Chapter 1: The $45 Betrayal

I rented out my downtown apartment to a classmate for $150 a month. Unexpectedly, just a few days later, the classmate renting from me—Natalie Brooks—tagged me in our college group chat:

"@Aubrey, we agreed on $150 a month, but I'm actually at your place less than eight hours a day. The rest of the time, I'm out. If you break it down by 24 hours, the rent should only be about $45. I've already Venmoed you."

As I stared at the notification, my phone buzzed again—a payment alert from Venmo, for $45. Seriously? I hadn't even had time to finish my coffee, and already my morning was going sideways. My phone buzzed nonstop, the group chat a blur of memes and popcorn emojis. The kitchen smelled faintly of burnt coffee and last night's pizza, the soundtrack of every college apartment. I could practically hear the group chat lighting up with notifications, everyone seeing Natalie try to put me on blast. I shook my head, tossing my phone onto the kitchen counter next to my half-eaten bagel.

"@Aubrey Also, it's not like I'm refusing to pay rent. Sometimes I'm just a week or two late. Stop chasing me for money—people might think you're desperate or something! Sometimes I feel like I got set up by American landlords! Guess I finally found out who the real landlord shark is. Check your Venmo."

I re-read the message, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. Natalie really had the nerve to call me a capitalist, as if I was out here evicting grandmas in the dead of winter. I could practically picture her typing, dramatic eye roll and all, maybe even smirking at her screen. I resisted the urge to reply with a string of laughing emojis.

Staring at the $45 she sent, I was speechless. I scrolled up and down, rereading the message, almost hoping I’d misunderstood. For a split second, I wondered if this was a prank. I’d never try to pull a stunt like this with my own landlord—I’d be homeless by sundown.

I let out a low whistle, my fingers drumming the countertop. Downtown apartments in this city weren't exactly a dime a dozen. "Unreal," I muttered to myself, feeling a mix of frustration and almost admiration for her guts. It wasn't every day someone tried to nickel-and-dime you like she’s trying to score a Black Friday deal at Walmart.

My place is right in the heart of downtown—rent would be at least $300 a month anywhere else. I only gave her half price because we were classmates.

My friends had told me a hundred times that $150 a month was charity, not rent, but I’d just shrugged them off. I always thought helping out was the right thing to do, especially when it was someone from my own class. Maybe I’d just been raised too soft.

And now she's giving me just $45 a month?

If she doesn't want to live there, then she doesn't have to live there at all!

I glanced out the window at the city below, lights just flickering on in the late afternoon, and felt a twinge of resolve hardening in my chest. Enough was enough. I wasn’t about to get walked all over for the sake of "being nice."

I took a long breath, thumb hovering over my phone. This time, I wasn’t backing down.