The DNA Donation Agreement: Claimed by the Campus King

Cleo snatched my phone and dropped a nuke on the campus gossip app. "Wanted: One strand of Evander’s hair. I, Maren, plan to sequence his DNA.

For the greater good of humanity." The fallout hit fast. The whole school labeled me a walking red flag. His rabid fangirls threatened to doxx my apartment.

I barricaded myself in the deepest corner of the bio lab. My hands shook. The heavy double doors slammed open. Evander strode inside. He kept silent.

He crossed the room, towered over my desk, and slammed a document onto my keyboard.

My eyes locked onto the bold black header: DNA DONATION AGREEMENT Chapter 1 Cleo kicked my dorm door open. It slammed against the wall.

Her face looked like she’d just witnessed a murder. I didn't even look up.

I simply pushed my bluelight glasses up the bridge of my nose, my eyes glued to the cell division models on my monitor. "Did the sky fall?" "Worse!" Cleo gasped, fighting for air. "You’re the top trending post on the campus confession board!" My stomach plummeted.

My fingers slipped, nearly launching my mouse off the desk. The campus board was the absolute frontline for university drama.

You only hit number one if you dropped a legendary public confession or a careerending scandal. I practically lived in the biology lab. I was a ghost.

What kind of scandal could I possibly trigger? Cleo shoved her phone directly into my face. One glance, and a sharp ringing pierced my ears.

The top post screamed in bold, aggressive text— SHOCKER! BioMed Brainiac Maren Posts Bounty, Plots to Steal Evander's DNA!

Right below the headline sat a crystalclear screenshot of my profile picture and my actual username. Then came the quote.

The exact words that made me want to spontaneously combust. "Wanted: A single strand of Evander’s hair. I, Maren, am sequencing his DNA.

For the greater good of humanity." The room spun. Black spots danced across my vision. Last night. The lab dinner.

I drank way too many cheap margaritas and started rambling to Cleo.

I babbled about our new professor’s human genetic optimization project and how we desperately needed a flawless DNA sample. Then, my tequilasoaked brain shortcircuited.

I brought up Evander. Evander. The undisputed god of the Computer Science department.

He possessed a face that could start wars, an IQ off the charts, and enough old money to buy the entire university twice.

He was the kind of guy who made even the stray dogs on the street turn their heads for a second look.

I was probably just drunk, slamming my fist on the table and yelling. "Evander’s DNA is a literal biological treasure! If I sequence his genome, my paper gets published in Nature!

I'm getting my hands on him!" I didn't realize Cleo actually recorded it.

Or worse, broadcasted it to the entire campus. "I’m so sorry, Maren!" Cleo sobbed, latching onto my arm. "I thought it was hilarious!

I meant to post it to my private story to hype up your crush… my finger slipped!" My throat closed up. I couldn't even form words. The damage was done.

The entire student body now knew Maren as the certified creep obsessing over Evander’s genetics. The comment section was a total bloodbath. "Gross.

Are bio majors really this desperate?" "Run, Evander! She’s going to harvest your organs and clone you!" "Maren? The Ice Queen of the Bio department?

She looks so normal, who knew she was such a psycho stalker." Then came the death threats.

Evander’s rabid fan club mobilized instantly, launching a fullscale campaign to doxx me. "Girls! Protect Evander! Find this Maren chick and rip her hair out.

Let's see her sequence that!" My phone slipped from my sweaty palm and clattered onto the linoleum floor. Ice flooded my veins.

My chest tightened until I couldn't drag a breath into my lungs. I was dead. My entire life was over.

Twenty years of grinding, studying until my eyes bled, building a bulletproof reputation as the untouchable academic—obliterated in a single night. I wasn't a scholar anymore.

I was the creepy genetic stalker. Cleo kept blubbering apologies, tears streaming down her face.

I just weakly raised a hand, cutting her off. "Stop talking," I rasped. "Just order my coffin.

And make sure they engrave a DNA double helix on the lid." Chapter 2 The next twentyfour hours dragged me through absolute hell. I didn't step outside. I didn't check my phone.

I starved rather than face the cafeteria. I barricaded myself in the biology lab. I buried my face in towering stacks of research journals, desperate to numb my brain.

The ink blurred. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Evander's ethereal, almost aggressively untouchable face. What was he thinking? That I was a psycho? A stalker?

