Using my group chat message as evidence, she claimed I knew about the car's defects but deliberately warned them too late—making me responsible for the accident.

My response was simple: I called the police.


After investigating, the police determined Cecilia was entirely at fault. She would be responsible for everyone's medical bills.

Cecilia immediately began sobbing about being broke. This pushed Zoe—bandaged like a mummy in her hospital bed—over the edge. "You had money for a freaking Maserati and designer clothes, but suddenly you're broke when it's time to pay for the damage YOU caused? Who the hell do you think you're fooling?"

"That was MY money to spend how I wanted!" Cecilia shrieked, her mask finally slipping completely. "Why should I waste it on you? Nobody forced you to get in my car! I should be the one complaining—you ruined my Maserati!"


Zoe's father, a burly man with a military buzz cut, lost it. His open palm connected with Cecilia's face with a crack that echoed through the room. "You spoiled little brat! My daughter could have DIED in your death trap, and you have the nerve to talk like that? Want me to show you what real pain feels like?"

With no parents to defend her, Cecilia crumpled into tears, suddenly looking very small and pathetic.


The new counselor, who had been watching from the doorway, finally stepped in and insisted on contacting Cecilia's parents directly.

Hours later, Cecilia's mother finally arrived. She wasn't the polished executive everyone expected

—just a tired-looking woman in worn clothes, her hands rough from manual labor.

The moment she entered the room, she slapped Cecilia harder than Zoe's father had. "You ungrateful little monster!" she screamed. "I'm working double shifts to put you through college, and you're out here drowning in debt to play rich girl? You even stole my ID for those shark loans! Thugs wrecked my market stall yesterday because of your debts, and you're still pretending to be in school? What the hell for?"

The room fell into shocked silence.

So that was the truth—Cecilia wasn't an heiress at all, just a pathological social climber with a credit problem.

Her father, it turned out, had been a gambling addict who'd been beaten to death by loan sharks. Her mother had been left alone to support the family with her small produce stall, while simultaneously paying off her dead husband's massive debts.

All those designer items were either counterfeit or bought secondhand. Everything purchased with loans Cecilia had no way of repaying. When her own credit was maxed out, she'd stolen her mother's identity to borrow even more.

Cecilia's mother bowed deeply to each parent in the room, tears streaming down her face. She explained that Cecilia had racked up over three million in debt, and the family was already facing bankruptcy. Only then did the other parents reluctantly agree to postpone their compensation demands.

A month later, Cecilia officially withdrew from the university. Before leaving, she delivered a clearly forced apology to me and her former roommates at a school assembly. It wasn't remotely sincere, but at least it was public.

After Cecilia's departure, the other girls slowly returned to classes as they recovered.

Whether from embarrassment or lingering resentment, they all requested room transfers.