Reborn with Proof, I Expose the Biased Elite Campus

The night the Rhodes Scholarship list was announced, a bombshell post was pinned to the top of the GreekRank forum: "The broke girl got the leaked exam by sleeping with the department chair. The sugar babies on campus don't even have to pay tuition anymore."

In the comments, my boyfriend, Liam, replied using his real name: "I actually saw the leaked test papers on Chloe's computer. Mia is the one who truly relies on her own merit. I'm sorry, but I can't cover up a crime."

In my past life, when I saw that comment, I couldn't even hold my phone steady. I cried as I called him. He said it was just a joke. I believed him. Three days later, the rumors were everywhere, complete with photos supposedly proving the "truth." The day after the news reached the nursing home, my aunt called: my grandmother had seen my student ID photo printed in a local tabloid and went into sudden cardiac arrest. They couldn't save her. After that, my scholarship was revoked, and the entire internet hunted me down. A month later, I swallowed a handful of pills.

In this life, I screen-recorded and screenshotted everything—account IDs, timestamps, like metrics—not missing a single frame. Then, I replied directly under his thread:

"Liam, you claim you saw the evidence on my computer. File names, access logs, and proof of this so-called 'sleeping around.' You have three minutes. If you can't produce them, I'm calling the police."

A full minute passed after I hit reply before Liam popped back up.

"Chloe, stop being so aggressive. Mia has been taking antidepressants every day because of how much you've beaten her down. I'm just getting justice for her."

I sneered. "Destroying a woman's reputation is your idea of justice? Every single word you post will be read out in court."

Liam replied instantly: "Is that really necessary? You don't even dare to prove your own innocence—are you feeling guilty?"

My finger hovered over the screenshot shortcut for half a second. I remembered how he had once crouched on the library floor to help me gather my scattered notes, smiling as he promised, "I'll always have your back." I couldn't fathom why he had suddenly turned into this. I pressed the keys.

The frat boy lackeys immediately swarmed the thread.

"Yep, the guilty ones always react the loudest."

"Liam stepping up to tell the truth at a time like this makes him a real good guy."

"She's on a full-ride financial aid package, but she showed off a new MacBook last month. Do the math on where that money came from, guys."

The same people who usually begged to borrow my notes and pleaded with me to edit their papers now wore the most vicious faces.

"If this blows up, she's going to ruin the entire Ivy League brand."

"Since there's a controversy, the Board of Trustees shouldn't have given her the scholarship in the first place."

Someone even added a passive-aggressive jab: "Can a financial aid student who made it all the way here really have a clean background?"

I exported the HTML source code of the thread and uploaded it to the police's electronic evidence platform. Just as I finished, Provost Hastings dropped a public comment on the forum: "All students, cease this discussion immediately. The internet is not outside the law."

I clicked into his private messages, zipped up the evidence, and sent it over. "I am formally filing a defamation complaint against Liam. Please advise on the university's disciplinary process."

In the chat box, the "typing..." indicator lit up, went dark, and lit up again. It blinked three times. I could see him weighing his options—protect Liam, or shut me up.

A full thirty seconds passed before a single message popped up: "Chloe, calm down. Girls should be mindful of their boundaries. You spent a lot of time alone with the department chair. It's not completely unreasonable for people to harbor suspicions."

I screenshotted that exact message, attached it to my previous one, and fired it back: "Mr. Hastings, if you don't initiate the disciplinary process within an hour, I will call the police."

He didn't reply. Three minutes later, the entire forum was muted with a system-wide notice: "The University will conduct an internal investigation. Chloe, please stop spamming."

I logged out of the forum and dialed Jessica, a mentor from the law school. In my past life, it only occurred to me to call her the day before I died, but by then, all the evidence had been destroyed.

She picked up before the first ring even finished. I started: "Jessica, I'm the target of a malicious sexual smear campaign. I have the web caches, post timestamps, and the Provost's attempt to silence me via DM all saved."

Her voice instantly turned ice-cold and professional: "Do not try to prove your innocence. Lock down the source of the rumors, the chain of transmission, and the resulting damages. From this second on, treat every word you say like court material."

I ended the call and stared out the window.

In my past life, I died right here.

In this life, it was their turn to run.

My hunt had only just begun.