Just another desperate girl pulling a massive stunt for his attention? A sudden noise jolted me. I flinched so hard my shoulders ached.

I swore Evander’s rabid fanbase had finally tracked me down to scalp me. I scrambled under the steel workstation. My spine pressed hard against the cold cabinets.

I stopped breathing. The person on the other side possessed lethal patience. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three slow, deliberate strikes against the heavy door. "Maren.

Are you in there?" The voice slid under the door gap. Low. Chillingly calm. It carried that dark, rich timbre of a cello string pulled taut. I knew that voice. My neck snapped up.

Evander. How the hell did he find my lab? Was he here to destroy me? My heart skipped a beat, then started hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I was dead.

The victim had arrived. I froze, my muscles locking up. A hundred different brutal scenarios flashed behind my eyes. Would he drag me out and humiliate me?

Would he call campus security on the creepy stalker? Heavy silence stretched. Then the brass handle clicked. He shoved the door open and stepped into the sterile glow of the lab.

I shrank deeper into the dark corner beneath the desk. My throat clamped shut. Smack. He slammed a thick document down onto the black resin countertop right above my head.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trembling. Slowly, I forced them open and peered over the edge of the desk. My eyes locked onto the bold, black header.

DNA DONATION AGREEMENT Was this some twisted new level of psychological torture? I slowly crawled out and stood up, staring at him in total bewilderment.

He looked down at me, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his dark gaze pinning me with a lethal mix of predatory curiosity and dark amusement. "Word around campus is—" He paused, tilting his head. "—you want my DNA." His voice rolled over me like a crisp mountain spring, smooth and chillingly flawless.

Goosebumps erupted across my arms. I parted my lips. I couldn't form a single word.

He tapped a long, elegant finger against the paper. "I brought the paperwork," he drawled slowly. "But my genetics don't come cheap.

If you want this, you're going to have to show some real commitment." Commitment? I was a broke bio major. What the hell could I offer?

Was he expecting me to liquidate my meager savings for a single hair follicle? I looked up at him, my eyes filled with defensiveness and confusion.

He caught the panic in my eyes and let out a low, rough chuckle. "I don't care about your money." He let the silence stretch.

His gaze dragged over my chaotic workstation, analyzing the mess, before sliding back to my face. "I'm running a project. I need an assistant.

You clearly have… aggressive initiative, Maren. So, you pay me in labor." Assistant? I dissected frogs. He coded algorithms. How exactly did those cross over?

This sounded infinitely more unhinged than him just demanding cash. "What kind of project?" I demanded, my muscles tight. "A study on AI and human emotional interaction," he stated flatly.

My brain stalled. I just stared at him, completely lost. He watched my confusion peak and sighed. "In simpler terms. You're going to play video games with me." Video games?

I genuinely thought there was something wrong with my hearing. Evander, the undisputed god of Computer Science, was running a project on gaming?

And he was extorting a bio major to be his player two? This was a thousand times more absurd than my drunken confession on the internet.

Chapter 3 I stared at the contract trapped under his hand. Then my gaze snapped up to his face. He looked entirely too pleased. I was torn.

Social death, or playing video games with Evander. The math wasn't exactly difficult. "Deal," I ground out. Satisfaction flashed in his dark eyes.

He slid the papers across the black resin counter. "Sign it, Maren." I snatched a pen. My fingers trembled as I scrawled my name on the Subject line: Maren.

Evander picked up the contract.

The smirk carving his lips darkened. "A pleasure doing business with you, my… Chief Gene Researcher." He dragged the title out, letting the mockery drip from every syllable.

Heat scorched my cheeks. I prayed the linoleum floor would crack open and swallow me whole. Evander turned toward the exit. Right at the heavy double doors, he paused.

He glanced back over his broad shoulder. "Eight o'clock tonight. East Wing Tech Lab 302. Don't be late." He walked out.

The door clicked shut, leaving me standing in the sterile silence. I stared at the empty space. This had to be a hallucination. So, I wasn't getting expelled.

Instead, I just became Evander's personal gamer girl and designated DNA tracker? My phone buzzed aggressively against the floor tiles.

Cleo had spammed fifty messages demanding proof of life. I scooped the cracked screen up and typed a rapid reply. "Alive. And I just got myself a boss." The phone instantly rang.

