Stacey had always known how to pick back up. That was what people admired about her—grace under pressure, dignity in pain. But this? This was different. This wasn't just about heartbreak or betrayal. This was war.
The moment Alex handed her the list of names that had accessed the journalism lab server in the last month, she felt the shift deep in her bones. Five names. One of them had tried to destroy her.
The list included three journalism students, one senior editor, and a mystery access code that didn't match any registered user.
"Could be a backdoor login," Alex said, scrolling through code. "Someone with admin-level access creating a ghost account to cover their tracks."
"And that someone had to know what they were doing," Stacey replied. "That narrows it down."
Alex hesitated before speaking. "There's a name on here that jumps out. Kayla Mercer."
Stacey blinked. "Kayla? She's the opinion editor. We used to be… friendly, I guess. But we had a falling out last semester."
"What happened?"
Stacey exhaled. "We both submitted pieces for a university-sponsored essay contest. Mine won. Hers was… disqualified. There were rumors of plagiarism. She always swore it wasn't true."
Alex looked thoughtful. "Maybe this is her idea of justice."
Stacey clenched her jaw. "Or revenge."
But she couldn't be sure yet. And guessing wasn't enough. She needed proof.
The next day, Stacey and Alex staged a casual run-in with Kayla outside the library café. The tension in Kayla's shoulders as soon as she spotted Stacey was palpable.
"Hey, Kayla," Stacey said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Mind if we join you?"
Kayla hesitated but shrugged. "Free country."
They chatted, idle and shallow. But beneath the surface, Stacey watched every twitch, every hesitation. She mentioned the leaked photo in passing, gauging Kayla's reaction. A slight freeze. Blink. Then she smoothed her expression, too quickly.
"I heard about that," Kayla said coolly. "Sucks. But university gossip's brutal."
"You think someone from the paper would stoop that low?" Alex asked, sipping his coffee.
Kayla's eyes darted to him. "We don't get involved in petty drama. We write facts."
"Right," Stacey said with a slow nod. "Facts that ruin lives."
A flicker of something—guilt? Satisfaction?—crossed Kayla's face.
When they left, Alex said, "She knows more than she's saying."
Stacey's phone buzzed as they walked. A message from an unknown number.
You're getting warm, Stacey. But be careful. Some truths are more dangerous than lies.
She stopped cold. Alex leaned over to read it.
"Someone's watching us," he said.
"Or following everything we do online," Stacey whispered. "We need to be smarter."
That night, Stacey couldn't sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling while questions chased each other in her mind. Who was the puppet master? And why her?
Over the next few days, they dug deeper. Alex hacked into the journalism lab's dormant cache, recovering drafts, deleted messages, even blurred-out photographs.
Among the rubble was a single document—half-written, never published—titled The Fall of Stacey Blackwood. It described her as "a manufactured sweetheart," someone who "stepped on others to shine."
The venom was shocking. But it wasn't just the content—it was the voice. Stacey recognized it.
She knew this writing.
It wasn't Kayla's.
It was Sophie's.
The realization was like a punch to the chest.
Alex looked up as she sat frozen beside him. "What is it?"
"She wrote this," Stacey whispered. "Sophie. My best friend."
Alex blinked. "Wait—you're sure?"
Stacey nodded. "I used to edit her submissions for classes. That structure, those phrases… that's her voice."
It didn't make sense. Sophie had already betrayed her once. Why pour gasoline on the fire?
Unless… Sophie had planned everything from the beginning.
A knock came at Stacey's door. She opened it without thinking.
It was Daniel.
His eyes were bloodshot. Tired. "Can I come in?"
Every nerve in Stacey screamed to slam the door in his face. But a part of her needed answers.
"Say what you came to say," she said.
Daniel stepped inside, hesitating like he was stepping into a confessional.
"Sophie lied to both of us," he said. "About a lot of things."
"I don't care anymore," Stacey said, folding her arms. "You both lied. For a year."
Daniel's jaw clenched. "I never meant for any of this to happen. But you have to know—Sophie's not who you think she is."
Stacey stared at him. "Then tell me who she is."
Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "She's been playing us. All of us. She knew I wasn't going to propose. That I wanted out. But then suddenly… she had something on me. Threatened to expose private things. Stuff from my past."
"What kind of stuff?" Stacey asked warily.
Daniel didn't answer.
"Fine," she said, her voice cutting. "Then get out."
But just before he left, Daniel turned. "Watch your back, Stacey. Sophie doesn't just destroy lives. She collects the pieces."
Later that night, Stacey confronted Sophie. She didn't knock—she walked right into Sophie's dorm room, startling her.
"I know what you did," Stacey said, throwing the printed article draft on the desk. "You were behind everything."
Sophie looked at the paper. Her face didn't fall. She didn't flinch.
She smiled.
"You finally figured it out," she said.
Stacey stared at her, horrified. "Why?"
Sophie stood, arms crossed. "Because you took everything. The spotlight. The praise. Daniel. I was always the second choice—until I decided not to be."
Stacey's voice trembled. "So you planned this? Leaked the photo? Wrote the article?"
Sophie tilted her head. "Not all of it. I had help."
"Who?" Stacey demanded.
But Sophie just smiled and walked past her, whispering as she left the room, "You'll find out soon enough."
That night, another message came to Stacey's phone:
Sophie was only the beginning. Keep digging. But be warned—the truth doesn't set everyone free.
Stacey clutched her phone, heart racing.
The web was larger than she imagined.
And she was already trapped in the center of it.