When dorm picks opened, two beds were left.

My hometown girl, Chloe Parker, beat me by a step and grabbed Room 501—the honors suite.

That left me with Room 502, the rich-girl suite.

In 501, the try-hards rode her nonstop. She made grad school.

In 502, I ran errands and pulled five grand a month.

At graduation, she snapped and shoved me off the roof.

"It's all your fault. Without you, I wouldn't wake up every day buried in studying. How'd you stack hundreds of thousands in four years while all I got was a useless grad school offer?"

I opened my eyes.

Dorm selection day.

Behind me, Chloe shoved past and lunged forward.

"I'm picking first. I want 502."

The Resident Director frowned. "Chloe. First come, first served. Mia picks first."

Pain from the impact still throbbed, my vision flickering in and out. Everything in front of me blurred.

Chloe gripped the 502 form like her life depended on it. "I have to get 502. Mia wouldn't fight me for it, right?"

That look—same as when she shoved me off the roof last time. Like if I said no, she'd jump me, choke me out, toss me down the stairs, and watch me hit.

Pain slammed through me, fogging everything. I staggered back. "Fine. We're classmates. You go first."

Then I turned to the RD. "Ms. Anderson, thank you. I'm good with 501 or 502."

No objections. Ms. Anderson wrote Chloe under 502. Just like she wanted.

Then she wrote "Mia Mercer" under 501.

My whole body went slack, like a popped balloon. I almost dropped.

The weight crushing me—gone. Just like that. Even breathing felt easy.

This time, I'm never stepping into 502.

After locking in 502, Chloe looked smug. If she had a tail, it'd be straight up.

She loomed over me. "I heard 501's full of nerds—SAT top scorers from all over. Sounds impressive, sure, but in the real world? They're not even worth a rich kid's pet. I made it in one move. I'm in a higher class now. Once I'm there, what won't I have? You think I'd still be missing a grad school offer?"

I kept my face blank. "What's wrong with top scorers? They're geniuses. The way you said it, you don't want grad school? You'd rather live like a pet?"

She sneered. "Genius? If you've got money, you're a genius. If you don't, you're an idiot. You know who lives in 502? They're—"

She cut herself off, eyes flicking around. Then she waved it off. "Forget it. You wouldn't get it. When you see me later, try sucking up. Maybe I'll toss you scraps."

She slapped on a sweet smile and hurried over to her three new roommates in 502, already working them.

I glanced at those girls. They traded looks, faint smiles tugging at their lips as they watched Chloe. Quiet. Calculating. Like they were silently signaling each other.

The leftover fear from last time hit hard. I turned and ran.

Room 502 was the rich girls' suite—that part was true. But those three? Monsters.

They had mansions, luxury condos, and penthouses, but still chose the dorms.

Why?

To "hunt."

Messing with regular students was their new hobby.

And Chloe?

She was the prey.

The second I stepped into Room 501, that clean, crisp book smell hit me.

My three roommates sat at their desks, quietly turning pages.

The place was spotless. No clothes or makeup everywhere. No disgusting, trashed bathroom.

No one would slap me awake at night.

No one would send me out for food mid-study.

No one would knock my teeth loose over socks.

Even if these girls looked like they had their own quirks—

But this?

This was the college life I wanted.

Free. Bright. Wide open.

I slid my suitcase into the closet. Worried I smelled, I ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower.

The second I opened the door—

Bang!

A party popper went off over my head.

My roommates stood there with a cake, grinning. "Welcome to the 501 bookworm dorm!"

Their bright, open faces made my eyes sting. The cake was small, "501" written on top, a little crooked.

"Before this, nobody wanted to room with us. Said we were depressing. Study monsters." A pause. "We hope you stay with us a long time, Mia."

I swallowed it down and took the cake. "Of course. I really admire smart people."

We spread a blanket on the floor and sat in a circle, sharing the cake.

We traded hometowns, school stories, future plans.

The weight that'd crushed me for four years finally lifted, like it blew away.

My new life had started.

That night, lying in bed, I saw Chloe's post.

A secondhand LV bag.

Caption: [Rich dorm roomie is way too generous. Grabbed her food, got an LV in return. I love 502!]

Of course she didn't stop to wonder why rich girls would choose a four-person dorm.

Not my problem.

I turned off my phone and let the quiet sink in. Sleep hit fast.

In both lives, it was the best sleep I'd had in four years.

***

Early the next morning, someone started pounding on the 501 door.

Chloe screamed from outside, "Mia, get out here. Mia, you tramp, get out here."

I opened it. She stormed in.

