The Roommate From Hell

The Roommate From Hell

Shi Liu

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My college life started with a simple rule from my roommate, Mark: "We split everything fifty-fifty, Alex. It' s the only fair way." I soon learned his definition of "fair" was a twisted, one-way street designed for his benefit, starting with my Dr. Pepper and escalating to demanding half the cost of my brand new MacBook. He' d use my things, then insist I pay him for the privilege, always with the same infuriating phrase: "It's only fair, Alex. We AA it." I was trapped, spending every day swatting away his increasingly absurd demands, from "sleep taxes" to "sunlight fees," all while the university' s housing office dismissed my pleas, saying they couldn' t help without a "documented, serious incident." Then he decided to create one himself, turning his petty schemes into a public spectacle that would ruin my reputation. I rushed to the Student Life building to find Mark slumped in a chair, crying theatrical tears, while a mountain of expensive groceries sat before him. He pointed a trembling finger at me, wailing, "He made me buy all this food and then refused to pay! I don' t have any money left!" The school counselor, Mr. Harrison, listened, his face etched with concern, while the crowd whispered, judging me. They saw an unfeeling rich kid, a jerk who' d exploited his poor roommate, all based on Mark' s carefully orchestrated performance. I felt a hot surge of anger, a hundred rebuttals caught in my throat; I was on trial and already convicted. But this time, I wasn' t going to just take it: "I' m not paying one cent, Mr. Harrison, because he didn' t use his money. He used mine."

The Roommate From Hell Introduction

My college life started with a simple rule from my roommate, Mark: "We split everything fifty-fifty, Alex. It' s the only fair way."

I soon learned his definition of "fair" was a twisted, one-way street designed for his benefit, starting with my Dr. Pepper and escalating to demanding half the cost of my brand new MacBook.

He' d use my things, then insist I pay him for the privilege, always with the same infuriating phrase: "It's only fair, Alex. We AA it."

I was trapped, spending every day swatting away his increasingly absurd demands, from "sleep taxes" to "sunlight fees," all while the university' s housing office dismissed my pleas, saying they couldn' t help without a "documented, serious incident."

Then he decided to create one himself, turning his petty schemes into a public spectacle that would ruin my reputation.

I rushed to the Student Life building to find Mark slumped in a chair, crying theatrical tears, while a mountain of expensive groceries sat before him.

He pointed a trembling finger at me, wailing, "He made me buy all this food and then refused to pay! I don' t have any money left!"

The school counselor, Mr. Harrison, listened, his face etched with concern, while the crowd whispered, judging me.

They saw an unfeeling rich kid, a jerk who' d exploited his poor roommate, all based on Mark' s carefully orchestrated performance.

I felt a hot surge of anger, a hundred rebuttals caught in my throat; I was on trial and already convicted.

But this time, I wasn' t going to just take it: "I' m not paying one cent, Mr. Harrison, because he didn' t use his money. He used mine."

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I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

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The Roommate From Hell The Roommate From Hell Shi Liu Young Adult
“My college life started with a simple rule from my roommate, Mark: "We split everything fifty-fifty, Alex. It' s the only fair way." I soon learned his definition of "fair" was a twisted, one-way street designed for his benefit, starting with my Dr. Pepper and escalating to demanding half the cost of my brand new MacBook. He' d use my things, then insist I pay him for the privilege, always with the same infuriating phrase: "It's only fair, Alex. We AA it." I was trapped, spending every day swatting away his increasingly absurd demands, from "sleep taxes" to "sunlight fees," all while the university' s housing office dismissed my pleas, saying they couldn' t help without a "documented, serious incident." Then he decided to create one himself, turning his petty schemes into a public spectacle that would ruin my reputation. I rushed to the Student Life building to find Mark slumped in a chair, crying theatrical tears, while a mountain of expensive groceries sat before him. He pointed a trembling finger at me, wailing, "He made me buy all this food and then refused to pay! I don' t have any money left!" The school counselor, Mr. Harrison, listened, his face etched with concern, while the crowd whispered, judging me. They saw an unfeeling rich kid, a jerk who' d exploited his poor roommate, all based on Mark' s carefully orchestrated performance. I felt a hot surge of anger, a hundred rebuttals caught in my throat; I was on trial and already convicted. But this time, I wasn' t going to just take it: "I' m not paying one cent, Mr. Harrison, because he didn' t use his money. He used mine."”
1

Introduction

07/07/2025

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Chapter 1

07/07/2025

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Chapter 2

07/07/2025

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Chapter 3

07/07/2025

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Chapter 4

07/07/2025

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Chapter 5

07/07/2025

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Chapter 6

07/07/2025

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Chapter 7

07/07/2025

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Chapter 8

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Chapter 9

07/07/2025

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Chapter 10

07/07/2025