When the world tries to tear you down, the only choice left is to stand tall.
Tuesday started no better than Monday had ended.
Ethan arrived on campus early, hoping to avoid the worst of the crowd. But by eight AM, the quad was already buzzing with activity, and he felt eyes tracking him the moment he stepped through the gates.
Someone had printed out screenshots from the social media posts and taped them to various bulletin boards around campus. Ethan found one outside the library—the photo of him and Vanessa in the alley, with CHARITY CASE scrawled across it in red marker.
He tore it down and shoved it in the nearest trash can.
Two more appeared by lunchtime.
In Computer Science, Professor Nguyen made an announcement before class started.
"I've become aware that some students are using class time and campus resources to engage in... shall we say, unproductive social activities." His gaze swept the room, landing briefly on a few students who suddenly became very interested in their laptops. "Let me be clear: harassment, in any form, will not be tolerated in my classroom. If I catch anyone engaging in such behavior, you will be reported to the Dean. Am I understood?"
A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the room.
Marcus, sitting in his usual spot, looked irritated but said nothing.
Nguyen's eyes found Ethan in the back row, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Ethan nodded back.
At least one person was on his side.
Vanessa walked into class five minutes late—unusual for her—and every head turned.
She ignored them all and walked straight to the back row, taking the seat beside Ethan.
"Hi," she said, slightly breathless.
"Hi," Ethan replied. "You okay?"
"Got held up. Someone had keyed my car in the parking lot."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Are you serious?"
"Completely. Campus security is reviewing footage, but..." She shrugged, trying to appear unbothered. "It's fine. It's just a car."
"It's not fine."
"I know. But what am I going to do? Have a breakdown in the parking lot?" She pulled out her laptop. "I'm choosing not to give them the satisfaction."
Professor Nguyen started the lecture, and they both turned their attention forward.
But halfway through class, Ethan's laptop pinged with a message.
He glanced at the screen. An email, sent to his student account from an anonymous sender.
Subject line: Know your place
He didn't open it.
After class, Vanessa pulled Ethan aside in the hallway.
"I talked to my father yesterday," she said.
Ethan raised his eyebrows. "How did that go?"
"Better than expected, actually. He... he was supportive." She looked surprised by her own words. "And he wants to meet you."
"What?"
"I know. I was shocked too. But he said—" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "He said if you make me happy, then the rest doesn't matter. Which is possibly the most un-Gregory-Monroe thing he's ever said."
Ethan didn't know how to process that. "Your father wants to meet me."
"Eventually. Not right now, obviously. We have enough to deal with." Vanessa bit her lip. "But the point is, he's on our side. And if he's on our side, then we have resources. Protection."
"I don't want to hide behind your father's money."
"It's not about hiding. It's about having backup." She touched his arm. "Ethan, these people are relentless. They're not going to stop just because we ignore them. We need to be smart about this."
Before Ethan could respond, someone shoved past him—hard enough that he stumbled into the wall.
"Oops," Blake said, not even looking back. "My bad."
Laughter echoed down the hallway.
Ethan straightened, his fists clenched, but Vanessa grabbed his arm.
"Don't," she said quietly. "That's what they want."
"I know." But his voice was strained.
By Wednesday, things had reached a breaking point.
The social media posts had spread beyond Silverbrook. Other universities in the area had picked up the story—*Rich Girl's Charity Project* became a trending topic in local college forums. Think pieces started appearing on student blogs, debating class dynamics and performative allyship.
Ethan and Vanessa had become symbols of something neither of them had asked for.
And the backlash was intensifying.
Someone had created a betting pool on how long their "relationship" would last. The odds were not in their favor.
Anonymous accounts started tagging them both in increasingly cruel posts. Memes were made. Photoshopped images appeared.
And through it all, Marcus and his group watched from the sidelines, enjoying the show they'd orchestrated.
Wednesday afternoon, Ethan was leaving the library when he found Marcus waiting by the entrance.
"Cross," Marcus said, his tone friendly but his eyes cold. "Got a minute?"
"Not really."
"I'll be quick." Marcus stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "I wanted to give you some advice. Friend to friend."
"We're not friends."
"Sure we are. We're all part of the Silverbrook family, right?" Marcus's smile was sharp. "Here's the thing, Cross. You're playing a game you don't understand. You think Vanessa actually cares about you? You think this is real?"
"What Vanessa and I are is none of your business."
