My Online Date Is Her Aunt

The girl Id been talking to online mentioned she had a thing for the clean-cut, preppy look.

Before we were set to meet in person, I silently purged my closet. Out went the faded hoodies and gym shorts; in came the crisp, white button-downs.

Thats when the text started scrolling across my vision, glowing like a neon news ticker suspended in mid-air:

[Why is the Side Character changing his wardrobe? If he actually cleans up, how is the Hero supposed to impersonate him to get the Girl?]

[Relax. The Hero will make one snarky comment, and the Side Character will feel so insecure hell change back into his rags.]

[Actually... the Side Character has broad shoulders and a runner's build. Hed honestly look better in that shirt...]

[Who cares about looks? The Hero is the Golden Boy of the Finance Department. This guy reeks of poverty. How could he ever match with the Simona heiress?]

My fingers froze on the buttons.

The dorm door swung open. Brody walked in, spinning a basketball on his finger, his eyes landing softly on my new shirt.

"Carter? You bought that?"

He walked over, his voice dripping with that practiced, effortless charm. "Honestly, man? That style just... isn't you. It looks like you're playing dress-up. Its a little awkward."

Awkward.

The word was a needle, sliding precisely into my insecurity.

My parents always raised me to be practical, invisible. Keep your head down, Carter. Wear clothes that last. So, I lived in oversized sportswear.

But what twenty-year-old guy doesn't want to look good?

Brody patted my shoulder, flashing that winning, sunlight-bright smile. "Ive got a new tracksuit I haven't worn. You can have it. I just don't want you going out there and getting laughed at."

If this were yesterday, I would have burned with shame. I would have stripped off the shirt and buried it in the bottom of my laundry hamper.

Countless times Id wanted to elevate my style, and every time, Brody was there to "gently" steer me back to mediocrity. I truly believed he was looking out for me. That is, until I overheard him in the hallway telling our other roommates that I actually had better bone structure than him, and if I ever figured out how to dress, hed lose his spot as the campus heartthrob.

Brody gave me the silent treatment for three days after that conversation. I was the one who apologized. I begged for his friendship back. I thought he was my best friend. I was so paralyzed by my own low self-esteem that the idea of competing with him never even crossed my mind.

But today...

I shook my head. I looked in the mirror. I didn't see a charity case. I saw a man.

I hooked a smile onto my face. "I'm good, thanks. I want to try something new."

Brodys smile faltered. It was like a glitch in the simulation.

The ticker in my vision flared up again:

[What is the Side Character doing? Does he actually think he looks good?]

[If he keeps this up, how is the Hero going to steal his identity and bag the Heiress?]

[Don't worry, everyone. The Side Character never sent a face pic to the Girl. The Hero is smart; hes already planning the 'accidental' meet-cute. Carter is about to become the imposter in his own life.]

[Exactly. The Hero just has to play the victim, and Tiffany Simona will melt. Who cares about Carter?]

It hit me then, with the force of a physical blow.

I was just a prop. A "cannon fodder" character in a trashy romance novel. My existence served one purpose: to make Brody look better and to facilitate his romance with Tiffany Simona.

In the original ending, Brody frames me for trying to sabotage their love. I get expelled, blacklisted, and end up working manual labor in some godforsaken place, miserable until the day I die.

Well. Im awake now. And Im not playing by the script anymore.

I wanted to see what happens to a romance novel when the side character decides hes done hating himself.

I straightened my spine, squaring my shoulders in the mirror. I looked Brody dead in the eye.

"My girlfriend said she likes guys in white shirts. I figured it was time for a change."

The corners of Brodys mouth tightened.

"Is that so? Carter, come on. You can't take online flings seriously. She probably just said that..."

"Maybe," I interrupted, adjusting my collar. "But let's test the theory. Who knows? I might just pull it off."

That night, Brody didn't try to talk me out of it again.

But the air in the room was thick with his irritation. He tossed and turned all night.

We didn't have classes the next morning. When I woke up, Brodys bed was empty.

I washed up and checked my phone. A message from T-Simona.

T-Simona: You mentioned yesterday you wanted to change up your look. I hope I didn't pressure you. Just be yourself. No pressure with me, ever.

I stared at the screen, a warmth spreading through my chest. We met in an online book club six months ago. She didn't say much, but every word she typed felt like it had weight, like it came from a deep, quiet place. We clicked.

Wed been "dating" for two months, but Id always been too insecure to send a face reveal.

I looked at the mirror. The white shirt was crisp. I looked clean. Capable.

I snapped a photo. No filters. Just me. And I hit send.

Carter: No pressure at all. I wanted the change. What do you think?

Almost instantly, the mental ticker scrolled past:

[He actually sent it! Too little, too late. The Hero already has her schedule. Hes probably initiating the encounter right now.]

