Page 26 of Betray Me
My hands shake as I save the image, adding it to the growing collection of evidence in my hidden folder. Tomorrow, I’ll have to show Max. He deserves to know what kind of monster he’s allied himself with.
But tonight, I sit in the darkness of my room, staring at my own face reflected in a police sketch, and wonder if some sins are too great for any alliance to overcome.
The woman in the drawing stares back at me with my own eyes, keeping secrets, I can’t remember and carrying guilt I can’t escape.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I’m truly afraid of what I might discover about myself.
Chapter 10: The Chess Game
Before
I sit between Jessica and Nicolas in Professor Austin’s Computer Science classroom, my laptop open to what appears to be class notes but actually contains a detailed behavioral analysis of Luna Queen. The morning light filters through Gothic windows, casting long shadows across rows of gleaming monitors as I document every micro-expression, every tell, every crack in her carefully constructed armor.
Luna enters late, slipping into a seat near the back while whispers follow her like faithful pets. News of her encounter with Dougie at last night’s party has already spread through Shark Bay’s gossip network with viral efficiency. Perfect. A destabilized target is easier to manipulate.
My fingers move silently across the keyboard:Subject appears increasingly isolated. Public reputation damaged. Optimal window for psychological attack identified.
“Okay, let’s begin.” Professor Austin stands at the center of the room, his unruly dark curls catching the light as he paces between equations scribbled on the whiteboard. “You’ve all grown up in a world where your devices are extensions of yourselves,” he begins, his voice carrying that particular enthusiasm of academics who still believe in transformation. “Your phones know everything about you and your habits. A long time ago, people only knew about modern technology, but things aren’t as simple anymore.”
I suppress a smile. Poor bastard has no idea he’s about to become an unwitting weapon in my psychological warfare.
“Our ability to manipulate the environment that surrounds us has taken quantum leaps,” Austin continues, typing something on his computer. The projector flickers to life. “Every moment of your life is traceable and recorded, and using some very basic knowledge, one can track and predict where you will go next, who you talk to, and what type of music you like to listen to while procrastinating. Digital media has changed us, and we can no longer avoid those changes.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. Here he is, lecturing about digital surveillance while I’ve spent weeks infiltrating his computer systems, uploading carefully crafted malware disguised as routine file transfers.
“In case I haven’t made it clear, today we’ll be discussing network security and digital footprints,” he says, clicking through his presentation. “In today’s world, everything we do online leaves a trace. The question is: who has access to those traces, and what can they do with them?”
A series of codes flash across the screen, breaking apart until they form a clear photograph. My breath catches as Alex’s image materializes—the boy from Luna’s past, the one whose safety my father uses as leverage. The timing is perfect, designed to destabilize her before the main event.
I glance back at Luna, noting how her entire body goes rigid. Even from this distance, I can see her pulse jumping in her throat. The photograph isn’t random—it’s a message from my handlers, a reminder of what’s at stake.
My phone buzzes with an encrypted message from Dominic: Your father expects results today. Execute phase two immediately.
The pressure sits like a stone in my chest, but I maintain my expression of casual interest. Nicolas leans over to whisper something about weekend plans, and I respond with appropriate enthusiasm while my mind counts down to the moment that will change everything.
The corrupted file I uploaded to Austin’s presentation folder sits waiting like a loaded weapon, perfectly positioned to detonate Luna’s reputation in the most public way possible.
Jessica touches my arm, pointing to her laptop screen where she’s pulled up social media. “Have you seen the posts about Luna from last night?” she whispers. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
I affect mild interest while scanning the comments—a mixture of slut-shaming and adolescent fascination. “Boys will be boys,” I murmur. “And girls like Luna will always give them what they want.”
It’s exactly the kind of dismissive cruelty that reinforces my position as queen bee while positioning Luna as the school’s newest scandal. Every interaction is calculated, every word a move in the larger game.
Austin advances through his slides with academic precision, and I feel my pulse quicken as he approaches the corrupted file. Three more slides. Two. One.
This is it.
I raise my hand with practiced timing, affecting the coy smile that’s taken years to perfect. “What’s that icon on your desktop?” I ask, tilting my head toward the projection screen with calculated curiosity. “It looks important.”
Austin’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he follows my gaze. “I’ve no idea. Let’s check.”
Perfect. He’s playing his role exactly as anticipated.
He moves the cursor toward the icon—the one I placed there during my late-night infiltration of his system. My pulse remains steady despite the magnitude of what I’m orchestrating. When he clicks, the room falls into anticipatory silence.
The video loads automatically, filling the projection screen with crystal-clear footage of Luna and Dougie in his dorm room. The angle is perfect, clearly from a hidden camera; the quality is professional enough to leave no doubt about what’s happening.
The reaction is immediate and explosive. Gasps erupt around the classroom, followed by nervous laughter and frantic whispers. I study my nails with practiced indifference, every gesture calculated to project casual confidence while my mind catalogs every response.