I accepted the call, and Cleo’s voice shrieked through the speaker. "What boss?! Maren, tell me you didn't sell your soul to him!

I know Evander is a walking red flag wrapped in a thirst trap, but we have boundaries!" I quickly broke down the entire unhinged encounter.

Dead silence stretched for thirty agonizing seconds. Then, an earpiercing squeal shattered my eardrum. "Holy shit! Evander knows exactly what he's doing!

This is a straightup dark romance trope! Maren, this is your cinematic meetcute!" I rubbed my pounding temples. "Meetcute? Cleo, this is a literal Siberian winter.

I'm just a helpless prey about to be played by a sly fox." A cold knot twisted in my gut. Being Evander's assistant was a trap.

It had absolutely nothing to do with video games. 7:59 PM. I stood outside East Wing Tech Lab 302. I shoved the heavy door open. The massive room was entirely empty, except for him.

Evander sat bathed in the harsh blue glow of a triplemonitor setup, rows of complex code cascading down the screens. The door clicked shut. His head snapped up.

He lifted a hand and gave a single, lazy curl of his fingers. "Come here." I dragged my feet across the antistatic carpet and sank into the leather chair right beside his.

He killed the coding terminals. A massive loading screen launched.

Hyperrealistic graphics booted up, rendering a sprawling, darkfantasy MMORPG universe. "This is Ascension," Evander stated, tapping the edge of the monitor. "My team is developing it.

It's in closed beta. Your job is to run the mechanics and give me live feedback." The tight knot in my chest loosened.

That actually sounded normal. "What do I do first?" "Start by rolling a character." I grabbed the mouse and clicked through the creation menu. Classes, skill trees, facial sliders.

I blindly selected the Healer class and dragged the cursor toward the randomize button for her face. "Stop." Evander's voice dropped low, vibrating right against my ear.

He leaned in. The physical distance between us instantly evaporated. I could even smell the clean, crisp scent of soap on him. My breath hitched.

His chest hovered a fraction of an inch from my shoulder. I felt the sharp heat radiating off his body.

His long, roughtipped fingers reached right across my space, typing a rapid command directly over my keyboard. I heard the quiet click of his jaw locking.

A hidden developer panel snapped open on the screen. "Map your own face onto it," he ordered, his voice suddenly thicker. I froze. "Excuse me?" He slowly turned his head.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, pitchblack and completely unreadable. "You are my Chief Gene Researcher," he drawled, his gaze dropping to my lips for a split second. "Wouldn't it be far more scientifically rigorous to use your exact likeness for data collection?" Chapter 4 I swallowed hard, entirely stripped of words.

What kind of psychotic scientific rigor was this? Evander tracked my cursor, his arm caging me in against the desk.

He dropped low, murmuring critiques right against my temple. "Widen the eyes. Yours are far more intense. Adjust the bridge of the nose. Your profile is sharper.

The lips…" His dark eyes dragged down to my mouth, lingering heavily. "…too much color. Pale them out." I wasn't rolling a character.

I was being meticulously dissected and 3Drendered under his microscope. I finally hit confirm. My digitized face spawned into the starter zone. Evander booted up his main account.

A dualwielding assassin dropped onto the screen, simply tagged Evander. His avatar mirrored him—clad in flowing white robes, looking incredibly handsome and ethereal.

My character, tagged MarenZero, stood next to him. A squishy healer draped in potatosack starter rags. "Move out. I'm powerleveling you," he ordered.

I trailed behind him, playing the ultimate loot goblin. The starter zone was packed with lowlevel corrupted wolves.

He absolutely obliterated them, oneshotting everything in a blur of hyperrealistic blade mechanics.

I just followed his path of destruction, scooping up gold drops and mindlessly mashing my basic heal key. The grind was shockingly peaceful.

Until we triggered the first dungeon boss. A massive, twisted Treant rooted in the heart of the dead forest. Evander ordered me to hold the perimeter.

He didn't even wait for my confirmation. His avatar blurred, dashing straight into the aggro zone. Silver light fractured across the monitor.

His combo chains were smooth and flawless, a dazzling display of highlevel mechanics. My eyes couldn't even track his keystrokes.

I hugged the absolute edge of the map, mindlessly spamming my single healing spell. This was a total carry. I was getting paid to do nothing. Then, the boss hit its enrage timer.

