Every other student could hear the inner thoughts of Chloe Yates, the campus belle. It was like a radio station was broadcasting her mind, and unfortunately for me, the broadcast was usually bad news.

It started during the ROTC courses in our freshman year. I was doubled over with terrible period cramps and asked to sit out. Chloe just shook her head, letting out a dramatic, pitying sigh.

"Oh, this is awful," her internal voice broadcast to everyone. "Should I tell everyone the truth? Sylvie is totally faking it. If the sergeant finds out she's lying, he's going to punish the whole class because of her."

The sergeant, hearing her thoughts, immediately assumed I was a liar. He forced the entire class to run 30 laps as punishment. After that, no one would talk to me.

Later, when I applied for the need-based financial aid grant, Chloe went on a rampage with her internal thoughts.

"Her family isn't poor!" her voice screamed in everyone's heads. "They have a car and a house. She's just vain. She's trying to scam the college out of grant money so she can buy a new phone. I feel so bad for the actual poor kid whose spot she's stealing."

Once the class heard that, they silently agreed to vote against my application.

Without that money, I had no choice but to work three part-time jobs just to survive. I worked myself into the ground until I finally gave out. I collapsed in the classroom while clutching my chest, suffering a massive heart attack.

I cried out, begging my classmates to call 911. However, Chloe's voice cut through the air right then.

"She doesn't have a heart condition. She's pregnant. She's trying to trick a guy into taking her to the hospital so she can get an abortion, and then she's going to frame whoever helps her for getting her knocked up."

Terrified of being blamed, the students backed away from me like I was radioactive. They stood there and watched as I died on the classroom floor.

Right up until the moment I died, I never understood why my life had turned into such a nightmare.

However, when I snapped my eyes open, I had returned to the day of the ROTC courses. The cramps were back, and the sun was beating down on me.

Chloe did not know one crucial detail. This time, I could hear her thoughts too.

I sat on the grass under the shade of a tree, clutching my stomach like I was trying to hold my insides together.

Out on the field, the rest of the class was roasting alive under the brutal sun. They had their chins up and chests out as they marched in time. The drill sergeant demanded perfection in every movement.

In my last life, I was too caught up in the excitement of starting college to realize that the people standing in front of me were the ones who would eventually destroy me.

Right on cue, a voice echoed in my head. It was the inner monologue of the campus belle, Chloe Yates.

"What should I do? Should I tell everyone that Sylvie Blaire is faking it? If she gets caught, the sergeant is gonna punish the whole class just because of her."

I looked up. Chloe was right at the front of the formation, leading the squad. She did not look back, but I did not miss the smirk plastered on her face.

"Ugh, I literally saw her eating ice cream at lunch. She's definitely not on her period. How could she have cramps? The sergeant keeps staring at her. He probably already knows she's a liar."

I looked away just as the drill sergeant's gaze locked on me. He was frowning, and his expression darkened. He ordered the class to rest in place, then spun around and stomped toward me.

It was the same playbook as my past life. Chloe used her little 'gift', which allowed her to broadcast her inner thoughts to others, to plant a seed of doubt. She made the sergeant think I was malingering, which made him snap and punish everyone with 30 laps.

Nobody dared to get mad at the scary drill sergeant, so they turned on me instead. They froze me out, giving me the silent treatment.

Back then, I thought it was my fault. I thought I was weak for asking for a break. I took the abuse in silence.

It was not until I died and came back that I realized Chloe had been pulling the strings the whole time.

However, she made one mistake. She did not know that this time around, I could hear her broadcasts too.

The drill sergeant loomed over me. "Sylvie, 47 students are out here busting their backs, and you're sitting here, faking sick, to get out of it. Have you no shame?"

"Sergeant, I'm not faking it," I whispered. "I really don't feel well."

He scoffed. "I see right through you. I've seen a million kids like you. As soon as boot camp starts, suddenly your leg hurts and your stomach aches."

He turned back to the group, his voice booming. "Today, you're going to learn about unit cohesion! Everyone will run 30 laps! Nobody rests until everybody finishes! That includes you, Sylvie! Get back in formation, now!"

The class glared at me with pure hatred.

"Thanks a lot, you jinx! You get to sit around while we get punished because of you!"

"Cramps, you say? You should just drop dead so we won't have to deal with this!"

I did not say a word. I walked back to the formation. While pretending to fix my uniform, I slipped a bobby pin out of my hair and palmed it.

