His words invalidated all the hard work I had put in over the past eight years, igniting a firestorm of anger in my roommate, Nancy. She accused me of using plagiarism to unfairly occupy a scholarship slot that she believed should have been hers. “You’re rich enough! Why do you need the scholarship?” she raged.
The insults from netizens grew relentless, and the school ultimately revoked my graduate degree and expelled me.
When I returned to the dormitory to pack my things, Nancy confronted me in a fit of rage, forcing me to drink paraquat. As I lay there, choking and vomiting blood, my life slipped away, and Felicity emerged victorious, graduating and securing a position as the youngest tutor at the school.
My parents arrived at the campus to claim my body, deeply convinced that I had not taken my own life, as the school had suggested. They were determined to seek justice for me, convinced that the circumstances surrounding my death were shrouded in deception and betrayal.