The screen suddenly shook. Thick, thorny vines erupted from the soil, instantly pinning Evander’s assassin to the ground. His health bar aggressively melted red. "Heals.

Now," he snapped. Panic spiked my adrenaline. My fingers flew across the keyboard, frantically hammering my ability hotkeys. Nothing happened.

I shot a desperate glance at my interface. My mana bar was completely hollow. I forgot to pop a mana potion.

Evander’s health dipped into the critical single digits. "I'm OOM!" I shrieked, slamming my mouse. "I have no mana!" The monitor instantly grayed out.

YOU DIED flashed in brutal, mocking red letters. Evander’s godtier assassin collapsed facefirst into the dirt. I was the dedicated healer.

And I just let our only DPS burn to death on my first day. A dead silence swallowed the tech lab. The only sound was the violent, chaotic hammering of my pulse against my eardrums.

I was getting fired. Evander was going to rip up that DNA contract and personally pin me to the top of the campus burn board. My spine completely locked.

I forced my rigid neck to turn, millimeter by millimeter, bracing for the absolute worst. Evander leaned all the way back in his leather chair. His face was a total void.

He just stared deadeyed at his grayedout monitor. "So…" I rasped, my throat sandpaper dry. "That was… a slight mechanical error." He shifted. Slowly.

His head turned, pinning me with a heavy, pitchblack stare. Every instinct I had screamed red flag. I violently flinched, shrinking away from him.

Then, the corner of his mouth twitched. A sharp, raw laugh tore out of his chest.

It completely shattered his icy, untouchable facade. "Maren," he dragged out, his broad shoulders physically shaking with dark amusement. "You are, without a doubt, the most unhinged healer I have ever witnessed.

You singlehandedly rewired my entire understanding of the support class," he added, his dark eyes gleaming with pure mockery.

Brutal heat flooded my face, burning right to the tips of my ears. Was I being praised, or brutally roasted? I wanted the floor to cave in.

Honestly, I would have preferred him screaming at me. This quiet, amused execution was absolute torture. "Respawn." He hit the revive hotkey.

The dark, raspy edge in his voice hummed with dangerous anticipation. A massive knot of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. This was going to be an agonizingly long night.

Chapter 5 My dread was entirely justified. For the next two agonizing hours, I delivered a masterclass in sabotaging Evander. I drained my mana to zero.

I fatfingered the wrong healing spells. Once, I completely botched my positioning, aggroing an entire mob of elites that instantly wiped us both back to the respawn point.

Eventually, Evander just stopped fighting it. His avatar sat motionless at the graveyard. He stared at me, releasing a heavy, defeated exhale. "Maren.

I'm starting to suspect you're a corporate spy sent by a rival studio." Heat scorched the back of my neck.

I dropped my gaze to my keyboard. "I don't play a lot of games…" I whispered, wishing the floor would crack open and swallow me whole. "It's fine," he dismissed, waving a hand. "It's actually highly effective.

You're exposing the game's edgecase bugs under extreme duress." I stared blankly at the screen. Wow. Thanks for the massive ego boost. 10:30 PM.

My absolute torture session finally wrapped. I practically leaped out of my leather chair, snatching my backpack to bolt. "Hold on." Evander's voice snapped like a whip.

He pulled a sleek, matteblack box from his desk drawer and shoved it toward my chest. "What is this?" I asked, my muscles tense. "Take it," he ordered. "A starter pack." I opened the box suspiciously.

It was loaded with premium digital redemption cards. Unlock codes for godtier raid gear and impossibletofarm crafting mats.

My squishy little healer could instantly facetank a boss with this haul. "This is way too expensive—" "Keep it." He tapped the edge of the box, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "I refuse to spend tomorrow night staring at the respawn screen." His tone was full of disdain.

So why did that rough edge in his voice sound almost… indulgent? I fiercely crushed that thought. Absolute delusion.

Back in our dorm, Cleo stared at me like I’d just crawled out of a grave. "Maren, are you Evander's sugar baby now?" I dumped the digital loot cards onto our shared desk and broke down the entire humiliating night.

Cleo's eyes practically bulged out of her skull. She lunged for the cards. "Holy shit!" she shrieked. "This 'Starlight Glass' skin?

There’s literally only one in the entire closed beta! And this 'Tear of the Phoenix' potion? You can't even buy this with real money! He just handed this to you?!

Maren, he is completely obsessed with you!

