Onyx's POV
I exhaled quietly and pushed the thought aside.
Names didn't matter.
Faces didn't matter.
This would end the same way all transactions did—files sent, rules bent quietly, then forgotten.
I would never meet him.
Not in this lifetime. Not in any.
I didn't stay on campus long enough to meet anyone anyway. I went to class. I went home. No hanging around. Casual conversations, yes—but no connections.
I clicked into the unit page and scrolled straight to the submission panel.
"Capstone System Project – Database Management System"
The upload button waited patiently.
Too patiently.
I dragged the zipped file into the window.
A progress bar appeared.
**Uploading...**
Estimated time remaining: 6 minutes
I glanced at the clock.
6:53 a.m.
We still had time. One minute was more than enough to click submit.
I didn't move.
Hands folded.
Back straight.
Eyes locked on the bar as it crawled forward—slow, deliberate, merciless.
Twenty percent.
Thirty.
Forty.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of my laptop fan, working harder than it should've been.
Then the progress bar froze, my cursor locking in place just as the Wi-Fi icon flickered once and disappeared. The page refreshed on its own before the words Connection lost appeared on the screen, and my heart dropped so hard it felt physical. From where I sat, I looked toward the router extension.
Dark.
"No, no, no—" I stood too fast, my chair screeching against the floor.
I ran out of my room and into the living area where the main router is located.
My father was there, crouched near the wall outlet, wiping the floor with a rag. A bucket sat beside him. The router cable hung loose in his hand.
"Oh," he said casually, looking up. "I unplugged this for a bit. It will be quick. I'm just cleaning this side."
My vision tunneled.
"Pa!" I said sharply—too sharply. "Plug it back. Now. Please!"
He blinked, startled by my tone, then immediately shoved the plug back into the socket.
The main router flickered.
Red to Amber.
I stood there, fists clenched, counting silently in my head.
Come on.
Come on!
The Wi-Fi light turned green.
I spun around and sprinted back into my room.
The portal page reloaded.
The submission panel stared back at me.
Empty.
I dragged the file in again, my cursor trembling as if it knew what was coming.
**Uploading...**
Estimated time remaining: 6 minutes
I checked the time.
6:59 a.m.
My breath caught halfway in.
The progress bar crept forward—slow, merciless, almost mocking.
"Please," I whispered to the screen. "Just this once. I need a miracle."
Ten percent.
Fifteen.
I didn't blink. I didn't breathe. I didn't dare move.
Then—without warning—the screen refreshed.
I muttered. "What now?"
A gray box snapped into existence at the center of the page.
—Submission period closed—
I stared at it, refreshing the page once, then again, only to be met with the same message—unmoved, unapologetic. My hands fell to my sides as the weight of it settled in. The file was finished, the work flawless, and none of it mattered.
My phone buzzed on the desk behind me.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Unknown number:
Done?
Sent: 7:00 a.m.
My fingers felt numb, like they no longer belonged to me—like typing even a single letter would take more strength than I had left.
Another message came through.
Unknown number:
I expect that you've submitted it. I will check the portal to see.
Sent: 7:00 a.m.
That was the moment I knew the damage was no longer containable.
I didn't wait for him to check.
I started typing my apology before he could confirm what I already knew.
My fingers were stiff, uncooperative, but I forced them to move.
Me:
I'm sorry. The upload was interrupted and
the submission portal locked before it went through.
I wasn't able to submit it in time.
I will refund the full amount you sent immediately.
Sent: 7:01 a.m.
I stared at the screen, breathing shallowly, my chest tight.
The typing indicator appeared almost instantly.
Then—
Unknown number:
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
Sent: 7:01 a.m.
Another message followed before I could even react.
Unknown number:
I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE REFUND!
DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID TO ME?
Sent: 7:01 a.m.
My chest tightened, sharp and painful.
The messages came faster now, piling on top of each other.
Unknown number:
YOU FUCKING RUINED EVERYTHING.
YOU SAID YOU COULD HANDLE IT.
YOU SAID YOU WERE DONE!
Sent: 7:01 a.m.
I tried to type.
Deleted it.
Tried again.
Before I could send anything—
Unknown number:
I WON'T BE ABLE TO GRADUATE ON TIME!
I SWEAR I WILL FIND YOU!
Sent: 7:01 a.m.
Another one followed immediately.
Unknown number:
YOU THINK HIDING BEHIND A SCREEN MAKES YOU SAFE?
Sent: 7:02 a.m.
My hands went ice-cold.
The next message hit like a punch to the throat.
Unknown number:
IF I SEE YOU, I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET THIS.
I'LL END YOU FOR REAL.
SO MAKE SURE TO HIDE YOUR SHIT PRETTY WELL OR YOU WON'T SEE THE NEXT DAYLIGHT.
Sent: 7:02 a.m.
My phone started vibrating violently.
Incoming call.
I didn't answer.
Another call came in.
Then another.
My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, so loud I could hear it in my ears. My breathing turned shallow and erratic, like my lungs couldn't decide how much air they were allowed to take.
This wasn't anger anymore.
This was unhinged.
I didn't reply.
I blocked the number.
The calls stopped instantly.
The silence that followed rushed in so fast it felt unreal—too quiet, too clean, like the calm after something breaks.
I set my phone down and pressed my palm flat against it, as if that would keep the words from clawing their way back out.
My hands were shaking.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing, listening to my breathing slowly return to something I could control.
I hadn't just failed a job.
I had stepped into something dangerous.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another unknown number—not the same one.
My stomach dropped as I opened it.
Unknown number:
I KNOW YOU BLOCKED ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. THAT WON'T SAVE YOU. I HAVE MORE NUMBERS THAN YOU THINK, AND I WILL FIND YOU NO MATTER WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE HIDING.
Sent: 7:04 a.m.
I blocked that number too, even though I knew it wouldn't stop him. Someone like that would just keep finding new ways in.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I removed the sim card.
The one I used for this secret service.
I planned to replace it. Start over.
It would be difficult—painfully so. Other students wouldn't know I'd changed numbers. Contacts I'd built quietly over time would disappear overnight.
But this was necessary.
From now on, I would set a new rule.
Before doing anyone's work, I would check their name first.
I let out a long, exhausted sigh.
At last, silence.
But I knew the truth.
I hadn't just entered a problem. I had placed myself at the center of one—and its name was Jace.
A knock sounded at my door.
My father stepped inside.
"Is everything okay?" he asked gently. "Did I mess something up, Onyx?"
I forced a small smile and shook my head.
"No. Everything's fine," I said, keeping my voice steady. He didn't know about my secret work. He didn't know any of this.
"Alright," he said. "I'll prepare breakfast. I'll let you know when it's ready."
"Thanks, Pa," I said.
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
I had only wanted to earn enough money to clear the debt—to surprise him on his birthday. It was just the two of us. He had stopped gambling now. He promised to do better.
I believed him.
My phone lay silent on the desk.
Then I remembered.
The refund.
I sent the money back, forcing myself not to imagine what Jace might be doing on the other end of the screen.
And for the first time since I'd started this—
since I'd convinced myself everything was controlled—
I realized how thin the line between anonymous and exposed truly was.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
"Jace Lorenzo Villanueva."
The name settled into my memory—filed, marked, categorized as something to avoid at all costs.
A problem. A risk. A variable I would never allow into my system again.
End of Chapter 2