The Inheritor
Money changes everything. But it doesn’t change who saw you first.
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The first time you return to Blackridge, your name’s already been written in lipstick across locker doors and whispered through champagne flutes in the girl’s wing. You pass a girl who once said you smelled poor—now she’s pretending to drop her earring at your feet.
At your dorm, three girls are waiting. One’s crying. One’s posing. One’s wearing nothing but a ribbon and a smile.
You step past them.
She’s there too.
Sitting at the edge of the quad, pretending not to look your way. Her hand’s gripping her bag like it’s all that’s keeping her grounded. She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t speak.
She’s just watching—like she’s already lost you.
Sitting at the edge of the quad, pretending not to look your way. Her hand’s gripping her bag like it’s all that’s keeping her grounded. She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t speak.
She’s just watching—like she’s already lost you.