The morning air at St. Ainsworth College felt heavier than usual. Max Carter carried his bag tightly, the weight of books and scholarship papers mirroring the tension in his chest. The previous week had already left him exhausted — both physically and emotionally.
He had trusted Anna Whitmore with his work, given her his notes, rewritten essays, explained formulas late into the night. And she had stolen it.
Not accidentally. Not by mistake.
She had submitted his assignments as her own, presenting every word, every idea, every carefully reasoned solution as though it had sprung from her mind. The dean had praised her brilliance. The other students had whispered admiration.
And Max? He had been left invisible.
At first, he hadn't understood. He had thought maybe she had simply forgotten to credit him. Maybe it was a small oversight. But when rumors began to spread — whispers about "the scholarship boy doing all the work for Whitmore" — the truth became impossible to ignore.
And then came Dylan Cross.
"Helping Whitmore again, are we?" Dylan's voice cut through the chatter of the hallway. Calm, measured, yet carrying the weight of authority.
Max's stomach tightened. "I… I just wanted to make sure she does well," he muttered.
Dylan's smirk deepened. "Of course. The scholarship boy, always helping. You know she doesn't care about you, right? She only uses you. You think her smiles mean anything? You're just her tool."
Max's chest constricted. The humiliation he had only felt quietly in his own mind now had a voice.
Dylan spread the stolen papers on a nearby desk. "And now look at this. Your work, Max, handed in under her name. Everyone thinks she did it. Professors praising her. Students gossiping about your… incompetence."
Max wanted to protest. "I… I didn't mean—"
"Exactly," Dylan interrupted. "You trusted her. And now you're the one paying the price."
From that day, the harassment escalated.
Dylan ensured Max's life was constantly uncomfortable. In the cafeteria, he orchestrated whispers and mockery of Max's scholarship and part-time job. In class, professors subtly questioned him, using Anna's claims as leverage. Group projects became traps, his ideas dismissed or taken as his "mistakes."
Meanwhile, Anna maintained her façade of innocence. She smiled at him in the corridors. "Don't worry, Max. You know I appreciate your help," she would say softly, her words brushing against him like silk — comforting, yet cruelly deceptive.
Each time, Max wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the girl whose smile had once made the world seem bright still cared about him.
But every small humiliation, every whispered insult, every unfair reprimand reminded him that she had orchestrated it all.
It came to a head during one particular seminar. The professor asked for Max's analysis on a recent project — a project he had rewritten entirely for Anna.
He spoke carefully, explaining every point. But as he concluded, Anna raised her hand. "Actually," she said sweetly, "I think Max's version is slightly off. Here's the correct one," she added, opening her laptop — the exact same work he had spent nights perfecting.
The class erupted in whispers. Some students looked impressed, others skeptical. Max felt the blood drain from his face.
Max could barely breathe. Every part of his past efforts, every sleepless night at the café, every sacrifice for his aunt's sake — all stolen, all twisted to make him look incompetent.
After class, he tried to confront Anna. "Why did you—why did you take my work?" he asked, voice tight.
She tilted her head, smiling innocently. "Oh Max… I didn't take anything. I just… polished it. You know, made it presentable."
He wanted to scream, to throw the papers, to tell her he saw through her, but his body betrayed him. He felt weak, humiliated, trapped.
Dylan watched from the doorway, his smirk a constant reminder that Max had no allies.
Days turned into weeks, and Max's life became a cycle of exhaustion, betrayal, and public humiliation. He delivered coffee with trembling hands, sat silently in the library while his stolen work earned praise, and returned home to his aunt's small apartment feeling smaller with every step.
One night, after another unfair reprimand, Max found himself on the rooftop of the college, staring at the glowing city. Lights stretched endlessly, but he felt only emptiness.
He remembered the countless nights he had spent helping Anna, his heart swelling with hope. He remembered the words she had whispered in the library. And now, those words felt like knives.
"She used me," he whispered to the wind. "She lied to me… and everyone sees me as the fool."
The wind did not answer. The city did not care. And yet, in the quiet, Max felt the first flicker of something he hadn't felt before — anger, sharp and cold.
Not just at Anna. Not just at Dylan. Not at the world that had made him invisible. But at himself, for trusting too easily, for giving everything to someone who had never truly cared.
The moon rose above him, silver and distant. Max clenched his fists.
"This… this is not the end," he whispered. "I will rise. They will see. They cannot break me forever."
The night swallowed his words, carrying them across the city like a secret vow.
And for the first time since Anna's betrayal, Max felt the faint stirrings of resolve.