ELIANA'S POV
By morning, the whole world knew her name—for all the wrong reasons.
Eliana woke to her phone vibrating so violently it fell off her nightstand. She didn't pick it up. Didn't need to. The damage counter glowed on her laptop screen across the room: 2.3 million views.
Two million people had watched her humiliation. Two million strangers now knew her face, her name, her shame.
She pulled the blanket over her head and tried to remember how to breathe.
Eliana? Her mother's voice came soft through the door. Please eat something. You haven't left your room in two days.
Not hungry.
A pause. Then her mother's footsteps retreating down the hall, and Eliana hated herself a little more. Her parents didn't deserve this. They'd sacrificed everything—left their country, their families, their entire lives—to build something safe in America.
And their daughter had repaid them by becoming an internet joke.
Her phone wouldn't stop. Even on silent, the screen lit up every few seconds with new notifications. New accounts created just to tell her she was ugly. Fat. Worthless. A mistake.
@RiversideWhale: How does she even fit through doors?
@BiggestMistakeMemes: Scholarship programs were a mistake. Exhibit A: [posts her school ID photo]
@ScholarshipFail: Imagine being this desperate to belong somewhere you clearly don't.
The accounts had appeared overnight like mushrooms after rain—poisonous and multiplying. Each one dedicated entirely to destroying her.
Eliana forced herself to check Instagram. Her own account—the private one with forty-seven followers, mostly family—had been found. The comments flooded every photo she'd ever posted:
Her eighth-grade graduation: Already fat back then lol
Last year's honor roll certificate: Smart doesn't fix ugly
A selfie with Jordy from summer: Even her friends look embarrassed
She deleted the app. Then downloaded it again five minutes later because maybe, somehow, it had stopped. Maybe the internet had moved on to destroy someone else.
It hadn't.
A new notification made her stomach drop: someone had tagged her parents' bakery.
Grant's Artisan Breads—the tiny shop that smelled like cinnamon and hope, where her father kneaded dough at 4 AM and her mother decorated cakes with steady, artistic hands—was being attacked.
One-star reviews poured in from people who'd never stepped foot inside:
If their daughter looks like THAT, imagine the food 🤮
Scholarship trash family. Probably here illegally.
Health department should investigate this place.
No. No, no, no.
Eliana threw her phone across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor. She hoped the screen shattered. Hoped it broke into a thousand pieces so she'd never have to look at it again.
Downstairs, she heard her mother crying.
The sound was quiet—barely audible through the floorboards—but Eliana knew that cry. The one her mother tried to hide. The same cry Eliana had heard years ago when kids at her elementary school called her parents terrorists for speaking their native language.
Her father's deep voice murmured something soft. Comforting. Then silence.
Eliana pressed her palms against her eyes until spots danced in her vision. This was her fault. All of it. If she'd just stayed invisible like she was supposed to, none of this would've happened.
A knock on her bedroom door. Ellie? It's me.
Jordy. Her best friend since freshman year, when he'd found her crying in the library bathroom after someone spray-painted scholarship scum on her locker. He'd handed her tissues, made a joke about toxic masculinity, and never left her side since.
Go away, Eliana croaked.
Not happening. The door opened anyway. Jordy slipped inside—tall, dark-haired, wearing his soccer warm-ups and the most determined expression she'd ever seen. Okay, intervention time.
I don't need
The video hit two million views. Anonymous hate accounts are multiplying like rabbits. Your parents' business is getting destroyed. And you've been in this room for forty-eight hours. Jordy sat on the edge of her bed. Yeah, you need an intervention.
Eliana pulled the blanket tighter. What do you want me to do? Fight the entire internet?
I want you to survive. His voice went soft. Ellie, I'm scared. You're scaring me.
I'm fine.
You're not fine. You're disappearing. Jordy grabbed her hand through the blanket. And I get it. I know what it feels like when the world decides you're the villain. But giving up? Letting Sienna win? That's not you.
