Chapter 2

Hadley's POV

Everyone stares at me with that look—like I'm about to make a fool of myself and they've got front row seats. Blair sits across the room, champagne in hand, wearing that smug little smirk.

Half a liter of mixed liquor. That'd land anyone in the ER, let alone me.

Last time this happened, I begged. Cried. They forced it down my throat anyway. Spent two weeks in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer, then got slapped with academic probation on top of it.

But I know exactly how these trust fund brats work now. Fight back? They get off on it. But comply completely? They lose interest.

I lift my eyes to Preston. All wide-eyed trust and puppy-dog devotion. "If I drink this, does that mean I get to stay?"

Preston raises an eyebrow, like he didn't expect that. He doesn't answer. Just lets out this cold little laugh.

I take a breath, grab the massive mug, close my eyes, and start chugging the ice-cold liquid. It scorches everything on the way down. My stomach revolts immediately. I force myself to keep swallowing, gulp after gulp.

The laughter dies out. Someone gasps.

"Holy shit, is she actually doing this?"

"She's gonna kill herself."

Blair's face shifts. She wanted me humiliated, not dead. A corpse is bad PR. She opens her mouth to stop me, but I'm already draining the last of it.

I slam the empty mug down on the marble table. My face has gone white. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. I bite down hard on my tongue, use the sharp pain to stay conscious.

I turn to Preston and force out a weak, eager smile. "Preston... done."

Something changes in his eyes. The contempt fades a little. He stares at me for a solid ten seconds. Then he laughs.

The kind of laugh someone gives when they've found a new toy that actually works.

"Not bad." He flicks a black card onto the table. "Get yourself some decent clothes tomorrow. Can't have you looking like a charity case next to me."

"Thank you, Preston." I drop my eyes, reach for the card.

The second my fingers touch it, the obedient look vanishes, replaced by cold, bitter satisfaction.

Take it, Preston. Every dollar you throw at me now is just another piece of evidence for when I send you to prison.

The next two weeks, I play the part perfectly. The starry-eyed scholarship girl who fell for money and power, who'd do anything to stay in Preston's orbit.

I wake up at six every morning, cross half the city to get his favorite breakfast from that private chef he likes. I stand in the blazing sun while he plays basketball, holding his towel and water like some kind of servant. And when Blair mocks me to my face in front of him, I keep my head down and take it. Never talk back.

Blair loves it. She thinks I've been completely broken in. Her perfect little status symbol.

"Hadley, Preston's got a temper. You need to keep him happy, okay? That's kind of the whole point." In the campus bathroom, Blair touches up her lipstick, talking to me like she's doing me a favor.

I stand behind her, holding her bag, eyes down. "I know, Blair. I wouldn't have any of this without you."

I watch her smug face in the mirror and think, yeah, Blair. Without you, how would I have gotten close enough to find out exactly how much Preston's dad embezzled from Harbor Heights? Or photograph those illegal ledgers in his study?

I play the grateful sidekick. Hold her purse. Keep my mouth shut.

Afternoons when I don't have class, I work my library shift shelving books. Same job I had last time. It's quiet here. Perfect for organizing all the evidence I've been collecting.

I shove a stack of internal reports about Hartley family construction violations to the bottom of my bag, then turn around and walk straight into someone's chest.

Books hit the floor.

"Sorry." The apology comes automatically. I crouch down to pick them up.

A calloused hand beats me to it, scoops up the books before I can.

"Hadley. You ever get tired of the act?"

That voice. Low, sharp, unmistakable.

I freeze. Look up.

Cole Cross.

White t-shirt, faded jeans. Same as me—full scholarship, working class, everything these rich kids aren't. But unlike the pathetic version of me from last time, Cole's never bent. Never bowed. Tough as weeds, proud as hell.

Last time, when everyone turned on me, when I stood on those cliffs ready to jump, he was the only one who defended me. Got his leg broken by Preston for digging into the truth.

I meet those sharp eyes and my heart skips.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Cole." I stand, take the books from him, keep my voice flat.

Cole steps closer. "Everyone else buys it. I don't. The way you look at Preston and Blair? That's not admiration. That's disgust."

"What are you trying to do?"

I don't get defensive. Just look at him calmly.

"Cole. The less you know, the safer you are." I turn to leave.

"If you need help, I'm here." His voice follows me. "I've got dirt on them too. Stuff they don't want anyone to see."

I don't turn around. "Stay out of it."

That night, Preston texts: Come to the penthouse.

I can't help smiling a little. Finally. He's taking the bait.

I push open the door. Blair's here. She sits on the couch, holding this dazzling diamond necklace, looking ready to kill.

Preston's in the armchair, gives me one cold glance. Doesn't say a word.

Blair shoots to her feet, walks straight up to me.

"Hadley. Why the hell was my necklace in your bag?"