Her voice shook as if the weight of those memories sat heavy in her chest. I didn't press her for details. Not yet,some pain speaks louder in silence.
But her confession did something to me, it fused our stories together.
We weren't just two girls trying to survive anymore. We were warriors standing over the ashes of everything they tried to burn.
And we were done being afraid.
The next morning, I sat on the floor, laptop open, surrounded by printouts and screenshots of everything we'd gathered.
Michael, Danie, their aliases, the burner numbers,the hidden accounts used to manipulate other girls.
Every threat.
Every whisper.
Every photo.
Nia stood above me, arms crossed.
"We will strike tonight," she said. "But not emotionally. Strategically."
My brow rose. "What's the plan?"
She tapped her phone. "I have a journalist. A real one,she's been chasing corruption in the university for months, especially student cover-ups.
If we give her this story with real evidence, she'll make noise so loud, even the school board can't ignore it."
"Wouldn't that put a target on her too?"
"She's used to it. But we'll make sure we stay one step ahead."
I looked back at the photos, especially one of Daniel sitting behind a desk full of tech, his expression blank, soulless.
"I want to confront him," I said.
Nia frowned. "That's not part of the plan."
"I don't care. I need to see his eyes when he realizes I'm not scared of him anymore."
She sighed but didn't stop me. Instead, she opened a drawer and handed me a tiny pin-like device.
"A recorder," she said. "If you're going, you take this."
Later that evening, I found him.
Daniel was at the campus computer lab, hunched over a screen, typing furiously. Same cracked glasses. Same emotionless face.
I stepped in, quiet, controlled.
He didn't look up.
"Took you long enough," he muttered.
My stomach twisted. "You were expecting me?"
"You're predictable."
"So are you," I shot back. "Using a computer lab as your playground for cruelty?"
He chuckled. "You think this is cruelty? You have no idea what Michael's capable of."
"You're just the tech guy hiding behind a screen. He's the puppet, you're the hand."
That made him pause.
Then he turned slowly, looking at me with that hollow stare.
"You really believe you're the hero here?"
I didn't blink. "No. I'm just the girl who lived."
Silence.
Then his voice dropped.
"People like you don't know when to stay silent. That's always been the problem."
I stepped closer. "You think fear will silence me? That a few photos, a few threats, would make me forget who I am?"
He leaned back and gave a cold, amused smirk. "Mimi… this was never just about you."
That stopped me.
"What?"
He stood, moved toward me slowly.
"Michael didn't pick you randomly. He was dared."
I blinked. "What?"
"There was a game. Two years ago. A group of us; coders, influencers, rich brats. We'd find girls who were quiet, strong-willed. We'd break them. See who could make them cry first. It was a sick challenge. A bet."
My blood ran cold.
"You're saying… I was a bet?"
He nodded, unbothered. "You lasted the longest. You fought back. That made you the grand prize."
I was shaking. Rage and grief twisted inside me like a storm.
"But you weren't supposed to speak," he said. "You were supposed to disappear like the others."
That's when I stepped closer and whispered:
"I hit record the moment I walked in."
His face changed. Panic. Regret. Realization.
I pulled the pin recorder from my pocket and waved it once.
"Checkmate."
I ran straight to Nia.
We uploaded the file,sent it to the journalist.
Saved backups.
Sent to a lawyer she trusted.
The wheels were moving.
Faster than ever.
The next day, everything exploded.
The journalist released a blog post titled "The Game: How Power, Ego, and Privilege Silenced Female Students."
Daniel's voice was clear. The photo evidence airtight. Even anonymous witness statements from other girls followed within hours.
Within minutes, it was viral.
Michael's name trended. Students started whispering. Professors sent emails. Forums lit up.
And Michael?
He denied everything.
Until the school suspended him pending investigation.
That night, I should have felt relief.
But I didn't.
Because I got a new message.
"You think this ends me? watch your back".
We were never playing fair anyway.
I showed it to Nia.
She didn't flinch.
"Let them threaten. Their empire's crumbling. But we're not done yet."
"What else is there?"
"Michael's past," she said. "His father works for a senator. There's a cover-up tied to this."
My stomach turned. "How deep does it go?"
She didn't answer. Just showed me an old headline:
"Senator's Son Involved in Teen Scandal Charges Dropped."
The face blurred out in the article?
I recognized the jawline.
It was Michael.
Meanwhile, Amy reappeared.
She showed up outside Nia's apartment one evening crying and shaking.
"I didn't know," she said. "I swear. I didn't know how bad it was."
I didn't say anything. I just stared at her.
"I thought he liked me," she whispered. "I didn't know I was being used to bait you."
My chest ached.
"I'm sorry, Mimi. Please believe me."
I wanted to scream at her.
I wanted to hug her.
I wanted to disappear.
Instead, I just said:
"Get therapy."
And I closed the door.
Some friendships don't survive betrayal, no matter how good the apologies sound.
Days later, as the case deepened, I received an email with no subject line.
Inside was just one sentence:
"We know where your mother works."
Attached?
A photo of my mom at her clinic.
Someone had taken it from across the street.
My hands trembled.
This wasn't over.
They weren't backing down.
They were doubling down.