Rewriting the Scandal

In my previous life, I saw that video not long after it started circulating.

The faces of the two people in it were blurry, their features impossible to make out. All one could see were two silhouettes moving together.

No one knew who the man was. But thanks to Harvey's accusations, everyone assumed the girl was me.

I tried so many times to defend myself, swearing up and down that the girl wasn't me. I told them I had never even held a man's hand, let alone done something like that.

But no one believed me.

I reported it to the police, but my faculty advisor got involved and shut it down. He called me into his office and sat me down, his tone calm but patronizing.

"Yvette, the truth doesn't matter right now. What matters is the damage this has done to the college's reputation. We can't have this kind of scandal attached to us. The administration is preparing to expel you."

I was devastated. I pleaded with him, insisting the girl in the video wasn't me.

He sighed and said, "As your teacher, of course I believe you. But your classmates don't, and this situation has already caused you a lot of harm. I spoke to the college leaders, and they've agreed not to expel you—on one condition. You take a few years off. Wait for the storm to pass, then you can come back."

His words made it clear what he really wanted—for me to leave.

Even when I demanded the right to press charges and get the truth out, he refused. His approach turned from gentle persuasion to thinly veiled threats.

"Without evidence, filing a report won't solve anything. If you insist on pursuing this, it's only going to make things worse for everyone."

Under mounting pressure, I had no choice but to leave the college.

But leaving the college didn't mean escaping the nightmare.

When I got home, I found out that the video had already reached my family.

My parents were furious. To them, I was a disgrace—a shameless girl ruining the family's reputation. They didn't care about my explanations or my tears. Instead, they disowned me and kicked me out of the house.

The weight of everyone's judgment crushed me. I spiraled into depression but couldn't afford therapy or medication. Every day, the darkness grew heavier until it finally consumed me.

One night, unable to bear it anymore, I decided to end it all.

The night I committed suicide, I watched the video that had destroyed my life over and over again.

For the first time, I noticed something I had missed before.

The girl in the video had a birthmark on her calf—a distinct, heart-shaped patch of red skin.

I remembered something vividly. The last time Rose and I showered together, I had seen a birthmark on her leg. A heart-shaped patch, identical to the one in the video.

Now, watching Rose's expression, I was sure.

The girl in that video wasn't me.

It was Rose.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Rose suddenly grabbed Harvey's hand and tried to pull him away. "Harvey, you've gone too far! How could you say such awful things about Yvette? We all know she earned her scholarship through her own hard work. You're being completely unfair to her!"

"Rose, you're too kind," Harvey said, his voice loud and self-assured. "That's why people like Yvette take advantage of you. You work your butt off studying, and she gets a scholarship just by sleeping with her faculty advisor? It's disgusting. I'm doing this for you—for everyone—to make sure she doesn't get away with it."

As he spoke, someone in the crowd clapped and shouted, "Well said!"

A ripple of applause followed, along with murmurs of agreement.

The familiar stares started again—those same cold, judgmental looks I had endured in my past life.

They made my skin crawl.

Encouraged by the crowd's approval, Harvey puffed up with confidence. "So, what do you have to say now, Yvette?"

He thought I would crumble and run away, just like before.

Instead, I steadied my breathing, keeping my gaze locked on him. "You said there's a video. Where is it? Show it to everyone. Or are you just making it all up?"

Harvey's face twisted with anger. "You just don't know when to quit, huh? Fine, I'll show you the proof right now!"

Ignoring Rose's panicked attempts to stop him, he fumbled with his phone. After a few swipes, the familiar video appeared on his screen.

He held it up triumphantly. "Here it is. Don't even think about denying it. Everyone can tell it's you. Don't think you can just claim you're innocent with words! This video has been all over the dorm chats for weeks. If it weren't for me, they would've blasted it to the college group chats by now!"

His smug grin and faux heroism were infuriating. Around us, people craned their necks to get a better look, their gazes switching between me and the screen.

They expected me to crack under the pressure—flush with shame, stammer denials, or lash out in desperation.

Instead, I calmly took out my phone.

"Hello, 911?" I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'm reporting an assault. I was violated without my knowledge, and there's a witness and video evidence. Please send officers immediately to prevent the suspect from fleeing!"