Chapter 4

The dorm room door swung open, and three faces turned toward me like I’d tracked in mud. Which, technically, I had—the soles of my worn boots were still caked with yesterday’s rain.

“You must be the scandal,” said the blonde by the window, not bothering to look up from her manicure. “I’m Isabelle. This is Chloé. And that’s Nadia.”

Nadia Ashford sat on the bed nearest the door, a thick economics textbook open on her lap. She didn’t greet me. She assessed me. Her eyes swept from my secondhand suitcase to my frayed collar, and something cold settled in her gaze.

“The scholarship girl,” she said. Flat. Clinical.

“The *qualified* girl,” I corrected, dropping my bag on the empty bunk.

Isabelle snickered. “Cute. You’ll fit right in—if you can afford the dining plan.”

I ignored her and started unpacking. My fingers trembled, but I wouldn’t let them see it. I’d faced worse than rich girls with sharp tongues. I’d faced their fathers in boardrooms.

“You made quite the scene at orientation,” Nadia continued, turning a page. “Publicly humiliating the mayor’s daughter. Bold. Or stupid. Hard to tell which.”

“They were lies. I told the truth.”

“The truth.” She finally looked at me, and for a second—just a second—I saw something flicker behind her ice-blue eyes. Fatigue. Maybe fear. “You think the truth matters here? This place eats people like you alive.”

“And people like you?”

Her jaw tightened. I’d hit a nerve. But before she could answer, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number: *“They’re watching. Prove them wrong.”* — V.

I stared at the screen. I didn’t know who V. was, or why they kept texting me cryptic warnings. But tonight, alone in this gilded cage, I’d take any ally I could get.

Even a ghost.