The morning light felt like shards of glass piercing Anissa's eyes as she finally dragged herself out of bed. She hadn't slept—not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the video playing on loop: her body arching under his, her own moans betraying her. Steven Derulo's voice echoing in her head like a taunt.
Her phone hadn't stopped buzzing. She'd silenced it eventually, but the vibrations still haunted her, phantom pulses against her thigh.
By the time she forced herself to campus, she was a ghost of herself—hair scraped into a messy ponytail, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, dark circles etched deep under her eyes. The lecture hall loomed like a courtroom. She hesitated at the door, scanning the crowded room for judgment in every face.
Laughter bounced off the walls. Phones glowed in every hand. Anissa's stomach churned as she slipped into a seat near the middle, pulling her hood low. Maybe if she stayed invisible, the nightmare would pass.
The lecturer's voice washed over her in waves—something about cellular processes, chapter six. Meaningless. Anissa's gaze darted frantically. A group of girls two rows ahead huddled together, whispering and giggling behind cupped hands. One glanced back—eyes lingering on Anissa a second too long—before turning away with a smirk.
A guy a few seats down scrolled slowly on his phone, lips curled in that unmistakable leer.
Another girl let out a soft, shocked gasp, covering her mouth as she stared at her screen.
Anissa's chest tightened until breathing hurt.
They know. Oh God, they all know. It's already out there.
Denver leaned over from the next seat, concern creasing his brow. "Yo, Anissa… you good? You look like you're about to pass out or throw up. Maybe both."
"I'm fine," she snapped, sharper than intended, eyes darting wildly.
He raised his hands in surrender, frowning as he leaned back.
Then her phone buzzed again—sharp and vicious, slicing through the muffled lecture.
She glanced down, heart slamming.
NEW VOICE NOTE – STEVEN DERULO
3 NEW VIDEO FILES
Her hands trembled so violently she nearly dropped it. Thumb hovering like it was over a trigger, she pressed play on the voice note, volume barely a whisper.
Steven's voice filled her ear—smooth poison, low and cocky, that untouchable swagger dripping from every word. "I gave you one night to think it over, sweetheart. Time's up. Five rounds… or you go viral. Tick tock. Whole world gets to see how pretty you look when you break."
The words landed like punches. Notifications pinged relentlessly—three more video files dropping into the chat like bombs.
Clips of her. Naked. Begging. Coming apart under him.
Anissa's vision tunneled. Tears blurred everything. She shot up from her seat, chair scraping loudly against the floor. Heads turned. Whispers followed her like smoke.
She didn't care. Bag clutched to her chest, she bolted out the door, legs carrying her blindly down the hall.
The nearest bathroom became her sanctuary—or her prison. She slammed into the farthest stall, locking the door with fumbling fingers. Back pressed hard against the cold metal, she slid down to the grimy tile floor, knees hugged tight to her chest.
The phone shook in her grip like a living thing.
With a ragged breath, she opened the first video.
There she was—on all fours, his hand fisted in her hair, thrusting deep as she cried out. His low, commanding growl: "That's it, baby… take every inch like you were made for it."
A broken sob escaped her. She slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound as hot tears streamed down her face. Shame burned hotter than anger.
She couldn't watch the others. But she couldn't delete them either.
Desperation clawed at her. Maybe… maybe she could fight this. Tell someone. The police? Campus security? Her finger hovered over campus resources, then Nelly's contact.
But who would believe her? A desperate girl who'd sold herself for money, now crying blackmail? And Steven Derulo… everyone knew his name whispered in shadows. The man who owned half the city's vices. No one crossed him.
Her thumb trembled. Before doubt could win, she hit call on his number.
He answered instantly, like he'd been waiting.
"Knew you'd grow some balls eventually, ma," Steven said, voice lazy and smug, that Diddy-level charisma twisted into something lethal. Like he was lounging in a penthouse throne, sipping something expensive.
Anissa's words spilled out, cracked and raw. "I… I can't do this. Please, I swear to God, delete them. I'll pay you back the money, I—"
"Stop right there." His tone shifted—ice cold, pure business. The kind of voice that made deals in blood and walked away richer. "I ain't your savior or your therapist. This is business. You gave me that pussy once. Now you owe five more rounds, clean and simple. Or the whole campus—hell, the whole damn internet—gets front-row seats by sunset."
"Please…" It came out as a pathetic whimper.
"No begging. No tears. No fuckin' negotiations." A heavy pause, deliberate and crushing. "Five rounds. My place. My rules. No attitude, no games."
Anissa's throat closed. She couldn't speak. Silence stretched, thick and damning.
Steven chuckled low, dark amusement lacing every syllable. "That's my good girl. Location dropping in a minute. 7 sharp. Wear something easy to take off. And fix your face—you look weak right now, baby, and weak don't survive in my world."
Click.
The line died.
Anissa stayed curled on the bathroom floor for what felt like hours, silent sobs shaking her until there was nothing left. The cracked screen reflected her ruined mascara, her red-rimmed eyes.
By evening, she stood outside her dorm, the city lights blurring through fresh tears. The location had come—a sleek black car waiting at the curb, no plates she could memorize, driver silent behind tinted glass.
She could run. Disappear. Let it go viral and pray it faded.
But her mother's face flashed in her mind—the hospital bed, the fragile smile when the surgery money came through.
Anissa wiped her eyes, straightened her spine as much as she could, and walked toward the car.
The door opened from inside.
Tonight, the five rounds began.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the terror… a spark of hatred ignited.
She wasn't broken yet.