Dellhey University was abuzz with excitement. Samaira Ashford's parties were infamous, and her upcoming soirée promised to outdo them all. The boys were eager, the girls curious, and at the center of it all was Samaira herself, meticulously planning every detail.
But this wasn't just a party. It was the stage for Samaira's ultimate plan—a desperate, conniving attempt to regain her lost spotlight by destroying the one who had unknowingly taken it: Shellie Stillburg.
Samaira smirked to herself as she glanced at the tiny vial in her purse, its contents shimmering under the dorm light. "By tomorrow, Dellhey will know exactly who Shellie really is," she murmured.
Shellie had no intention of attending the party.
"Why would I want to subject myself to Samaira's drama?" she told her friend Lana during lunch earlier that day. "Her parties are just excuses for her to show off."
"But everyone's going," Lana pointed out. "If you don't, she'll just say you were too scared or something."
Shellie sighed. She wasn't afraid of Samaira's petty comments, but the constant attention she garnered at university—especially from the boys—made her hesitant to skip social events. Her absence would only fuel rumors.
"Fine," she said reluctantly. "But I'm not staying long."
When Shellie arrived at Samaira's party that evening, she instantly regretted it. The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume and spilled beer, and the music was deafening. She stuck to the corner of the room, sipping water and trying to ignore the boys who approached her with exaggerated charm.
Samaira noticed, her eyes narrowing. She made her way over with a drink in hand.
"Shellie, darling," she cooed, her tone dripping with faux warmth. "Why so quiet? Here, have a drink."
"No, thanks," Shellie replied firmly.
"Oh, come on," Samaira pressed, her smile tightening. "It's a party. Don't be such a bore."
"I don't drink," Shellie said, trying to sidestep her.
Samaira wasn't about to let her escape. She leaned in, lowering her voice. "You don't have to pretend to be perfect all the time, you know. Loosen up for once."
The boys around them chuckled, their eyes gleaming with interest. Feeling cornered, Shellie took the glass from Samaira's hand and sipped it reluctantly.
"Happy now?" she muttered.
Samaira's smile widened. "Very."
What Shellie didn't know was that Samaira had spiked the drink with a potent mix of sedatives and alcohol.
An hour later, Shellie's vision blurred, and her movements became sluggish. She felt disconnected from herself, her usually sharp mind clouded.
"Shellie, you look like you need to lie down," Samaira said, feigning concern.
Shellie nodded weakly, allowing Samaira to guide her to a room upstairs. Once inside, Shellie slumped onto the bed, her thoughts jumbled.
"Samaira," she slurred, her voice barely coherent. "You always say… your boobs are bigger than mine." She laughed—a soft, broken sound.
Samaira's lips curved into a sly smile. "Well, aren't they?"
Shellie squinted at her, her inhibitions stripped away by the drug. "I don't know… Let's see."
Samaira played along, encouraging Shellie to compare their figures as she discreetly recorded the entire encounter on her phone.
"Perfect," she whispered to herself, satisfied with the footage she had captured.
The next morning, Shellie woke up with a pounding headache and a gnawing sense of unease. Her memory of the previous night was fragmented, but something felt off.
Her phone buzzed incessantly. When she finally picked it up, she was greeted by a flood of notifications.
"What the…" Shellie's voice trailed off as she opened one of the messages.
It was a video.
Her video.
Samaira had uploaded the recording to social media, framing it with captions that painted Shellie as a drunken mess who had confessed her attraction to women.
"Dellhey's golden girl has a secret?"
"Guess she's not so perfect after all."
Shellie's stomach churned as she read the comments, each one more mocking than the last. Her hands trembled as she dropped the phone, burying her face in her hands.
"How could she do this to me?"
Samaira, meanwhile, basked in her triumph. She sat with her group in the cafeteria, scrolling through the flood of reactions to the video.
"She's finished," Samaira said smugly, taking a sip of her coffee.
The boys laughed, exchanging lewd jokes about Shellie.
But not everyone found it amusing. Scarlett Winston, a reserved but observant student, had been quietly watching the events unfold.
She had always admired Shellie's composure and kindness, and the sight of her being humiliated so cruelly filled Scarlett with anger.
"This has gone too far," Scarlett muttered under her breath.
She stood, her jaw set with determination. If no one else was going to stand up for Shellie, then she would.