Chapter 5

The severe neck injury threw Chloe into a complete panic.

She probably couldn't understand why her omnipotent system was suddenly failing her.

A day later, Chloe returned to school wearing a thick, ridiculous neck brace.

Every student at St. Jude’s knew that Arthur, the president of the Academic Club, held a highly coveted Ivy League recommendation letter.

This was Chloe’s last saving grace.

On Thursday afternoon, I stood by the lockers, talking loudly to Emma as Chloe approached.

"Are you ready for Arthur's Ivy League prep gala tomorrow night? Have you picked out your perfume?"

Emma looked confused. "Perfume? Isn't a light, clean scent fine?"

I shook my head, lowering my voice mysteriously. "Arthur comes from an ultra-traditional, Old Money family. He has severe allergies and OCD. He privately told me he despises modern synthetic perfumes."

"What he truly appreciates is raw, earthy scents, like dried mugwort and aged cedarwood. He says it smells like old libraries and academic heritage. I had a private perfumer mix a bottle of pure herbal oils just for tomorrow."

In the shadow of the hallway corridor, a piece of fabric flicked.

I smiled slightly. She had swallowed the bait.

Friday night, the St. Jude's grand ballroom was bathed in golden light.

Arthur, dressed in a flawless tuxedo, stood by the champagne tower, chatting with some boarding members.

Suddenly, the heavy doors opened.

Chloe walked in wearing a poorly fitted, clearly rented gown, with her thick neck brace still on. She marched straight toward Arthur.

As she drew near, a suffocating, pungent odor of cheap insect repellent mixed with burnt weeds blasted through the air.

The surrounding socialites and heirs immediately gagged, covering their noses and backing away.

Arthur, who suffered from chronic sinusitis, took the blast of odor right to his face. His stomach churned violently, and he dropped his champagne glass, splashing it all over the floor.

He clutched his nose and mouth, his face turning red with rage.

"Did you douse yourself in industrial pesticide? Get away from me!"

The ballroom erupted into uncontrollable snickers.

Chloe froze, the color draining from her face.

She whipped her head around, her eyes locking onto me. I was standing in the crowd, sipping sparkling water and enjoying the show.

[Ding—System Warning! Core social relationship has collapsed. Progress has fallen below the 50% safety line!]

Chloe’s eyes turned bloodshot. She looked like a rabid dog pushed into a corner.

Suddenly, she spun around and sprinted toward the main stage in the center of the ballroom.

She snatched the microphone from the host and violently plugged her phone into the massive projection screen behind her.

"Don't let Vivian fool you!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the speakers.

The giant screen flashed, revealing a detailed transaction log from an online academic ghostwriting agency.

Highlighted in bright red was "Vivian Sinclair" along with wire transfers totaling tens of thousands of dollars.

Chloe pointed a trembling finger at me, screaming righteously, "Vivian bought her Ivy League admission!"

"All her papers, all her honors, were written by paid ghosts! She is nothing but an academic fraud! How can our school tolerate a criminal like her?"

The room fell dead silent.

Every eye in the room turned to me.

Emma gasped, nearly dropping her glass.

But I stood calmly in the spotlight, looking at the transaction log on the screen, and gently swirled my water.