Chapter 4

Layla’s POV

I was recognized in the lobby of the hotel across from campus.

I had just stepped out of a conference room after finalizing the contract with the medical transport agency.

Two girls brushed past me, did a double take, and leaned in to whisper.

"That's her, right? From the campus board?"

"Definitely. Look, you can see the bandages on her arm."

I froze.

I pulled out my phone and tapped open the anonymous campus forum.

Pinned to the very top was a trending post: "Straight-A Finance Major Layla Vance Trades NSFW Photos for Cash Advances She Can’t Repay."

Attached was an image. The girl’s face was blurred, but her frame, hair, and clothing were identical to mine.

I stared at it for three seconds.

It was a fake.

The outfit in the photo was what I had worn the night my mother suffered her massive cardiac arrest. I had spent that entire night in the ICU waiting room, tracked every second by hospital security cameras.

It was an AI-generated deepfake.

I closed the app, preparing to dial the police.

"Ding."

The elevator doors opened. Dylan stepped out into the lobby. The moment his eyes landed on me, he marched over and snatched the phone from my hand.

"Layla," he barked, his voice echoing across the marble floor, drawing the eyes of every guest in the lounge. "Do you have any self-respect left? Selling naked photos for loan shark money? How low can you sink?"

I lunged forward to grab my phone back. "Give it back to me!"

Dylan tapped through my screen, pulling up the medical records and injury logs I had saved from my ER visit.

He walked over to the lobby’s giant promotional monitor, plugged the cable in, and cast my screen.

My bruised arms, lacerations, and intimate medical reports were suddenly magnified across a twelve-foot display.

"Take a good look, everyone," Dylan announced, pointing up at the screen. "Where do you think these bruises came from? Messing around with shady guys, probably."

The lobby erupted into gasps and murmurs.

Looking at his smug face, the puzzle pieces fell into place.

The post on the campus board. It was him.

"It was you," my voice was barely a whisper, but it sliced like glass. "You posted that thread."

Dylan leaned close, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"So what if it was?" he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "You hurt Chloe. Someone had to teach you a lesson."

I raised my arm to slap him, but he caught my wrist mid-air.

Right then, my phone buzzed violently in his grip.

A call from the hospital.

I brought my heel down with full force onto his dress shoe.

Dylan cursed, loosening his grip. I snatched my phone back and hit accept.

"Is this Layla Vance? Your mother has gone into acute arrest! We cannot reach your father! Get here immediately!"

All the warmth vanished from my blood.

"I'm on my way!"

I hung up and sprinted for the exit. Dylan yelled my name behind me, but I didn't glance back.

Bursting through the revolving doors, I hailed a cab and shouted the hospital’s name.

The taxi screeched to a halt outside the cardiac center. I shoved the door open.

And froze.

Chloe Hayes stood right in front of the main entrance, flanked by three street thugs.

"Layla," Chloe purred with a sweet smile. "In a rush?"

Before I could scream, two pairs of rough hands clamped over my mouth, dragging me straight into a waiting van.