My roommate Brielle complained that her online boyfriend, Ares, was a control freak and an old pervert.

She decided to dump him, and even tossed the "old man's" contact info my way.

"A sheltered little thing like you," she said, her lip curling with disdain, "is bound to fall for a control freak who likes to play 'daddy.'"

But in the comments flashing before my eyes, I saw something else entirely: my ticket to a top-tier university.

I stared at the chat window and tentatively typed out a sentence: "I want to break up."

He replied instantly: "Why?"

I replied according to my deepest desire: "I want to drop out of college, retake the SAT, and go to a good university."

The next second, a fifty-thousand-dollar transfer request popped up on my phone screen.

From that day on, he hired elite private tutors for me, rented a penthouse apartment for me in the city center, and paved my way to an Ivy League university.

I learned to call him Daddy in the sweetest voice I could manage, and his reply was always a possessive, "Good girl."

Two months later, just when I thought I'd gotten away with it, Brielle appeared at a luxury sports car dealership with her new boyfriend, pointing at the man beside me and screaming, "Are you Ares? I'm Kiki! She stole my account!"

I froze on the spot. But his voice, low and deliberate, cut through the tension—

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1

My roommate Brielle complained that her online boyfriend, Ares, was so controlling that she was dumping him. And by dumping him, she meant pawning him off on me. "He doesn't just want me to share my location 24/7, he even tells me what color underwear to wear. The internet says guys like that are possessive freaks who end up forcing you into something seriously messed up."

"Then it's your lucky day," she said, her lip curling in a sneer. "A naive little girl with daddy issues like you will probably fall head over heels for a control freak who loves to play the part."

My thumb hovered over the delete button when a string of comments suddenly flashed across my vision.

[Girl, are you crazy? This man is handsome, rich, and has more stamina than a college boy. You just have to bat your eyes, and he'll give you the world!]

[Ares is into that whole 'control' thing—the kind that 'forces' you to wear designer clothes, eat at Michelin-starred restaurants, live in a penthouse, and get catapulted from a community college straight into the Ivy League.]

[Don't worry, this Brielle is just a washed-up gold digger. Once Ares finds out he's been deceived, he'll dump her and go back to Sloane.]

Sloane is me. I am the Sloane in the comments. And the comments? Only I can see them. It's my secret—ever since I was a child, I could see real-time comments about my life floating across my vision, like a livestream no one else knew about.

Most of the time I ignored them, but now my eyes were glued to the second comment. Designer clothes, Michelin restaurants, a penthouse, and an Ivy League degree?

I slowly lowered my hand and took the phone from Brielle. Her online boyfriend's username was Ares, and hers was Kiki.

I scrolled through their chat history. Ares was clearly generous—he had bought Brielle a designer bag. But Brielle wanted more; she wanted the latest model sports car, and he refused. That's when Brielle threw a fit and decided to dump him.

Taking a deep breath, I opened our chat and typed: [Are you there?]

Less than five seconds later, a reply came: [Yes.]

I nearly dropped the phone. The comments said he was handsome and rich, but they didn't mention how fast he replied. It was as if he had been waiting by the phone.

[I want to break up,] I typed tentatively.

Another instant reply: [Why?]

I thought for a moment and decided to just be blunt: [I'm not happy at community college. I want to drop out, retake the SAT, and get into a real university.]

Ares didn't reply for a long time. The comments went wild.

[It's over, she's gone off-script! Brielle never talked about studying!]

[Calm down, this is the part where the overbearing CEO falls for her because she's different.]

[Being different pays off. She'll probably get a penthouse and a tutor out of this.]

Then Ares's reply came: [How much money do you need?]

He sent a transfer request—fifty thousand dollars.

My jaw almost hit the floor. This was beyond generous! I didn't accept the transfer and replied: [I don't want money.]

[What do you want, then?]

I stared at his words, my heart pounding in my chest. [I just... I feel like my life is going nowhere. I can't stay here.]

The moment I sent the message, the chat box went quiet.

At the same time, more comments flashed before my eyes.

[This imposter is too greedy, trying to become a kept woman from day one.]

[Too bad this guy hates greedy women. He likes ambitious girls.]

[Just wait, he's not going to reply. He despises people like this.]

A knot of panic tightened in my chest. I quickly typed out another message: [What I mean is, I want to drop out to study for the SATs again. Could you help me with that?]

