The black Maybach dropped Brenda off at the edge of the Northbridge University campus.
She limped out of the car, ignoring the driver's offer to help. Her knee throbbed with every step, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of Bryon's threat.
As she walked down the tree-lined path toward the Humanities building, she noticed students turning to stare at her. A group of girls sitting on a bench pointed in her direction, whispering furiously behind their hands.
Brenda frowned. She pulled out her phone, which she had charged in the car, and opened the university's internal forum app.
The top trending post had a bright red 'HOT' tag next to it.
Title: Hypocritical Lecturer Destroys Roommate's Life Out of Jealousy.
Brenda's stomach dropped. She clicked on the post.
It was written by Sloane. The post was a tear-jerking essay about how Brenda, jealous of Sloane's "pure friendship" with Emery, had violently kicked her out of their apartment and thrown freezing water on her.
Attached was a selfie of Sloane, her hair wet, mascara running down her face, looking like the ultimate victim. Below that was a maliciously cropped photo of Brenda standing too close to an older, married male professor, making it look like they were flirting.
The comments were a bloodbath.
User12: I always knew Vincent was a fake. Sleeping her way to tenure.
User45: Fire her! She's a psycho!
Brenda's vision swam with red-hot anger. Her fingers gripped the phone so tightly the cracked screen spiderwebbed further.
She didn't stop to argue with the staring students. She marched straight to her office, went inside, and locked the door behind her.
She opened her laptop. She connected her phone and transferred the video she had taken in the apartment.
Because the video showed Sloane and Emery half-naked, posting it raw would violate revenge porn laws and get her fired instantly. Brenda opened a video editing software. Her hands moved with cold, mechanical precision.
She blurred out the lower halves of their bodies completely. She kept Sloane's face crystal clear. She boosted the audio track so Sloane's moans and her exact words-"You're so much better than Brenda"-were impossible to miss.
Just as she finished exporting the file, someone started pounding violently on her office door.
"Brenda Vincent! Open the door!"
It was Sloane's voice, shrill and demanding.
Brenda stood up, smoothed her skirt, and unlocked the door.
Sloane stood in the hallway, flanked by three angry-looking student council members. A crowd of curious students had already gathered in the corridor, holding up their phones to record the drama.
Sloane crossed her arms, playing to the crowd. "You need to apologize to me publicly, Brenda. You ruined my clothes, you kicked me out, and you're spreading lies about me and Emery!"
Brenda looked at Sloane's fake, teary eyes. She felt absolutely nothing but contempt.
Without saying a word, Brenda turned around, picked up her laptop, and walked back to the doorway. She turned the screen to face the crowd and cranked the volume to maximum.
She hit the spacebar.
The sound of wet slapping and Sloane's breathy voice echoed loudly through the concrete hallway.
"You're so much better than Brenda. She's so boring."
The entire hallway went dead silent. The students who were recording lowered their phones, their mouths hanging open in shock.
Sloane's face drained of all color. She lunged forward, screaming, trying to slam the laptop shut.
Brenda shoved her back hard with her free hand.
"You slept with my boyfriend on my sofa," Brenda said, her voice carrying clearly down the hall. "And then you come here to play the victim? You are pathetic."
The crowd erupted. The whispers turned into loud, disgusted groans directed entirely at Sloane.
"She's a homewrecker!" someone yelled.
Sloane panicked. She looked around wildly. "No! Emery forced me! I didn't want to!"
"Save it," Brenda cut her off coldly. "I've already dumped that trash. You two deserve each other."
Brenda tapped her trackpad. "I just emailed this video, along with the timestamp and location data, to the University Disciplinary Committee. Have a nice life, Sloane."
Brenda stepped back and slammed her office door shut, locking it.
She leaned against the wood, listening to Sloane sobbing and the crowd turning on her. The adrenaline slowly faded, leaving her exhausted.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was a text from Mitch, Bryon's driver.
I am parked at the west gate. It is 7:15 PM.
The brief victory over Sloane vanished into thin air. The real monster was waiting.
Brenda went to the small mirror on her wall. She took out a high-necked black turtleneck and changed into it, making sure it covered every inch of her collarbone and neck. She put on loose black trousers to hide the bandage on her knee.
She walked out of the building. The black Maybach was waiting like a hearse in the shadows.
Brenda opened the door and got in. The car pulled away, heading toward the dark, sprawling estates of Long Island.
