Rose was panicking.
Jenny and Lily were gone. Expelled. Humiliated. The loyal dogs she once relied on had turned into cautionary tales. And now, the rest of her underlings were scattering—some distancing themselves, others too terrified to be seen near her. No one wanted to be next.
The Rose Garden was wilting fast.
She paced her room, breathing unevenly, clutching her phone like it was the only thing that could still save her.
With trembling fingers, she called her father.
"Dad," she hissed the moment he picked up, "I need your help. Now."
There was a pause on the other end. Then a calm but stern voice replied, "What happened?"
"They're exposing everything—me, Jenny, Lily... the videos are everywhere. I don't know how, but someone's behind this. And I need it stopped."
Her father sighed. "You were supposed to keep this clean."
"Just fix it," she snapped. "Make it go away!"
Silence.
Then: "I'll handle it."
But even as the call ended, Rose knew—things were already slipping beyond control. And the people behind the curtain weren't afraid of her anymore.
Rose considered running.
She had money, connections, and places to go. If she disappeared now, maybe the worst would blow over. But then… she thought about graduation. Her perfect record. Her spotless image. All the praise, all the admiration she'd built brick by brick.
Could she really throw it all away?
She clenched her fists.
No—not yet.
She still had one option left.
Find the ones behind the uploads. Silence them. End this.
Whoever had exposed her, recorded her, stripped away her power—they had to pay. Before the Rose Garden crumbled completely. Before the whispers grew too loud to stop.
Before her name became nothing more than a withered flower in a dying garden.
Desperation made Rose reckless.
She couldn't trace the videos herself—whoever uploaded them had been too careful. But she knew someone who could. A name passed quietly through elite circles. A skilled hacker who didn't ask questions—as long as the payment was right.
She messaged him through an encrypted app, her fingers flying across the screen.
> "I need an IP. Fast. The uploader of a viral video. Find them."
Within minutes, the reply came.
> "Send the link."
She did. Then waited.
The seconds crawled. Her foot tapped restlessly on the marble floor, heart pounding in sync with the panic in her chest.
Then her phone lit up again.
> "Got it. Sending now."
A file dropped into her inbox. An IP. A partial location.
A name she didn't recognize.
But it didn't matter.
To her, it was a target.
Rose smiled coldly.
"They think they've buried me," she whispered to herself, "but I'm not done yet."
At that moment, Annie and Kayla were unaware.
Unaware of the danger creeping toward them—silent, calculated, and ready to strike.
They believed they were in control. That they had turned the tide. That they could bring down Rose and watch the garden rot.
But they had forgotten one thing:
Even roses have thorns.
And some are sharp enough to pierce the hands of the predators who reach in too deep.