean. For the hope that, if I just gave a little more, he’d finally love me the way I wanted.

The group chat exploded again: [What a jerk. Besides his looks, what’s he got? Why would Mia fall for him?]

Their disbelief burned. I wanted to scream that Sean was more than a pretty face—he was charm and mystery, the kind of wounded soul you think you can fix. But maybe, deep down, I knew they were right. Maybe the real fool was me.

[Mia even sold her house for him. That was her mom’s only inheritance.]

That line hit like a punch. The little house with the peeling fence—the only place that was ever mine—gone. The kind of mistake you only make once, if you’re lucky enough to survive it.

[What a shameless bastard. Jake, did you tell Mia the truth or not?]

The name Jake jumped out at me—sharp, unwelcome. He’d always been there in the background, watching me flounder in Sean’s web. I wondered if he ever tried to warn me, or if he just liked the spectacle.

[Shit. Idiot. You sent this to the wrong group—Sean’s in here. Delete it, quick!]

Panic hit the chat. The bubbles vanished one by one, like they could erase the evidence. But the truth was out. There was no deleting what I’d seen—or what Sean had heard.

One by one, the messages disappeared, and Sean’s face in the hospital bed went ghost-white.

He looked like a ghost—eyes wide, skin drained of color, his fake bravado shattered. For the first time, I saw fear in him—not for his fake illness, but for himself. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.