You are so unbelievably oblivious, open your eyes!" I swatted her hands away, my heart doing a weird stutter in my chest. "You're clinically insane.

He just doesn't want me to get his character killed again." I said the words, but a strange flutter stirred in my heart. Evander… what was his actual endgame here?

The next morning, the campus confession board violently shifted gears. A brandnew, pinned comment hijacked my public execution post.

It was posted directly from Evander's verified account. "The original post is factually accurate. I personally recruited Maren for a localized genetic research project in my lab.

Keep your drama in check, stop spreading garbage, and back off my future partner." He attached a heavily redacted photo. The undeniable, bold header of the DNA DONATION AGREEMENT.

The internet imploded. The entire campus app went into absolute meltdown. "Holy shit! The King has spoken!" "Wait, so she isn't a psycho stalker?

It's an academic powercouple crossover?" "'Future partner'… that phrasing is doing things to me.

I'm shipping this immediately." "Am I the only one who noticed Evander is listed as the Owner and Maren is the Subject? That's not a lab contract.

That's an absolute ownership claim." Chapter 6 The campus gossip machine did a violent 180.

My reputation pivoted from the campus psycho stalker to the untouchable "Chosen One" handpicked by the King himself.

Evander's rabid fanbase instantly folded. "Omg we totally misunderstood! We’re so sorry!" "If Evander picked her, she must be a literal genius.

We stan a STEM queen!" I scrolled through the comment section, a hysterical, breathless sound trapped in my throat as I stared at the screen.

The world was changing so fast I could barely keep up. Walking across the quad, the same people who wanted me publicly executed yesterday now stared at me with pure, unfiltered awe.

A freshman—Cara—ambushed me on the sidewalk and shoved an iced matcha latte against my chest. "Maren, I am so sorry for dragging you online!

This is a peace offering." She grabbed my hands, her eyes wide. "I totally ship you and Evander.

Please sequence his DNA and make the most genetically blessed babies for humanity!" I just stared at her. Thanks, but absolutely not. The social execution got canceled. The catch?

The entire campus now aggressively shipped me and Evander. I desperately tried to draw a hard line in the sand. "Evander, you cleared my name.

Can we just void the contract—" "No." He cut me off instantly. "The term is one year.

We literally just started." He tapped the edge of his unlocked phone against the black resin desk. "Plus, my 'partner' let my character bleed out three times last night.

Does that sound like a completed job to you?" My jaw snapped shut. Fine. A debt meant a debt. I resigned myself to my fate as his designated gamer girl.

But as the days dragged on, the untouchable, icecold facade of the CS God completely shattered. He operated like a cunning fox.

He thrived on pushing my buttons, practically feeding off the dark amusement of watching me completely lose my mind. Then… there were the details.

He noticed I violently hated cilantro. When my lab hours bled into midnight, he’d suddenly appear with a steaming carton of loaded waffle fries.

We ground through beta raids, hammered out code in the tech lab, and buried ourselves in the library. His genius refused to stay confined to algorithms.

He possessed this terrifyingly deep understanding of biological systems, casually dropping an observation that would completely unblock my research. My defenses crumbled.

My resistance towards him was slowly melting away. The realization knocked the wind right out of me. Professor Morgan’s Molecular Bio class functioned as a notorious GPA killer.

The man operated like a massive dinosaur with impossible standards.

Our midterm posed a monster of a challenge: a comprehensive review of CRISPR geneediting technology, demanding a completely original thesis.

I tore through hundreds of medical journals. I practically ripped my hair out by the roots, staring blindly at a blank document.

Late Thursday night, I crashed hard at my lab station. The heavy doors swung open. Evander strolled in, clutching a steaming brown paper bag.

The sharp, greasy scent of my favorite latenight takeout hit the air. He dropped the bag on my desk, his dark eyes analyzing the heavy bags under my eyes.

He demanded to know what broke my brain. I dumped the entire CRISPR nightmare onto him. He didn't speak.

He just dragged a stool right up to my hip and sank down. "Show me your draft." I spun my laptop toward him.

His gaze tracked over my scattered notes, a hard line carving between his brows. "Your foundational logic holds up.

But you're suffocating inside the existing academic framework," he finally stated. He leaned in.

The intense heat of his shoulder pressed directly against mine. "Why limit CRISPR applications strictly to gene therapy?

