9. Gone

The air was thick with a bitter silence. Elise stood frozen, her lips parted, disbelief written across every line of her face.

The remnants of her seduction attempt still hung in the air like the scent of perfume—desperate, cloying, and fading fast.

Ren didn't move immediately. He stared at her—not with disgust, not with pity, but with the kind of stillness that made Elise feel like a specimen under a microscope.

Then, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, barely visible black clip.

A camera.

Her breath hitched.

"You recorded me?" she whispered, voice shrill with dawning dread.

"I record everything," Ren replied. "Especially when I know someone will lie, or when the truth matters most."

She took a step back, hitting the edge of the desk.

"You can't," she said. "You wouldn't—"

"Already did."

The screen of his phone lit up in his hand. One click.

Elise didn't see the title, didn't hear the video. She didn't need to. Her own voice echoed in her ears already:

"I can't change. I don't want to. I just want it to stop. I'll give you anything… even me."

Ren looked up from the screen, eyes reflecting none of the fury she'd expected. Instead, they were calm. Collected. Cold.

"You know what's funny?" he asked softly. "You and I… we're not that different."

Elise's trembling hands gripped the table.

"I don't—"

"You love control. You love being the one who decides who gets to feel seen, heard, destroyed. I do too."

He walked toward her slowly, step by step.

"But there's a difference," he said. "People love me for it. They call it 'content.' They call me brilliant. They cheer when I expose someone. You? They just see a monster."

Elise shook her head. "That's not fair—"

"Fair?" Ren snorted, half a laugh, half a scoff. "You spent years crafting your throne out of fear and manipulation. The only difference is that I built mine with mirrors. I let people see exactly what's underneath."

He stopped right in front of her now.

"I never hated you, Elise. Actually…"

His eyes softened just a touch.

"You're exactly my type. Ambitious. Ruthless. Beautiful. Broken. If anything… I love you. Really do."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "Then why—"

"But that also made you the perfect target."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Because someone like you… never truly learns. They just find new masks to wear. And I love breaking masks."

He smiled then.

Not a cruel smile. Not triumphant.

Just… certain.

"I think even though I really truly love you," he added. "But I love the end of your reign more."

Click.

He pressed "Upload."

No hesitation.

The deed was done.

Elise's knees buckled. She sank onto the floor, staring at the phone in his hand like it had just cast a death sentence. And maybe it had.

Her last illusion. Her last defense. Gone.

Ren looked down at her one final time, then turned.

And walked away.

Behind him, the video hit the internet.

And Elise—once the queen of the school, once untouchable—was finally, utterly erased.

…

The fallout was instant. Elise's confession spread through the internet like wildfire.

Her tears, her manipulation, her inability—or refusal—to change. It was all out there.

Captured in high definition. Framed by Ren's now-infamous editing style: stark white subtitles, haunting piano notes, and brutal clarity.

Comments poured in by the thousands. Applause. Condemnation. A storm of digital justice.

Her name trended for days, attached to hashtags that stripped her identity to shreds.

Elise, the untouchable heiress, had fallen—and this time, there was no rope to pull her back up.

She disappeared within a week.

No goodbye. No press statement. The school confirmed her voluntary withdrawal.

A few students swore they saw her being escorted into a black car, her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses and shame. But no one really knew where she went.

And as quickly as Elise vanished… so did Ren.

Lira noticed it first.

He hadn't replied to her messages.

At first, she thought he was just busy. He always had a project going. Always editing, filming, working. She gave him space. Then she went to his apartment—the one he said he was temporarily renting during his "project."

It was empty.

Clean.

No furniture. No trace of him.

No Ren.

She stood there in the doorway, clutching her phone with numb fingers, scrolling through their messages.

Unread.

Unseen.

She called. Voicemail. Every time.

But the strangest thing?

His channel was still active.

New videos dropped regularly. Exposés. Anonymous interviews.

Commentaries about systemic bullying, psychological breakdowns, and the masks people wear. Each one sharp as ever. Polished. Cold. Distant.

His voice narrated them, but he never appeared on camera again.

Lira sat on her bed at night watching them, headphones pressed tight. She memorized the cadence of his speech. Every pause. Every breath.

But he wasn't speaking to her.

He had done what he came to do.

And then he left.

Like a ghost.

Days turned into weeks.

Students talked about him like a legend.

Some admired him. Called him a hero. Others feared him. Labeled him dangerous.

But for Lira, it wasn't just mystery.

It was grief.

He had stood by her when no one else did. Uplifted her when she was broken. And then—just like that—he was gone.

She wandered campus halls alone now, not with the shadow of shame but with something else entirely:

Emptiness.

Everyone left her alone, out of guilt or reverence or maybe fear. No one dared mock her anymore. No one whispered behind her back.

But no one really saw her either.

She went to the music room where Ren once leaned against the vending machine. The lights flickered as they always had. The hum of old wiring was still there.

But he wasn't.

One day, after class, she walked to the media lab. Sat down. Opened a blank email.

To: Ren (last known address)

Subject: Where did you go?

She stared at the blinking cursor.

Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

'You said I mattered. That what Elise did was wrong. That I deserved better.'

She hesitated.

'Then why does it feel like I lost you too?'

She hovered over the send button.

Then hit it.

The message vanished into the void.

And she waited.

But the reply never came.

That night, a new video dropped on Ren's channel.

"Why We Leave: On Closure, Power, and Letting Go"

It wasn't about Elise. Not directly.

It was about predators and enablers. About people who hurt others and then beg to be forgiven when the walls come crashing down. About how silence is sometimes the only thing left after justice.

There was a line in the middle of the video. Just one. Spoken quietly, almost an afterthought:

"Sometimes we walk away because we finished what we came to do. Not because we don't care. But because staying would only break something else."

Lira replayed that line over and over.

Her fingers trembled.

Was that meant for her?

She didn't know.

And maybe she never would.

But she whispered to the screen anyway.

"I wish you had stayed."

Ren never returned to the college.

But his shadow lingered.

In every corner.

In every whisper.

In every reminder that masks, once torn, can never be worn the same way again.

And for Lira, that was the hardest truth of all.

He had exposed a monster.

Then disappeared like a phantom.

And all she had left—

Was silence.

And the echo of a boy who once changed her life… then walked away forever.