As we started running, I jammed the sharp end of the pin into my inner thigh. I dragged it hard against the skin. A searing, white-hot pain shot through me, followed by the warm sensation of liquid sliding down my leg.

I slowed down. The drill sergeant was on me in a second, running alongside me.

"You see that? They're suffering because of your laziness. Do you feel guilty yet?"

I bit my lip so hard that I tasted iron. My hand kept working, the pin digging deeper into the wound.

"Sylvie, are you ready to admit you're wrong?"

I was about to answer when the girl running next to me screamed.

"Oh my god! Sylvie... She's bleeding! Look at the ground!"

The sergeant sneered. "Still trying to act?"

Then he looked down. He saw the trail of red behind me. He saw my pants soaked through, dark crimson dripping onto the track.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the color drain from his face. I closed my eyes and let gravity take over as the darkness swallowed me whole.

I woke up in the infirmary.

The captain—the head of the program—was tearing into the drill sergeant.

Seeing that I was awake, the captain addressed me, "Ms. Blaire."

He then shoved the sergeant forward. "Miller here wrongfully accused you. I'm going to make him apologize in public to clear your name."

I kept my head down, playing the traumatized victim. "Captain, I don't need an apology. I just want a new drill sergeant."

He listened to the rumors Chloe started and decided I was a liar without verifying anything. Someone like that doesn't deserve to wear the uniform.

The captain nodded grimly. He did not even hesitate. "Done."

Miller Vance looked like a ghost. He opened his mouth to beg, but one look from the captain shut him up.

Once I was cleared to leave, the captain personally escorted me back. He cleared my name and forced the sergeant to apologize publicly.

The former drill sergeant looked like he wanted to vomit. "Ms. Blaire, I was wrong to accuse you of faking illness. I'm sorry."

I nodded, accepting his apology.

He let out a sigh of relief, thinking he was off the hook.

However, the captain's voice cut through the air like a whip. "Miller Vance, you acted without evidence and endangered a student. The order just came down. You're fired. Effective immediately."

My heart actually skipped a beat. I thought he would just get a reprimand or get sent back to base. However, fired? This would count for a dishonorable discharge. His career was over.

Miller knew it too. His shock turned to rage, but he knew he could not touch me, and he definitely could not touch the captain. Hence, he spun around and grabbed Chloe by the wrist.

"You little witch!" he screamed, shaking her arm. "If you hadn't told me she was faking it, I never would've punished her! You're the reason I've lost my job!"

Chloe looked terrified and struggled to pull away. "I don't know what you're talking about! Let go of me!"

Miller roared, "Don't lie to me! I've noticed the way you look at her since day one. You played me! You wanted me to target her!"

That statement hit the crowd like a thunderclap. Anyone who could hear Chloe's inner monologue—which, unfortunately for her, was everyone—bought it immediately.

One student muttered, "Yeah, I remember seeing Chloe glare at Sylvie. She looked like she wanted to rip her throat out."

"No wonder we've only ever heard her trash-talking Sylvie. She's totally jealous," another whispered.

The drill sergeant, remembering the malicious thoughts Chloe broadcast, snapped. He spun around and grabbed her by the neck. "You witch! Go to hell!"

The field dissolved into chaos. Thank God, the captain signaled for help. It took three guys to haul the sergeant off Chloe. Even as they dragged him away, he was still screaming, "You just wait, you little witch! This isn't over!"

Chloe's face alternated between flushed and pale. She shot me a glare, her expression screaming pure humiliation.

Inside, I was laughing. She was cracking already? We were just getting started!

The replacement drill sergeant was much nicer. He actually checked in on me, telling me to take a break if I felt faint. I just nodded and thanked him, but I did not quit. I pushed through the rest of the boot camp.

The tide had turned. The classmates who had been poisoned against me by Chloe's mental broadcasts started seeing the truth. A few even looked for me privately to apologize for accusing me of faking feeling sick earlier.

I gave them my best magnanimous smile and told them I had already forgotten about it.

I had not forgotten about Chloe, though. In my past life, she subjected me to silent treatment and total isolation. Now, it was her turn to taste the freeze-out.

Boot camp ended in a blur, and soon, we faced the day I had been dreading—the hearing for financial aid.

In my previous life, it was during this exact meeting that Chloe had screamed in her mental broadcast that I was a trust fund baby. She claimed my slippers cost five grand and that if I got the grant, I would just blow it on a new phone.

