On the university campus, where sun-drenched paths wound lazily between dormitory buildings like a canvas of gold and crimson, a beautiful girl trudged towards Room 304 with weary steps.
Her delivery outfit – a crisp white shirt with bold blue logo, and matching blue pants – seemed to swallow her whole, as if hiding her identity beneath its generic folds.
A gold name tag reading "Irish" glinted on her chest, catching faint sunlight and sending tiny rainbows dancing across her collar.
She carried a stack of boxes emblazoned with the same blue logo, their contents discreetly marked as "Fragile" and "Adult Content" in bold black letters.
Her head hung low, eyes fixed on scuffed sneakers as she climbed the stairs – each step echoing through the silent hallway like a death knell.
Reaching Room 304, Irish knocked softly, her feeble smile barely curving her lips – a hesitant, vulnerable thing that seemed to falter before it began.
The door swung open to reveal Brandon Hudson – her ex-boyfriend of three years.
He stood tall, leaning casually in the door frame, his chiseled chest bare except for a silver chain glinting against his skin like a tiny dagger.
His low-slung jeans hinted at the rest of his athletic build, clinging to his hips and legs with effortless grace.
Irish's gaze met his, her eyes locking onto his piercing blue ones for a fleeting moment before darting back down – as if the intensity of his stare was too much to bear.
Her voice barely rose above a whisper, the words trembling slightly.
"Your delivery, sir."
Brandon's eyes flashed with disdain as he scanned her from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her name tag, her uniform, and finally her face – his expression twisted in disgust.
His jaw clenched, releasing a dimple in his cheek like a cruel joke.
"Are delivery people this ugly nowadays"he sneered, his deep voice low and even," can't even look at their customers while speaking?"
He threw a candy stick at her feet, the gesture cold and dismissive – the tiny piece of candy wrapping glinting like fool's gold on the dull floor.
Irish flinched slightly, her eyes never leaving the floor as shame burned her cheeks.
"If you can't look me in the eyes, take your garbage and leave."
Brandon retorted, his hand moving to close the door – the sound of hinges squealing in protest echoing through the hallway like a lost soul.
Irish's heart sank, her mind racing with desperation. She couldn't lose this sale – her empty bank account and growling stomach depended on it.
She raised her eyes, pleading evident in their brown depths. Her voice trembled slightly, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
"I'm sorry, please don't leave without paying."
The sentence hung in the air like a challenge, Irish's eyes never leaving Brandon's face.
She suppressed anger, her cheeks burning with shame and desperation.
If not for her empty bank account, she'd have walked away long ago – but poverty had a way of crushing pride.
Just as Brandon's hand closed around the door handle, a voice echoed from behind him.
"Irish, is that you?"
The voice was laced with mockery, each word dripping with sarcasm like honeyed poison.
Irish's eyes flickered towards the speaker, her expression unchanging.
The voice belonged to Eleanor, her ex-best friend since childhood.
They shared a village upbringing, spending half their lives together – until Irish caught Eleanor in Brandon's arms, her lips locked on his in a passionate kiss.
The memory still burned Irish's mind like a branding iron. She had thought their friendship was unbreakable, but Eleanor's betrayal proved her wrong.
Eleanor stood behind Brandon, her blonde hair cascading down her back like gold silk in the fading light.
Her bright blue eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips curving into a sly smile – the same lips that had kissed Brandon so passionately years ago.
She wore a skimpy black lace robe, the edges barely covering her curves – the delicate fabric clinging to her skin like a second shadow.
The robe was open, revealing a matching black bra and panties underneath – a tantalizing glimpse of smooth skin and lace that seemed to beckon Brandon closer.
Irish didn't react, her gaze returning to Brandon as if Eleanor was invisible.
But her cheeks flushed slightly, anger simmering beneath her passive expression like a volcano waiting to erupt.
"This would be a big hit on campus."Eleanor exclaimed, her voice sugary sweet like poisoned honey." The school beauty turned adult content delivery girl."
Her words were laced with mockery, each syllable a carefully aimed dagger designed to pierce Irish's heart and shred her dignity.
Irish stood frozen, her eyes fixed on Brandon – her mind reeling with the implications of Eleanor's statement.
Eleanor's voice echoed through the hallway, bouncing off dorm room doors like a malicious spirit.
She raised her phone, snapping photos of Irish from different angles – the camera flash illuminating her stunned expression like a lightning bolt on a stormy night.
Irish stood frozen, her eyes fixed on Brandon as if seeking permission to react.
But he simply watched her, his expression unreadable – a silent spectator to Eleanor's cruelty, his blue eyes glinting with amusement.
Once Eleanor finished taking photos, she posted them online with a caption that made Irish's blood boil:
Pauper turned to adult content expert, delivering goodies to her ex-boyfriend.
The post went live, and Irish felt her heart sink – she knew the humiliation would spread like wildfire through campus, leaving her reputation in ashes.
Irish's gaze remained fixed on Brandon, her voice barely above whisper, her words trembling slightly.
"Ma'am, sir, would you please sign for your delivery? "
Her words were polite, but her tone was laced with a hint of desperation – a subtle plea to end this humiliating encounter before her heart shattered into a million pieces.
Eleanor's smile widened, her eyes glinting with amusement.
She wrapped her arms around Brandon's waist, pressing her curves against his back – a blatant display of possession.
"Oh, we would. We were just about to have some alone time when you interrupted us. Isn't that right, honey? Something she never got to have with you. "
The insult hit Irish like a slap, her cheeks burning brighter.
She knew the truth – her three-year relationship with Brandon had lacked intimacy, a fact he'd never bothered to hide after their breakup.
Brandon nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto Irish. His deep voice was low and even, each word a carefully aimed dagger.
"Yes. Who would touch this? She's a waste of space – just looking at her brings bile to my throat."
His words were a brutal punch, knocking the air from Irish's lungs.
Her eyes stung with tears, but she refused to let them fall – she wouldn't give Brandon or Eleanor the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Irish thrust the clipboard towards Brandon, her hand trembling slightly as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her voice was barely audible, the words strained.
"Sign on the line, please. "
Brandon took the clipboard, his eyes never leaving Irish's face.
He scrawled his signature across the line, then handed it back to her – their fingers brushing against each other like ice.
Irish grabbed the clipboard, her eyes welling up with tears.
She tore off the receipt and handed it to him, her movements stiff.
Brandon took the receipt, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"Thanks, Irish. Enjoy your minimum wage job. "
Irish's face burned with anger, but she turned on her heel and walked away without a word – the sound of Eleanor's laughter echoing behind her like a haunting melody.