What happens when you feed those biological variables into a predictive algorithm?" Chapter 7 My brain shortcircuited.

Merging organic biology with raw code? "Look." He hijacked my laptop.

His long fingers flew across the keys, pulling up layers of complex predictive models I couldn't even begin to read. "We build a predictive algorithm to map the biological variables.

We feed it into an AI to engineer the exact sequence we need." His words were like a bolt of lightning, splitting through my clouded mind.

I stared at him, my pulse hammering with pure, unfiltered adrenaline. "Evander, you are an absolute genius." He shifted under my intense stare.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, and he deliberately broke eye contact, staring at the screen. "It's just a framework. The actual biological mapping is on you." The hours bled away.

He constructed the algorithm's framework, and I filled in the biology data.

Our workflow locked together perfectly, slipping into a frictionless rhythm like we’d been collaborating for years.

We hit save just as the sky outside the lab turned a bruised, metallic gray. I rolled my stiff shoulders, a massive wave of relief crashing over me.

I turned to tell him—and the words died in my throat. Evander was fully passed out in the ergonomic chair. The harsh, fluorescent lab lights caught the sharp angles of his jaw.

The thick sweep of his dark lashes cast heavy shadows against his cheekbones. Stripped of that arrogant, manipulative edge, he just looked… utterly devastating.

The air physically punched out of my lungs, and my heart raced wildly against my ribs. Without a single logical thought, my hand lifted.

My fingertips grazed the invisible, radiating heat of his skin. I felt the phantom pull of contact. Every nerve in my body screamed. Then, his dark eyes snapped open.

My breath caught in my throat. His gaze was pitchblack, instantly locking onto mine, completely wide awake.

I pulled my hand back like I had been burned, my heart racing. "I—there was a bug," I stammered, my voice cracking in panic. "I was just checking for a bug." A slow, dark amusement swirled in his eyes.

He didn't call out the absolute garbage leaving my mouth.

He just slowly dragged himself upright. "You finish the draft?" he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. "Yeah," I breathed out, my chest tight. "It's done." "Good." He pushed off the chair, his tall frame unfolding as he grabbed his keys. "Let's get breakfast." I practically glued my eyes to his broad shoulders as I followed him out.

My face burned with a feverish heat. I was officially losing my goddamn mind. I submitted the paper to Professor Morgan. The man practically wept.

He hauled me into his office, vibrating with adrenaline, demanding to know what kind of divine intervention triggered this absolute stroke of genius.

I vaguely muttered something about a latenight epiphany and bolted. The invisible boundary between me and Evander completely dissolved after that night. We never defined it.

We didn't talk about it.

But the thick, unspoken tension between us was undeniable. "Maren, when are you dropping the hard launch?" Cleo demanded, cornering me in our dorm. "I'm literally picking out my bridesmaid dress." I shoved a pillow into her face to shut her up, my cheeks burning.

But I couldn't lie to myself. Whatever this was—it was spinning wildly out of my control. And just when I stupidly let my guard down, reality violently crashed back in. Monroe.

The untouchable queen of the Bio department. Evander’s most aggressive, territorial stalker. Ever since the DNA confession blew up, I’d been public enemy number one on her hit list.

Evander’s brutal public shutdown had forced her to back off. But the silence didn't last. She’d just reloaded, and she’d found a brandnew target painted right on my back.

Chapter 8 I sat in the crowded dining hall. Monroe and her loyal squad, Gemma included, marched straight toward my table.

Monroe slammed her palms flat onto the sticky cafeteria table.

The sudden impact sent my iced coffee spilling across my tray. "Maren, do you have zero shame?" My brows snapped together. "Can I help you?" "Let me ask you something," she practically screeched, jabbing a manicured finger at my face. "Your CRISPR paper.

Did you plagiarize it?" I froze. The entire dining hall went dead silent.

Every single pair of eyes locked onto us. "What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Am I making it up?" Monroe scoffed, a vicious sneer twisting her lips. "Don't play dumb.

You’re a bio major. How could you possibly code a predictive algorithm? You couldn't write the core model in that paper to save your life! You stole Evander's research, didn't you?

You weaponized his guilt over the campus board drama. You manipulated him, gained his trust, and ripped off his work to make yourself look like a genius!

You are a literal academic thief!" Her words dropped like a bomb. The dining hall erupted into aggressive whispers