Chapter 6: When Aubrey Becomes the Target

I started recalling everything I knew about Aubrey Lee.

I pictured her at campus events, always a little apart from the crowd, a quiet presence in group photos. Not invisible, just...different.

I had met her a few times.

She’d helped me carry groceries once, her hands full of Trader Joe’s bags. She apologized for bumping into me, though I’d barely noticed.

After all, she went to the same university and shared a dorm with Natalie.

They were an odd pair—Natalie’s sharpness next to Aubrey’s easy calm. Their room was always the cleanest in the building, scented with lavender.

At the start of school, there was a debate about who the real campus queen was—her or Natalie.

The campus Reddit was full of polls, rankings, speculation. Some people even placed bets. I may have nudged the odds.

One was cold and aloof with long brown hair; the other was cute and pure, always in a high ponytail.

Aubrey’s ponytail bounced when she walked. She wore Converse and oversized hoodies, her style more indie coffee shop than runway.

But to win favorability,

I spent money to boost Natalie’s popularity, so she took the campus queen crown.

I sponsored campus events, bought out tables at charity galas, did everything I could to put Natalie in the spotlight.

Unexpectedly, she looked displeased and publicly declared:

“I, Natalie Sanders, have nothing to do with him. It’s all his own wishful thinking.”

She said it into a mic at the welcome mixer, and the room went silent. I heard the words echo for weeks.

But Aubrey never cared about the title.

She skipped the popularity polls, always taking photos of the scenery instead of herself.

Her face was always calm, as if nothing in the world could faze her.

In photos, she smiled a small, real smile. The kind you only notice when you’re not trying too hard.

There was one time I was waiting for Natalie outside her dorm.

My breath hung in the chilly evening air. I’d brought her coffee, double vanilla, just the way she liked it.

Aubrey came running down, holding a basket of food in both hands.

The basket was lined with a checkered cloth, brimming with pastries and tiny jars of jam.

All of it was gourmet fare made by the top chefs I’d hired, tailored to Natalie’s tastes.

I’d spent hours researching menus, texting my chef at midnight with adjustments. It was ridiculous, but I convinced myself every detail mattered.

At the time, I was a little annoyed and asked Aubrey why she had the food.

She flinched, caught off guard, almost dropping the basket.

She blushed and stammered:

“Natalie said she won’t be coming back to the dorm today. She told me to throw the food away, but that’d be such a waste. I... can I eat it? If not, I’ll just feed it to the stray cats.”

She looked so earnest, I almost laughed. There was something endearing about her awkwardness.

My mind was elsewhere, only thinking about where Natalie had gone.

The world narrowed to a single question—why wasn’t Natalie answering my texts?

I just brushed her off with a few words.

I barely even registered Aubrey’s presence. My focus was always on Natalie, never the people orbiting her.

...

I only remember, as I turned to leave, she softly thanked me.

Her voice was gentle and sweet but never cloying—a refreshing kind of comfort.