[The drama! The Hero is wearing a nearly identical shirt today. Hes going to wait for her to mistake him for Carter!]

[Carter sends the photo now, but the Girl will just think hes the copycat. The Hero is going to spin such a sob story.]

[The Hero and the Heiress are destiny. Why is this garbage character fighting it?]

My heart dropped into my stomach.

I texted her: Where are you?

No reply.

I shoved my feet into my shoes, grabbed my bag, and sprinted.

I reached the bottom of the stairs when my phone buzzed. It wasn't her.

I remembered vaguely that the book club organizer mentioned she was in the Fine Arts program. I ran toward the Arts wing.

From fifty yards away, I saw them. Under the sprawling shade of the old oak tree near the side exit.

A guy in a crisp white shirt, hair styled perfectly. He was looking down at a girl, his profile sharp and handsome. It was Brody.

The woman had her back to me. She was slender, wearing a simple, elegant beige dress.

Brody reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was practiced, tender.

The ticker screamed in excitement:

[Yes! Thats the look! The soulful second lead energy! Look at him, Tiffany! Hes the one!]

[The Hero looks so vulnerable. If he says Carter stole his photo, shell believe him in a heartbeat!]

The next second, Brody leaned down and kissed her forehead.

The small flame of hope in my chest hissed and died.

The woman looked up. Her gaze drifted past Brody and collided with mine.

She didn't look away.

Brody followed her line of sight. When he saw me, his smile froze, then shattered.

"Tiffany." His voice was tight. "Let's go. Were going to be late for the gallery."

I found my voice, stepping forward. "Actually, I'm the one who"

"He's my roommate, Carter," Brody cut in, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, practically trembling. "I... I didn't want to tell you..."

He looked at her with wide, wet eyes. "He bullies me in the dorm constantly. He even stole my photos to catfish people online..."

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing angry red scratches on his forearm.

"Yesterday, I tried to ask him to stop, and he... he came at me with a utility knife..."

The womans expression shifted instantly.

When she looked at me again, the curiosity was gone. Replaced by a cold, aristocratic disgust.

"Brody is my boyfriend now."

Her voice was ice. "If you touch him again, or try to use his identity..."

She paused, looking me up and down like I was something she stepped in. "I will make sure you don't just leave this university. Ill make sure you disappear."

She turned her heel. They walked away.

I stood there, the summer breeze feeling like liquid nitrogen against my skin.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I opened our chat.

Carter: Why would you believe a stranger over me?

Sent.

Thirty minutes later. The vibration buzzed against my palm.

T-Simona: Something urgent came up. Ill find you.

My heart hit the floor.

I laughed, a dry, cracking sound, as a tear hit the screen.

Carter: I get it. I hope youre happy.

I hit send. Then I tapped the corner of the screen. Block. Delete conversation.

If I couldn't change the plot of this damn novel, I could at least remove myself from it.

I would stay in my lane. I wouldn't touch their toxic love story.

But the tree craves silence, and the wind won't stop blowing.

The anonymous post on the campus forum"The Preston Whisperer"went live the next morning.

The headline was in bold, aggressive red:

EXPOSED! Psycho Stalker Carter steals Roommate's Photos for Catfishing, Bullies Victim into Silence!

The post was a masterclass in fiction. It wove a narrative of a jealous, psychotic loser terrorizing the golden boy.

I was the villain.

The comments section was a dumpster fire.

[Whoa, for real? Carter looks so quiet though.]

[Its always the quiet ones. I heard hes on financial aidprobably jealous of Brody.]

[Im next door to them. I hear Brody sighing all the time. Now it makes sense. Terrifying.]

[Expel him! We don't need freaks like that at Preston!]

I scrolled, my fingers numb.

When I walked into my lecture hall, the stares felt like physical pricks. My desk was covered in blue ink. The sticky liquid dripped onto the floor, a dark stain against the linoleum.

After class, I was cornered in the stairwell. Three guys.

The leader was one of Brodys frat brothers. He crossed his arms, sneering. "Well look at that. The Great Pretender. You have some nerve showing up."

"Move," I rasped.

Another guy leaned in. "Check the forum? Ten thousand views. You're famous, stalker."

They formed a semi-circle.

Down the hall, leaning against a locker, was Brody. He was watching, a faint, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

One of the guys grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my head toward the trash can.

"Get off me!" I struggled. "You're defending a liar! Brody is the one bullying me!"

"I never used his photos! He's impersonating me!"

Someone kicked the trash can. Coffee grounds and old noodles splashed all over my white shirt.

"Garbage human," someone spat.

People walked by, averting their eyes or whispering that I deserved it.

I broke free and ran, hiding in a dead-end corridor of the Science building until the sun went down.

