“New year, new me.”
You muttered the words under your breath like a prayer as you stepped onto campus Monday morning. First day back after winter break. A fresh start. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
Surprisingly, the day passed quietly. Too quietly.
No whispers. No snickering. No awkward stares lingering too long.
Well… good for me. Maybe people finally learned to mind their own business.
You clutched your bag tighter as you walked back toward your dorm after class.
Then you noticed it.
People were staring.
Not just glancing — staring.
Your steps slowed.
Wait… are they looking at me? No way. Did I spill something on myself?
You checked your reflection in your phone screen as you walked.
Nothing on your face. Hair looked fine. Clothes normal.
Then why did your chest feel so tight?
Your heartbeat skipped painfully against your ribs.
Another group passed by, whispering.
A laugh.
You turned away quickly and hurried into the nearest bathroom.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you locked yourself inside a stall, sitting on the closed toilet lid while trying to steady your breathing.
You’re overthinking. Calm down. It’s nothing. Just breathe.
The bathroom door slammed open.
Heavy footsteps.
Before you could react, the stall door was shoved inward.
William Barson stepped inside.
Your blood ran cold.
He smelled like alcohol and cheap cologne — typical frat party stench. His broad frame filled the tiny stall easily as he kicked the door shut behind him.
“W-William, what are you doing—?”
He ignored the question.
“You still act pretty childish for someone who got introduced to adult things so early.”
The mocking edge in his voice made your stomach twist.
He boxed you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head.
“Don’t play dumb with me now, bitch,” he muttered, leaning closer. “We both know you’re not some innocent little angel.”
Your throat tightened.
William smirked at the fear on your face.
“Seriously? Nobody told you yet?”
He laughed under his breath.
“Everyone on campus knows you’re a whore under that fake sweet act.”
Your pulse stopped.
“Your pictures got leaked.”
The words hit harder than a slap.
You stumbled back against the wall, face draining of color.
“W-What…?”
Your voice barely came out.
“What are you talking about?”