Blurb：
When Cassidy Dunn infiltrates Rosalie Thatcher’s life at **Sable University** with her deceptive "friendship," she weaponizes envy through stolen luxuries—designer moisturizer, limited-edition crest pins, even a **$5,000 Tiffany bangle**. But Rosalie’s patience snaps. After enduring stolen birthdays, sabotaged group projects, and dorm-wide isolation, she crafts a **diamond-laced trap** to expose Cassidy’s pathological theft. Watch alliances crumble as elite privilege clashes with small-town cunning, where a **velvet Tiffany box** becomes the ticking time bomb in this psychological war of **roommate revenge** and **academic sabotage**. Will Rosalie’s cold-blooded strategy destroy Cassidy’s victim narrative… or trap them both forever?
Content：
§01To blend in with my new dorm mates at the prestigious Sable University, I became friends with Cassidy Dunn, the girl who made the first friendly overture.
Her smile was bright, her energy infectious, and in the chaotic first week of college, she felt like a lifeline.
I never imagined this would be the start of my meticulously crafted nightmare.
Claiming our friendship as a license, she began to use my things with a casualness that was both baffling and insidious.
First, it was a dollop of my expensive moisturizer. "Just trying it out, Rosie!" she'd chirped, leaving the jar open on my desk.
Then, she’d steal bites of my takeout, a fork darting into my pad thai before I’d even taken my first bite.
Each time, she’d leave behind her “trash”—a half-eaten bag of chips, a cheap scented candle—charmingly calling it a “fair trade.”
It was a slow, creeping invasion of my space, my boundaries, my very sense of self.
On the day of the university’s anniversary celebration, the limited-edition crest pin that had been sitting in its velvet box on my desk suddenly vanished.
In its place was half a cup of lukewarm, sickeningly sweet coffee she’d left behind, a sticky ring already forming on the polished wood.
When I finally confronted her, my patience worn down to a nerve, she tearfully accused me of looking down on the poor in front of our other roommates.
Her voice, laced with a practiced tremor, painted me as a monster.
In an instant, I was cast as the arrogant, elitist villain, the target of their united, judgmental glares.
I didn’t fight back then. A cold, calculated calm washed over me.
Instead, a few days later, I placed a ridiculously expensive Tiffany bangle, nestled in its iconic little blue box, in the most conspicuous spot on my desk.
Unsurprisingly, it disappeared.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I pulled out my phone in front of the entire dorm, my fingers steady.
“Mom, could you bring two security guards to my room? Someone stole from me, and I need to catch them red-handed.”
I had returned to the dorm earlier that day, the crisp autumn air still clinging to my coat, genuinely excited to finally wear the university crest pin my mom had given me.
It was a symbol of belonging, something I desperately craved.
But my desk was bare. The velvet box was gone.
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The End