Chapter 3

By the third day, Chloe and the other two had already started packing their suitcases.

They were even browsing online for rugs and curtains.

Chloe waved a hand dismissively. "Don't sweat it, I've got it all picked out. The second we move in, I'll place the order."

She had cemented herself as the undisputed leader of their trio.

Mia and Harper hung on her every word, their eyes practically starry with admiration.

I, meanwhile, had become a complete ghost to them.

They didn't even bother dropping passive-aggressive digs anymore; pure, iced-out silence was their chosen way to convey their disgust.

I kept to my routine—hitting the library, studying in quiet corners—acting completely indifferent to their grand "new life."

During the afternoon, my uncle called.

"Zoe, I've got two other groups asking for tours, and they're in a real rush."

"What's the word with your classmates? We can't drag this out forever, sweetie."

I paused, then said, "Raymond, just tell them the place is tentatively taken and tours are on hold."

"Taken by who?" he asked, confused.

"Just say you're holding it for my roommates until they sort things out."

Silence hung on the line for a few beats before he sighed. "Alright, if you say so. Just make sure you know what you're doing."

"I do."

Hanging up, I looked out the library window.

Sure enough, by late afternoon, Chloe—who hadn't uttered a peep in the dorm chat—suddenly dropped a voice memo.

I tapped it. Her scratchy, tear-choked voice blasted out of the speaker.

"Zoe... are you free right now?"

I didn't answer right away.

The show was starting.

Then came a second memo, and a third.

"The landlord... I can't reach him."

"His number's completely disconnected."

"We went to the address. There's no Westside Luxury Apartments there at all—it's an abandoned construction site!"

Her tone grew more panicked, spiraling into a full-blown sob.

"He's... he's a fake landlord. No, he's a scammer!"

"He took the money and deleted his account! All three of us got taken!"

The group chat plunged into dead silence.

Mia and Harper didn't even dare to send an emoji.

I could vividly picture their faces right then—drained of every drop of color.

About ten minutes later, Chloe began blowing up my phone with desperate texts.

"Zoe, I'm so sorry. We were wrong, we never should've doubted you."

"Please, help me out. I won't have a roof over my head next month."

"All three of our allowances went into that deposit. We're completely broke."

"Didn't you say your relative had a place? Could you ask him again, please?"

Reading those pathetic pleas brought no satisfaction, only a deep, hollow exhaustion from being used.

I waited another ten minutes before closing my textbook and picking up my phone.

I ignored every apology and desperate plea.

Instead, I simply dropped the document I had compiled days ago—"Recent Trends in Rental Scams"—into the chat.

Beneath it, I typed a single line:

"During graduation season, reading the news never hurts."

The chat went dead again.

I don't know how much time passed before Chloe's icon flashed once more.

This time, there was no voice memo. Just a single line of text.

A line trembling with her absolute last shred of hope:

"Zoe... is that apartment... still available?"