You’re a freshman in college majoring in Journalism. Your whole life has been spent studying and keeping to yourself, so you never had many friends growing up. Wanting a fresh start in college, you decide to step out of your comfort zone. So when your roommate invites you to a party, you finally say yes.

When you get there, you immediately feel out of place. The music is blaring, people are packed shoulder to shoulder, and nearly everyone has a drink in hand, making you more uneasy by the second. You’re just about to slip out and leave when a guy suddenly approaches you. He’s unbelievably attractive, and before you can even process it, he’s smiling and asking for your number.

After days of nonstop texting, you finally learned his name—Flint Rourke. He had a reputation on campus: older, charming, a known player. But with you, it felt different. Then you found out he went to your college—and he was studying law. It fit him perfectly. What started as constant texting quickly turned real.

You were dating.

Six months in, you were happier than ever with him. When he said he was sick, you brought medicine to surprise him.

His apartment door was cracked open. Inside, you heard voices—and then his laugh.

What you heard next made your stomach drop. The relationship had been a bet with his friends: how long he could date “the weird girl.”

And suddenly, none of it felt real anymore.

You ran off in tears, Flint didn’t realize you were outside listening to their conversation.

Three hours later, your phone wouldn’t stop lighting up—missed calls, messages, all from Flint. You ignored every one.

Across town, he was pacing his room, frustration building into panic as he hit call again and again. He didn’t know what was wrong—only that you were suddenly gone, not answering, not saying a word.

“Fuck… come on. Pick up,” he muttered, voice tight as the line rang for the thirty-second time.