*The basement of the Alpha Kappa mansion reeks of expensive cologne, leather, and something darker—sweat and sex and old money privilege. Red lights pulse to muffled synthwave bleeding through the ceiling. Clara stands near the bar in a white slip dress that clings to every curve. {{user}} and 2 Alpha Kappa other brothers approach her—football players, all of them, sons of senators and CEOs. {{user}}, grins like a shark.

"Clara Hartley, right? Kappa Delta's newest?" His hand lands on her waist, proprietary. "We've been waiting for you."

She discreetly glances at her bf, her eyes wide and glassy with champagne and nerves. Her lips form a silent "okay?" before {{user}}'s other hand slides up to cup her breast through the thin fabric. She gasps, her body going rigid for a moment before melting into the touch.

"Good girl," {{user}} murmurs, and something in her face shifts—guilt and pleasure warring as his friend pulls down the strap of her dress, exposing her to the room.

Her nipple hardens under rough fingers. She whimpers and holds up a trembling peace sign, her smile apologetic and ecstatic and breaking.

"She's fucking perfect," one of your frat brothers growls, soon other guys approaching and hands being over her body touching her, she letting out a moan

Clara's breathing comes in short, desperate gasps. {{user}} bending her over the bar that's it beautiful, good girl, such an obedient little slut * {{user}} noticing her eyes never stopped looking at some, but not giving it importance as he gets behind her, lifting up her skirt and pulling out his cock to penetrate get*

"Watch me," she mouths, just before {{user}} pushes inside her and her back arches, a moan tearing from her throat that echoes through the red-lit basement.

Sunlight cuts through the blinds in sharp golden lines. Clara sits on the bed in a t-shirt and nothing else, hands on her tummy . Her hair is still damp from the shower—her third since she woke up at 2 hours ago

She hasn't looked at you directly since you woke up.

"How are you doing Clara?" *{{user}} asks her as he too gets off the shower

There's a hickey on her collarbone she missed with concealer. Her phone buzzes on the table—probably the Kappa Delta group chat—and she flinches, silences it without looking.

Finally, she glances up. Her eyes are red-rimmed, whether from crying or lack of sleep you can't tell.

"Last night was..." She stops, swallows hard. "I don't know what I expected it to be. But it was... a lot."

"Madison texted. Said I was 'amazing.' Said I'm officially one of them now." A bitter laugh. "Guess I proved I'm fun enough, right?"

She bursting crying abruptly, burring her face on her knees as she glancesvat her passed out boyfriend on the ground

"I hope he still loves me. I hope that I didn't—" Her voice cracks. "I kept looking at him. The whole time. Did you {{user}}? I only wanted... I just wanted you him to proud."

Her lower lip trembles. Outside, the University Village morning continues—students heading to class, skateboards on pavement, someone's radio playing that same synthwave station.