First day of school, and my roommate Sharon hits me with a $50k guilt trip over some "limited-edition" suitcase.

"You're blind or just too dumb to walk straight?"

My boyfriend? Useless. Classmates? Total sheep. The dean? Clown.

Then I really looked at Sharon.

Wait a sec—wasn't she the same scholarship case my family covered?

"Get outta the way! What are you, a speed bump?"

An arm slammed into my back. I lost my grip on my suitcase and stumbled.

Something crashed behind me—loud. Then a high-pitched scream.

I caught my balance and turned. A girl in a spotless Chanel skirt suit was on the floor, next to a silver Hermès suitcase.

One corner was dented. She was clutching it like a lifeline, staring at the damage like someone had kicked her dog. Pale as a ghost.

"My suitcase!" she shrieked, whipping her head up so fast her blinged-out nails nearly stabbed me. "Are you blind?! Watch it! This is Hermès—fifty grand! Limited edition! Discontinued! You wrecked it, moron!"

Her voice echoed down the dorm hall. Doors cracked open. Freshmen peeked out, whispering like it was drama o'clock.

I glanced at the suitcase—silver shell, custom everything. Then I saw it.

Tiny metal tag on the side, frosted finish. Two fancy letters: VV.

Vincci Visconti.

No wonder it looked familiar.

I looked up at the drama queen losing her mind. Something about her felt weirdly familiar.

Every year, our family's education foundation sent us a list of scholarship kids. One name stuck—Sharon Brooke. From some tiny nowhere town in the southwest.

Sharon. Yep, her. I remembered the photo—patched-up clothes, shy eyes, barely smiling. Definitely not this designer-clad diva with claws out.

"Cat got your tongue?!" she snapped, thinking I was scared.

She puffed up, got in my face, finger wagging. "Stop staring and cough it up! You're not walking away unless you pay! Fifty grand—no, wait—eighty! Pain and suffering! I scraped my knee, you menace! You hear me, country bumpkin?!"

"Pfft..." I couldn't help laughing. She was really trying to scam me with a straight face. "You're loaded and throwing a fit over pocket change?"

"Excuse me?!" Sharon snapped, eyes bulging. "You shoved me! You broke my suitcase and now you think YOU'RE the victim?"

"What's going on? Sharon, you okay?"

Two girls decked out just as flashy rushed over from the dorm next door. One grabbed each arm, shooting me death glares like I'd committed a felony.

Winnie and Paula. The other two roommates. Of course.

"It's her!" Sharon's voice shot up, all shaky and dramatic.

She pointed at the dent like someone had totaled a Ferrari. "She wasn't looking and rammed right into me! On purpose! My suitcase—brand new, limited edition Hermès! Fifty grand! You can't even get this in the country!"

"Oh my god, limited edition?" Winnie gasped, fake shocked, hand to her mouth. "Are you blind or just poor? That suitcase's worth more than your entire family!"

Paula chimed in fast. "Exactly! Say sorry and pay up! You just gonna stand there like an idiot? Sharon's clearly loaded. That suitcase? Priceless. Even if you sold all that thrift store junk you're wearing, you couldn't afford the zipper."

The three kept going, louder and nastier, while students packed the hallway.

"Yeah! She messed up and still acts like the victim. Apologize already!"

"She's probably in shock. Bet her family hasn't seen that much cash in three generations—how's she paying?"

"Look at her. So broke it's embarrassing."

Judgy stares closed in from all sides. The whole vibe turned mean real fast.

Sharon, loving the attention, tilted her chin up and looked down at me like I was gum on her shoe.

"Can't afford it? Boo freakin' hoo. Then call the cops! Being broke doesn't make you innocent."

She spun toward the crowd, eyes gleaming. "Someone better be recording—every second counts. If I use your footage, there's a reward in it for you!"

That lit everyone up. Phones flew up from every angle. People started livestreaming, shouting for their friends to hop on.

Then, through the chaos, a voice I knew cut through—"Vincci?"

It was Roger. My boyfriend. We'd gone to the same high school and somehow ended up at the same university.

The second Sharon spotted him, she scanned him head to toe. Then—like flipping a switch—her voice dropped into this soft, fake-cry tone, all wounded and delicate.

She even swayed like she might faint. "This is your girlfriend, right? You're just in time. She wasn't watching, pushed me down, and ruined my brand-new suitcase.

"Instead of apologizing, she YELLED at me. My arm really hurts. How could your girlfriend be so MEAN?"

Roger looked at me, then back at Sharon.

That designer outfit hugged her in all the right places. Cartier watch catching the light. Van Cleef necklace perfectly placed. Add those teary Bambi eyes...

I saw the flick in his gaze. The swallow in his throat.

"Vincci," he said, frowning. That tone? Full of blame. "Did you really bump into her? Why were you so careless?

"Just say sorry, okay? That suitcase costs a fortune—what's the big deal? Don't make a scene."

A chill crept down my spine.

I looked at his face—so familiar, yet suddenly so fake. Three years together, and he didn't even ask what happened. Just fell for some tears and a couple of brand labels.

All he saw was Sharon's designer drip and her sad little act.

My voice stayed steady. "Roger, are you seriously telling me to apologize?"

He shifted under my stare, but then glanced at Sharon's pout and straightened up like he had a backbone. "She's the victim. Apologizing is the decent thing to do, isn't it? What's the big deal?

"Did you even hear how much that suitcase costs? How are you gonna pay her back?

"Just say sorry already and stop making this a scene."

I laughed—cold and sharp. "You want an apology?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "We're done. Right here, right now."

His face froze, like he couldn't believe I'd actually said it. Then the red crept in—humiliated, angry, dumped in front of a crowd.

"Vincci! Are you seriously doing this? Breaking up over something THIS SMALL? You're being dramatic!"

"This is small?" I snapped. "You watched me get dragged in public and didn't even ask what happened. You took her side like it was nothing and joined in. And that's just a 'small thing'?"

I stared straight into his panicked eyes. "Go ahead, enjoy your fifteen minutes with your shiny new classmate. Hope you marry rich and live the dream."

I yanked up the handle on my plain canvas suitcase and turned to leave. Couldn't spend another second with these people.

"Stop right there!" Sharon barked. "You wrecked my suitcase, dumped your boyfriend, and now you think you can just walk away? What kind of joke is this?!

"Someone say something—how full of herself can she be?"

She lunged and grabbed my arm.

I dodged, caught her wrist instead. "Touch me again and see what happens," I said, ice cold. "I've been patient with your crap, but that ends now."

My eyes locked on hers. "Last warning. Let go."