Chapter 3

The room smelled of old paper and furniture polish. Five faces stared at me from behind the long oak table. I gripped the edge of my chair, knuckles white.

"Miss Moreau." The committee president slid a photograph across the table. "This was found in Camille Lefèvre's possession."

My study notes. My handwriting. The exact answers from Tuesday's calculus exam circled in blue ink.

"That's my notebook," I said, voice barely steady. "But I never gave it to her."

"Camille states you offered it to her before the exam." The president's glasses caught the fluorescent light. "She claims you asked for money."

The air left my lungs. "That's a lie."

"Then explain how your notes ended up in her bag."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. The truth sat on my tongue—Camille had visited my desk during lunch. She'd complimented my new pen. I'd looked away for one second.

But that wasn't proof. That was just my word against hers.

Nathan stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. Camille sat beside him, pristine in her designer blazer, tears glistening on cue. She looked exactly like the victim.

"Miss Moreau," the president said, "given the evidence, we have no choice but to suspend you for two weeks."

"Please." The word cracked. "I studied for months for that exam. I would never—"

"The decision is final."

I turned to Thầy Dubois, the only teacher who'd ever looked at me without pity or judgment. He was studying the photograph, frowning slightly. His eyes moved from the timestamp in the corner to the date on my notebook, then back.

His gaze met mine. Held.

Then he looked away.

The gavel fell. I was branded. A cheater. A scholarship student who couldn't handle the pressure.

As they escorted me out, I caught Camille's smile—brief, sharp, victorious.

And I understood: my word meant nothing. My grades meant nothing. I was just the poor girl who'd finally shown her true colors.

*Or so they wanted everyone to believe.*