"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."

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Rules don't apply to you now?!"

A sharp voice cut through the noise—but it wasn't Sharon. It came from a sweaty, balding guy who bulldozed through the crowd.

Robert Dickson. Dean of Student Affairs.

"You even respect this school?" he barked at me. "Think you're above the rules? Getting physical? You trying to land yourself in jail?" As he spoke, he shoved me hard to the side.

Then he turned to Sharon—and suddenly he was all charm. "Oh no, Ms. Brooke, please—calm down. Don't let this rattle you." Acting like she was straight-up royalty.

"Mr. Dickson? What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, keeping my voice cool. "Didn't you see who laid hands on who first?"

"I don't care who started it. What I saw was YOU grabbing Ms. Brooke, mouthing off, and trying to hit her!"

"Exactly, Mr. Dickson, you're absolutely right!" Sharon jumped in fast. "She knocked me over, refused to apologize, and now she's getting violent.

"What is she, some gangster? Someone call the cops before she seriously hurts someone!"

"You'd better apologize to Ms. Brooke immediately and pray she forgives you," Mr. Dickson said, shooting smug glances around. "Otherwise, not even the school can protect you."

Wow. I really underestimated our little charity case. Girl came with connections.

"Oh? So she's powerful now? Rich? Backed by someone important?" I asked, real curious who Sharon was hiding behind.

"Ms. Brooke was personally referred by the school board," Mr. Dickson said, lowering his voice like he was letting me in on some huge secret. "We've been instructed to treat her with special care."

Of course. Our education foundation didn't just sponsor underprivileged students—we also funneled donations to universities all over the state. Most schools gave our recipients the VIP treatment.

So Sharon's mysterious 'powerful connection'? Yeah. That'd be my family.

"Got it," I muttered. I was over it. Drained. Not about to waste another second on this circus.

I turned to walk away.

"Trying to run?!" Sharon lunged again, quicker this time. "You deaf or just dumb?! Don't you understand plain English?!"

I was ready this time. Dodged easily.

But then—bam. Another shove. Hard.

Roger.

Face twisted, eyes dark. He'd just pushed me. For her.