Seconds ticked by. I stared at the screen, my palms sweating. One minute. Two minutes.

Just as I started to worry that he had figured out I wasn't who I said I was and would never reply again, a new message popped up: [I can.]

The day after I received that message, I got a phone call. The man on the phone introduced himself as Miles Thorne, Mr. Vaughn's assistant. He asked me to bring my ID and meet him at a high-end coffee shop near campus to discuss my plan to retake the SAT.

Even though Brielle had never revealed any personal information during their chats, I was a nervous wreck the whole way there. I only relaxed a little when I saw Miles—a man in his thirties, looking sharp and professional in a tailored suit and glasses.

Miles got straight to the point. He said Mr. Vaughn had arranged everything: the top SAT tutoring team in the country, a luxury apartment for me in Northwood's Waterfront District during my studies, and all the test prep materials and courses he could find.

I was stunned. "Isn't this... a little much?"

Miles smiled politely. "Mr. Vaughn's instructions were: 'Fulfill her every need.'"

I nearly burst into tears right there. No one had ever done anything like this for me. When I failed to get into a good university the first time, my parents barely did anything—they just sent me to the cheapest community college they could find on the outskirts of Northwood.

Miles handed me a stack of documents to sign: a lease for a furnished apartment and registration forms for the tutoring center, along with a thick binder of course materials. I signed every single one.

Before I left, Miles added, "Mr. Vaughn is currently overseeing a merger in Europe. He won't be back in the US for at least a year."

I secretly searched for the name online.

Miles had made it sound like some small-time operation, but when the words "Vaughn Sterling Holdings" filled my screen, I was floored. Small-time? He had to be kidding me.

Callum was worth more than all the rich kids Brielle had ever dated combined. And that face? More handsome than any celebrity.

[It's over, now this fraud knows his real identity, she'll never let go.]

[Back off, you fraud! That man is Brielle's!]

[Don't worry, everyone. As soon as he finds out she's not Brielle, he'll cut her off completely.]

The words "cut her off" snapped me back to reality. Callum would come back for Brielle one day, that was certain. But until then? I was going to be the perfect online girlfriend. I was going to treat Callum as my own personal sugar daddy.

I immediately grabbed my phone and sent Callum a flood of thanks and sweet nothings. In my haste, a line I never meant to send slipped out: [Thank you for giving me this chance, Daddy. I swear I'll repay you.]

By the time I realized what I had written, it was too late to take it back. I was so dead.

My cover was about to be blown, and I was going to lose my shot at Kingsbridge University before I even took the SAT.

Just as I was freaking out, Callum replied with a single word: [Okay.]

[Wait, he's into that?!]

[Of course he is. This man loves it when an obedient girl calls him Daddy. Brielle could never do that.]

[Alright, I'm officially shipping this couple.]

From then on, I leaned into the role completely. I would send Callum good morning texts every morning. Every night, I would tell him what I had studied that day. I eased into calling him Daddy, and he always replied—sometimes with a single word, sometimes with a whole paragraph about his day.

Miles also visited me regularly to make sure I wanted for nothing. The apartment was beautiful, the tutors were top-notch, and my SAT scores were soaring.

One day, Miles showed up with a dozen shopping bags. "Mr. Vaughn felt your current wardrobe wasn't quite suitable for the woman representing him in Northwood," he said, setting down the bags. "He told me to take you shopping, but I figured you'd rather stay home and study, so I picked out a few things."

I stared at the labels of the top designer brands. I had never worn anything this nice in my life.

I sent a picture to Callum, hesitated, then added: [Daddy, I love all the clothes Miles bought me today. Which outfit do you want me to wear tomorrow?]

Callum: [The first one, the black one.]

From that day on, I started reporting every detail of my life to him, no matter how small. I asked for his opinion on what to wear and where to go, sent him my location wherever I was without being asked, and even told him when I was having a sip of water. It turned out Callum really was a major control freak, and as long as I obeyed him, he was always in a good mood.

Miles was incredibly efficient. In less than a week, all the paperwork for my withdrawal from community college was complete. When everyone in the dorm found out I was leaving, they all gathered around to ask what I planned to do after dropping out.

Brielle was right there, so of course I wasn't going to tell them the truth. I said, "My boyfriend says there's no future in community college. He wants me to come home and says he'll support me."

Seeing my giddy, love-struck act, my other two roommates were immediately horrified.