My phone wouldn't stop vibrating. Unknown numbers.

Get out of Preston, freak.

Die, stalker.

By evening, my stomach was eating itself. I had to go to the dining hall.

The moment I stepped in, someone "tripped" and splashed a cup of scalding tea on me.

I yelped in pain.

The cafeteria went silent. All eyes on me.

The guy was Brodys shadow, always trailing him like a puppy.

"What is wrong with you?!" I shouted, my patience snapping.

He gritted his teeth and slammed his food tray onto my chest. Marinara sauce exploded over me.

"Stop whining! You fake piece of trash, using Brodys face to scam girls and then cutting him up?"

"I caught you today, so Im settling the score for Brody!"

I opened my mouth to argue, but his friends circled me.

Up on the mezzanine level, looking down from the VIP balcony, was the woman in the beige dress. She frowned, looking at the commotion.

Her friend whispered something like, "Tiffany, ignore him. He deserves it."

Down below, I was being shoved, my hair pulled.

Suddenly, Brodys voice cut through the noise. "Guys! Stop! What are you doing?"

The crowd parted. He rushed in, looking like a saint, reaching out to help me up.

"Are you okay, Carter?" He frowned, turning to the mob. "Don't do this. As long as Carter learns his lesson..."

Watching his performance made bile rise in my throat.

I instinctively slapped his hand away.

He threw himself backward like hed been shot. As he fell, his sweatpants caught on the edge of a chair.

RIIIP.

The fabric tore from the knee up, revealing... thermal long johns. In June.

Time stopped for a second.

Then Brody started wailing, curling into a ball on the floor. "Carter! I was trying to help you! Why would you attack me again?"

The woman on the balcony, Tiffany, came sprinting down the stairs.

She ripped off her designer cardigan and draped it over Brody, helping him up.

She turned to me. If looks could kill, Id be a stain on the floor.

"Carter." Her voice was a low growl. "I warned you yesterday."

"Get out of my sight. Now."

In this broken narrative, arguing was useless. I turned and walked out, humiliated, sauce drying on my skin.

I needed to transfer. I needed to leave.

Then came the notification. "Emergency Dorm Meeting." Mandatory.

It was a trap. I knew it. But if I didn't go, Id be expelled for truancy.

I pushed open the door to the student lounge. Brody and his crew were waiting.

"Ah, the guest of honor."

I gripped my backpack straps. "Where's the RA? Where's the Dean?"

"There is no meeting." One of the guys spun a keychain around his finger. "This is an intervention."

Someone set up a phone on a tripod. "Livestream title: Stalker Carter Confesses. 10k likes and we let him go."

Blood rushed to my head. "This is false imprisonment."

"Imprisonment?" The guy laughed, slapping my cheek lightly. "This is community service. We're cleaning up the trash."

"Or... you can drop out. Right now. Disappear from Tiffany's life."

Before I could answer, two guys grabbed my arms.

"Let go!"

One pulled out a permanent marker. "Should we write 'LIAR' or 'SHAME' on his face? Oh, right, you like stealing Brodys look?"

The marker tip hovered near my eye. I jerked my right arm free and shoved him. hard.

He stumbled back, knocking over a chair.

"He fights back?!"

Another guy rushed me, twisting my arm behind my back and slamming me against the whiteboard.

"Do it the hard way, then."

Brody rushed forward, grabbing the collar of my stained white shirt. He yanked. Buttons popped, pinging against the floor. The fabric tore, exposing my chest and shoulder.

Wolf whistles and laughter filled the room.

The camera flashed.

"Keep going, Brody! Strip him! Let's make him famous!"

"Actually, he's ripped. Too bad he's a psycho. Title it: The Real Face of the Stalker."

Humiliation burned like acid. I struggled, but the hands holding me were iron.

Another hand grabbed my waistband.

"No!" The scream caught in my throat.

The lounge door swung open.

Light flooded in. It was her.

My online connection.

She stood in the doorway, silhouette sharp. "What is going on here?"

For a second, I thought I was saved.

"Miss Simona! Perfect timing!" Brodys lackey shouted. "We're teaching the scammer a lesson. He tried to hit Brody again!"

Tiffany walked into the room. Her eyes landed on my face. "Don't go too far."

Brody immediately latched onto her arm, fake tears welling up.

Tiffany was silent for a few seconds. Then she spoke, slow and bored. "...Just don't kill him."

Five words. They crushed the last bit of hope I had.

The goons cheered.

"You heard the lady!"

"Strip him!"

Hands grabbed at my remaining clothes.

CRASH.

The double doors were kicked open.

A figure stood there, backlit by the hallway lights. A long black trench coat, tall, radiating a chill that froze the room instantly.