After that night, no one dared mess with me again. Cecilia's former admirers scattered like roaches when the lights came on.

Those same people suddenly tried cozying up to me instead. I shut them down cold. I had no use for fair-weather friends.


Cecilia's real background remained a mystery. Her roommates were clearly pissed about being duped, but none had the guts to confront her directly.

Despite the public humiliation, she somehow maintained her facade—still flaunting designer clothes and, most surprisingly, showing up with a brand-new Maserati.

Perhaps trying to smooth things over, she offered to take everyone for a spin. The roommates, shallow as ever, quickly agreed.


When they reached the parking lot, their jaws dropped at the sight of the sleek sports car. They practically drooled over the gleaming paint job.

I was heading to the library when Cecilia deliberately stepped into my path. "Selena," she smiled with forced sweetness, "won't you join us?"


"Are you crazy?" I asked, genuinely concerned for her mental state.

I'd never encountered someone with such bulletproof shamelessness.

Her smile faltered, but she stood her ground. She gestured toward the Maserati with a flourish. "Don't you want to experience it? I'm sure your family has plenty of sports cars, but this is a limited edition with custom detailing from the dealership!"

Looking at the car more closely, something about it struck me as oddly familiar.

Noticing my expression, Cecilia's smugness returned full force. "What's with that face, Selena? Aren't you the precious Sinclair heiress? Surely you've seen plenty of fancy cars before."

"Actually," I said slowly, studying the vehicle, "I think I've seen this exact car in my garage before."

Cecilia's face contorted with rage. "Don't be ridiculous! I might not have your fancy pedigree, but I'm not a thief! How dare you accuse me?"

I walked closer and checked the license plate. Holy shit—it really was my old car.

Still, I wasn't certain how it had ended up in her possession, so I held my tongue.

After a moment's consideration, I texted the friend who had handled the sale of my old car.

He quickly confirmed my suspicions: the car had been in a serious collision. He'd sold it to a junkyard as scrap. Apparently, some dealer had rebuilt it and flipped it.

And Cecilia had bought it on credit.

According to my friend, the damage had been extensive—the frame was bent and the airbags deployed. That's why he'd scrapped it.

If someone had rebuilt it without proper certification... the safety systems could be completely compromised.

Those girls might be shallow social climbers, but they didn't deserve to die in a death trap.

After a moment's hesitation, I sent a quick message to the dorm group chat: [That car's been rebuilt after a major crash. Don't drive it at high speeds.]

But my warning came too late.

The car's steering failed before they even left campus. They plowed straight into a massive oak tree in the central quad. All of them ended up in the hospital.

Cecilia, being behind the wheel, got the worst of it. The others suffered various injuries, from broken bones to concussions.

Cecilia's parents were mysteriously unreachable. Meanwhile, the other girls' parents descended on the hospital, demanding compensation.

To my utter disbelief, Cecilia tried to pin the whole thing on me.