The academic advisor, Harrison Carter, had believed her lies and claimed others 'needed it more'. Just like that, he handed the money to someone else.

Back then, I was living on a hundred bucks a month. Without that grant, I had to work three jobs just to survive. Eventually, the exhaustion triggered a heart attack, and that was it for me.

I shook off the dark memory and looked up. Students were taking turns on the podium, sharing their sob stories and begging for votes.

Soon, it was my turn.

I had barely opened my mouth before Chloe's thoughts blasted through the room like a PA system.

"Here we go. Sylvie's about to play the victim. She's such a liar. She's a total trust fund baby. Her family owns, like, five rental properties. She's just pretending to be poor so she can scam the college and buy a new phone."

The atmosphere in the room curdled instantly. The sympathetic looks vanished, replaced by suspicion and hostility.

Chloe's mind would not shut up.

"Ugh, if a scammer like Sylvie gets the grant, what happens to the kids who actually need it? Without this money, some of them might have to drop out. She's literally stealing education from the poor just to feed her vanity. Doesn't she feel bad?"

Mr. Carter's expression darkened with every word, and he cut me off before I could speak.

He said coldly, "Sylvie, clearly, your family isn't struggling as much as you claim. We'll be allocating this year's grant to someone else."

I did not panic. I did not flinch. I just calmly pulled a stack of paperwork from my bag.

"Sir, these are my verified documents from social services. They prove my financial status is exactly what I say it is." I held them up. "I need this grant just as much as anyone else here."

His expression wavered, and he looked unsure.

Seizing the moment, I pulled out my phone—a cracked, second-hand brick that took a solid three minutes just to load an app. I opened my payment history.

"If you don't believe the paperwork, sir, take a look at my spending for the last six months."

I held my phone up high, scrolling slowly with my other hand so everyone could see.

One-dollar shirts, five-dollar pants, three-dollar shoes, and ten-pack socks for two dollars. The only expense over a ten dollars in my entire history was for my prepaid phone bill.

Mr. Carter stared at the screen, stunned. He clearly had not expected anyone to actually be living like this. The rest of the class looked just as shocked.

"Can you even wear a shirt that costs a dollar?" one of the other applicants blurted out.

I pointed to the shirt I was wearing. It had been washed so many times that it was practically see-through, and the sleeves were pilling badly. I nodded. "Yes, you can."

The room's energy shifted again. Their anger was not directed at me anymore, and their eyes darted toward Chloe.

Chloe's face went stiff. Then, her thoughts betrayed her again.

"Wow, I didn't think Sylvie was this manipulative! She actually faked her transaction history just for this? Too bad she's an idiot. Her shoes give her away. Those are Balents, limited edition ones. They cost a whopping eight grand!"

Immediately, every eye in the room dropped to my feet. A few students whipped out their phones, snapping photos and running image searches. When the search results confirmed Chloe's claim, the outrage returned, hotter than before.

A student yelled, "Sylvie, one pair of your shoes is worth a year of my living expenses! Why are you trying to steal money from us?"

Mr. Carter looked at me with pure disgust. "Sylvie, we have no place in this class for a student with such moral bankruptcy. You don't deserve to be here."

I kept my voice steady. "Sir, I can explain—"

"What's there to explain?" Mr. Carter cut me off, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I already checked the serial number. Those shoes are legit."

He sneered, looking me up and down. "I'm a faculty member of this college, and even I can't even afford sneakers that cost eight grand. Yet, you still have the nerve to claim you're a struggling student?"

A few of the other grant applicants chimed in, sensing blood in the water.

One said, "Seriously, Sylvie. If you're loaded, stop trying to steal our financial aid. If we don't get that grant, we'll have to drop out and flip burgers."

They circled me, blocking my exit. I felt like a gladiator about to be fed to the lions.

Over by the window, Chloe smirked. She was loving every second of this.

My expression darkened. I was trying to figure out how to explain without revealing everything when a knock echoed from the door.

A hunched, elderly woman in tattered clothes stood nervously in the doorway. She was clutching a hefty trash bag bulging with recyclables.

Grandma!

Several classmates waved their hands in front of their noses, disgusted.

"Where did this lady come from? This is a college, not a dump."

"Ugh, she smells like a landfill. Where's security? Kick her out!"

I froze for a heartbeat, then shoved past the blockade of students. My face lit up as I called out, "Grandma! How did you get here?"