"Why didn't you tell me those three rich girls are disgusting? They don't even flush. Used pads everywhere. Bras and underwear all over the place. And they smoke in the bathroom with no fan. I opened the door—it was like a chimney. I couldn't even open my eyes."

Yeah, their families were rich.

But they were all abandoned.

One was an illegitimate child. One grew up without a mom, mean down to the bone. Another had been abused since she was a kid—unstable.

They'd picked up twisted habits.

No normal person could deal with them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of a skirt through 502's cracked door.

Listening. Of course they were.

I took a small step back. "Chloe, what are you talking about? I don't get it. I've never even talked to anyone in 502. How would I know what they're like? It's the start of the semester—people need time to adjust. Calling them disgusting is a bit much."

Chloe let out a sharp laugh. "Can you stop pretending? Aren't those bookworms driving you insane too? Is the pressure getting to you? Just say it. I can comfort you."

Before I could answer, one of my roommates stepped in. "What goes on in our dorm isn't your business."

Chloe opened her mouth—

The door to 502 creaked open.

A cold voice drifted out. "Chloe, had your fun? Come back."

Her back went stiff. She forced a smile and walked off.

The voice belonged to Nadia Holloway—the one who ran 502. The most twisted of the three. She liked treating people like dogs.

When I first moved into 502, she'd send me out on timed errands.

Make it back on time? Cash.

Late?

She'd slap a collar on me, sit on my back, make me crawl.

Once, she said her family had a pony with eyes just like mine.

The pony threw her.

So she gouged its eyes out.

Then she asked if I'd throw her too.

I was so scared I pressed myself flat to the floor, curling in even tighter.

Sure enough, Chloe skipped class that morning. The professor called—no answer.

Meanwhile, I sat with the top students of 501, walking into my first class without fear.

In my last life, Chloe never stopped complaining about 501.

Too suffocating. Too intense.

Always studying. Always competing.

Like if they skipped one day, they'd drop dead.

But now?

This felt like a dream.

My three roommates were top scorers from three different states.

Their SAT scores didn't even show how good they were—the test was the limit, not them.

After moving into 501, I realized it wasn't just hard work.

They were straight-up brilliant.

One spoke four languages. One was deep into AI. The last? A math prodigy, basically locked in for a physics PhD at an Ivy.

I'd basically scored three private tutors—for free.

I could wake up laughing.

Especially Emma Dawson.

Every time she caught me doing calculus, she'd frown over my shoulder.

"You're still getting this wrong? Why use such a stupid method? You're wasting time. I can't even watch."

I instantly held up my book like an offering. "Please. Teach me."

Like she'd been waiting, Emma snatched my pen.

One calc problem—she solved it four different ways. Clearer than any professor.

Once Emma started tutoring, the other two jumped in.

That's when I realized—they'd already finished all four years of coursework.

Now they were bored. So they taught me, constantly pushing harder.

I slept six hours a night, fully living that "bookworm" life Chloe hated.

To her? Torture.

To me?

Heaven.

I soaked it all up like a dry sponge.

I didn't have time to care about Chloe—her cars, her gifts, her parties.

By the end of the semester, I even landed a scholarship.

It wasn't even one-thousandth of what I'd made running errands in my last life, but I was happy for days.

Because this time, I earned it.

I was figuring out what to get my roommates when Chloe finally cornered me in the library.

In just over a month, she looked wrecked.

Her eyes were unfocused, her hair dry and yellowed. She'd dropped at least fifteen pounds.

She grabbed my hand, tight. "They're all insane. All of them. At night, they play cards. If someone loses and gets mad, they burn me with cigarette butts. And I can't make a sound, or they slap me."

The burn marks flashed in my head.

That was Reina Brooke's thing.

Richest of the three—and the most average-looking.

Jealous of anyone prettier. Loved ruining pretty things, slowly.

Last time, she said my skin was like silk—and burned a heart into it.

This time, she said Chloe's legs were straight and pale. Like porcelain.

So when I saw the neat row of burns on Chloe's thigh—

Yeah.

Not surprising at all.

Chloe went on, "I'm going crazy. I really am. Mia... what if we switch back?"

I scoffed inside but put on a look. "But don't they give you five grand a month? Most people can't touch that. You really want to switch? I mean... I wouldn't mind."

At "five grand," her eyes dimmed.

"What are you talking about? I'm just venting. Rich people have quirks, right? Why make it a big deal?"

Now it sounded like I was the one complaining.

I didn't argue. I wasn't the one suffering.

She didn't bring it up again. Just walked off, dazed.

I watched her go, oddly relieved.

That five grand a month?

It wasn't pay.

It was blood money.