"See, that's where you're wrong. When it affects the social fabric of this campus, it becomes everyone's business." Marcus leaned closer. "She's using you, man. Can't you see that? This is all some rebellion phase. She'll get bored, move on, and you'll be left holding the bag."
"Are you done?"
"Not quite." Marcus's voice dropped. "Walk away now, and this all stops. The posts, the comments, the attention—it all goes away. You go back to being nobody, and Vanessa goes back to where she belongs."
"And if I don't?"
Marcus smiled. "Then things get worse. For both of you. But especially for you."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise." Marcus stepped back. "Think about it, Cross. Really think about whether she's worth all this."
He walked away, leaving Ethan standing there, anger and frustration warring inside him.
---
That evening, Ethan's shift at Harlow's was unusually quiet.
Danny noticed his mood immediately. "You alright, kid?"
"Fine."
"You're a terrible liar." Danny leaned against the counter. "Whatever's going on, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"
Ethan considered it. Danny had always been decent to him—more than decent, actually. Fair, understanding, willing to work around his class schedule.
"There's some drama at school," Ethan said finally. "People being... people."
"Rich kid drama?"
"Something like that."
Danny nodded slowly. "Let me guess. You're not playing by their rules, and they don't like it."
"Pretty much."
"Well, for what it's worth?" Danny clapped him on the shoulder. "Screw their rules. You're one of the best workers I've got, Cross. Reliable, honest, hardworking. That's worth more than all the designer clothes and fancy cars in the world."
Ethan felt something tight in his chest loosen slightly. "Thanks, Danny."
"Don't mention it. Now get back to work before I start getting sentimental."
Around nine PM, Vanessa texted him.
Vanessa: Can I call you after your shift?
Ethan: Yeah. I'm off at midnight.
Vanessa: I'll wait up.
When Ethan's shift ended, he stepped out into the alley to make the call. The night was cold, and his breath formed small clouds in the air.
Vanessa answered on the first ring.
"Hey," she said, and her voice sounded small.
"Hey. You okay?"
"Marcus cornered me today. After my last class." She took a shaky breath. "He said if I didn't publicly distance myself from you, he'd make sure everyone knew about my mother."
Ethan's blood ran cold. "Your mother?"
"She... she struggled with addiction when I was younger. Pills, mainly. She's been clean for five years, but—" Vanessa's voice cracked. "If that got out, it would destroy her. And my father's company. The board is already looking for reasons to question his leadership."
"Vanessa—"
"I told him to go to hell." She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "I told him that if he even thought about dragging my mother into this, I'd make him regret it. But Ethan, I don't know if I can protect her. Marcus has connections, resources—"
"Then we fight back."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But we figure it out. Together." Ethan's voice was firm. "You're not alone in this, Vanessa. I'm not letting them win."
"They're already winning."
"No, they're not. They're making noise. That's different."
Vanessa was quiet for a moment. "Do you ever get scared?"
"All the time."
"But you don't show it."
"Because showing it means they win. And I'm not giving them that." He paused. "Are you working tomorrow?"
"I have classes until three."
"Meet me after? There's something I want to show you."
"What is it?"
"A reminder that not everyone in the world is terrible."
Vanessa laughed—a real laugh this time. "Okay. Text me where."
"I will. And Vanessa?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For standing your ground. For not backing down."
"I should be thanking you."
"Then we're even."
After they hung up, Ethan stood in the alley for a few more minutes, staring up at the stars barely visible through the city's light pollution.
Marcus had thrown down a gauntlet.
Fine.
Ethan would pick it up.
But on his own terms.
Thursday morning, Ethan arrived on campus with a plan.
He'd spent half the night researching, and what he'd found was interesting. The anonymous social media account that had started all of this? It had been created from a campus IP address. And the timestamp matched exactly when Marcus's group had been at Harlow's.
It wasn't proof that would hold up in court, but it was enough.
Ethan went straight to the Dean of Students' office and filed a formal harassment complaint.
The secretary looked surprised. "Mr. Cross, are you sure you want to do this? Sometimes these matters are better handled... informally."
"I'm sure," Ethan said. "And I have documentation."
He handed over a folder containing screenshots, timestamps, witness statements from other students who'd seen the harassment, and the email threats he'd received.
The secretary's expression changed as she flipped through it. "I'll make sure Dean Richards sees this immediately."
"Thank you."
As Ethan left the office, he felt lighter than he had in days.
He was done being passive.
Done letting people like Marcus dictate his life.
If they wanted a fight, they'd get one.
But it would be fought his way.