You don't understand
I came out sophomore year, remember? Half the school called me slurs for months. Someone keyed 'f*ggot' into my car. My own cousin stopped talking to me. Jordy's grip tightened. But I survived. You know why? Because people like us don't get the luxury of quitting. We fight, or we disappear. And I'm not letting you disappear.
Eliana finally looked at him. Really looked. His eyes were red-rimmed like he'd been crying too. For her. Because watching your best friend get destroyed hurt almost as much as being destroyed yourself.
I'm dropping out, she whispered.
What?
Of school. Of everything. College applications are pointless now. Who's going to accept the girl from that video? Eliana's voice cracked. I'm done, Jordy. I can't do this anymore.
Ellie
Two million people think I'm a joke! My parents are losing their business because of me! Dylan— She choked on the name. Dylan Chen, the boy she'd tutored through calculus last year, the one she'd thought was her friend. He'd posted a laughing emoji on the video. Everyone I trusted either abandoned me or never cared in the first place.
Jordy was quiet for a long moment. Then: What about Carter's message?
Eliana had forgotten. The mysterious text from yesterday, buried under thousands of hate messages. I need your help. Lily is dying.
Probably a prank, she muttered.
What if it's not?
Why would Carter Ashford need my help? He's perfect. Rich. Popular. Dating the girl who destroyed me. Eliana laughed bitterly. It's a trap. Sienna probably has his phone.
Or maybe— Jordy pulled out his own phone, scrolled, then showed her the screen. He's been going through hell too.
It was a gossip blog post from this morning: Riverside's Golden Couple on the Rocks? Carter Ashford Spotted Leaving Sienna Cross's House After Screaming Match. Sources Say He Called Her 'Cruel' and 'Heartless.'
Below it, a blurry photo: Carter on Sienna's front porch, looking furious. Sienna in the doorway, crying.
He broke up with her, Jordy said quietly. After what she did to you.
Eliana's heart did something complicated. That doesn't mean—
Ellie. What if he really does need help? What if his sister really is sick?
Why would he ask me?
I don't know. But you've got nothing to lose by finding out.
Downstairs, the bakery's closing bell chimed. Her father would be locking up, counting the dismal sales from another day of customers scared away by internet trolls.
Eliana checked the time: 7:47 PM.
Carter's message had said 8 PM. Grant's Bakery.
I'm not going, she said.
Your choice. Jordy stood, headed for the door. Then paused. But the Eliana I know? She doesn't hide. She fights. Even when it's terrifying. Even when the whole world is against her.
He left.
Eliana sat in the dark, listening to her parents move around downstairs. Her mother's quiet crying had stopped, replaced by the steady rhythm of stress-baking—her only coping mechanism. The smell of fresh bread drifted up through the vents.
Her phone buzzed one more time.
Unknown Number:Please. I'm begging you. Lily doesn't have much time.
The message came with a photo: a little girl with a bald head, oxygen tubes in her nose, wearing a hospital gown decorated with unicorns. She was smiling—the kind of smile that didn't know it was supposed to give up.
Eliana's chest cracked open.
She grabbed her hoodie, shoved her feet into sneakers, and ran downstairs. Her parents looked up from the kitchen, startled.
I'm going out, Eliana said.
Sweetheart— her mother started.
I'll be back soon. I promise.
She burst out the bakery's back door into the alley. Took three steps toward the street.
And froze.
Because standing under the streetlight, still wearing his football jersey with the number seven, looking nothing like the untouchable golden boy and everything like someone drowning, was Carter Ashford.
Their eyes met.
You came, he said, and his voice broke on the words.
Eliana's hands clenched into fists. You have sixty seconds to explain why I shouldn't call the cops and report you for stalking.
I need to hire you.
Hire me? For what?
Carter stepped closer, and she saw it—the cracks in his perfect armor. Dark circles under his eyes. Hands shaking. Jaw tight like he was barely holding himself together.
My sister is dying, he said quietly. And you're the only person I trust to help save her