Part 3The Reality Show Trap

Macy’s prediction was half-right. Becket’s bullying started even earlier this time.

In the school locker room, my head was shoved into a sink full of water. The sound of boys laughing echoed off the tiles.

Just as I was running out of air, a hand grabbed the back of my neck and hauled me up. Becket Weston looked at me with a cruel, handsome smile.

"Want my family's money, Chloe? Fine."

He pointed at the floor. "Lick the water off my shoes. Ten thousand dollars a lick. Deal?"

His goons cheered.

I looked at him. In my past life, this man had looked at me with such tenderness. Now, he was a monster.

But Becket wasn't even looking at me. His eyes moved past me, toward the hallway.

Macy was there, kneeling on the floor, scrubbing the tiles.

"Isn't that the new Miller girl?" one of the goons asked.

"Yeah, her mom’s the cleaning lady. She works with her after school."

Becket’s eyes flickered with a strange emotion—shock, then a hint of pity.

"Hey!" Becket shouted at Macy. "Stop scrubbing. It’s freezing out. No one’s checking the halls."

Macy stood up, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. She looked pale, stubborn, and perfectly "tragic."

"I can't," Macy said, her voice trembling. "If the floors aren't clean, they’ll dock my mom’s pay. A hundred dollars is nothing to a guy like you, Becket. To us, it’s a week’s worth of groceries."

She went back to scrubbing.

It was a masterclass in manipulation. She knew exactly where to stand to get the best lighting. She knew Becket’s "hero complex" was his greatest weakness.

Sure enough, Becket walked over, grabbed the rag from her hand, and threw it at one of his friends.

"You guys finish the floor," he barked.

He took off his designer jacket and draped it over Macy’s shoulders. "It's late. How are you getting home?"

"Bike."

"In this weather?" Becket frowned. "Wait downstairs. My driver will take you."

As Becket led her away, Macy glanced back at me. She threw me a look of pure, concentrated smugness.

Once everyone left, I was alone by the sinks.

"Here. Use this."

A quiet, cold voice came from behind me. I turned. It was Avery Lane, our class president.

Avery was a shadow. Brilliant, silent, and always in long sleeves, regardless of the heat.

In the last life, she had tried to help Macy when Becket bullied her. She’d offered Macy towels and told her to report the abuse.

Macy had slapped her hand away. "What do you know? He’s my brother! He’s just misunderstood!"

Macy had been too busy dreaming of a romance with her adoptive brother to see a real friend. Avery eventually stopped trying. By graduation, Avery had committed suicide.

Only then did we find out how poor she really was—her grandmother was bedridden, and her father was a gambling addict who beat her and planned to "sell" her to pay off his debts.

Now, Avery stood there holding a clean towel.

I took it. She turned to leave, likely thinking she had nothing to say to a "Weston."

"Avery!" I called out.

She stopped.

"I’m new here," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I’m lost. Can you show me where the cafeteria is?"