Chapter 4: Rumors and Truth

Hope

"They want you to perform at graduation." Claire's excited voice pierced through my mental fog as I collapsed onto my bed. "Professor Miller specifically requested you. Can you believe it?"

I stared at the ceiling, my mind still reeling from the confrontation with James in his car. "I'll pass."

Claire is applying her makeup. Her club DJ boyfriend would be picking her up soon for their date.

"Pass? Are you insane?" she paused in the middle of applying mascara, her reflection spinning in the vanity mirror to face me. "James Russell himself asked about you. He was looking at the student achievement wall yesterday—you know, where they have that photo of you from the winter showcase?"

My heart skipped. "What?"

"Oh yeah, Dean Crawford was showing him around. But get this—when Crawford mentioned you by name, Russell just smiled politely and said he didn't know you." Claire shrugged.

He didn't know me. The words settled heavily in my chest.

I'd chosen this path myself—insisting on applying to Brighton through regular admissions when Elizabeth had offered to make a call, refusing to use the Russell name for special treatment, working part-time jobs instead of accepting the family allowance.

I'd wanted to prove I could make it on my own merit, not as a charity case. Now that choice felt like a wall between us, one more reminder that whatever happened in private could never exist in the light of day.

That night, I lay in bed, pretending to sleep while Ashley rummaged through my drawers. The soft click of my jewelry box opening sent a wave of tension through me.

"You should see the way she struts around now," Zoe's voice drips with venom as she speaks to someone off-screen. "That designer bag she's flaunting? Probably fake, just like everything else about her. I bet some sleazy old rich guy bought her a knockoff to keep her hanging on." She lets out a sharp laugh. "Acting all innocent while she’s clearly being kept by some rich—"

I kept my breathing steady, even as anger burned in my chest. "Find anything interesting?" I finally spoke, sitting up in bed.

Ashley whirled around, the jewelry box still in her hands. To her credit, she didn't try to hide it.

"Just admiring your collection," she said with a saccharine smile. "That Tiffany piece is quite convincing. Where did you say you got it?"

"I didn't." I got up and crossed the room. "But since you're so curious—it was a birthday gift."

"A birthday gift?" She arched an eyebrow. "From one of your... special friends?"

"Put it back."

"Or what?" Ashley's smile turned sharp. "You'll tell everyone how you really afford all these things? The mysterious shopping trips? The designer bags? The late-night disappearances?"

I snatched the box from her hands. "Get out."

"Touched a nerve?" She moved to the door, then paused. "You know, Hope, there are easier ways to make it in our world than pretending to be something you're not."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. No matter what I did—keeping the gifts or refusing them—I couldn't escape the assumptions people made.

Morning brought worse news.

"Hope." Claire's face was unusually serious as she intercepted me before breakfast. "Have you seen the school forum?"

My stomach dropped. "What now?"

She handed me her phone. The anonymous post was brief but pointed, hinting at a certain business student's "inappropriate relationship" with a prominent family member.

I was already moving before I finished reading, grabbing my coat. "I need to find her."

I found the dining hall unnaturally quiet when I entered. Conversations died as I passed, replaced by whispers and sidelong glances.

"Has anyone seen Ashley?"

A girl from my finance class met my gaze. "Ashley? Haven't seen her since yesterday."

I feign indifference to her swift glance away. The rumors were already spreading, turning every interaction strange and loaded.

I hurried back to the dorm, anger building with each step. Amanda White, our dorm manager, was arranging fresh flowers at her desk when I burst in.

"Mrs. White!" I tried to keep my voice steady. "Have you seen Ashley this morning?"

She adjusted her reading glasses, studying me with concern. "Oh yes, dear. She left about an hour ago with some young men in a fancy car. Said something about going skating at Blue Swan."

The exclusive Blue Swan skating rink was normally beyond a student's budget, but today I didn't hesitate to spend the cab fare. Sure enough, I found Ashley there with her latest rich boyfriend and his friends, flaunting their designer skating gear.

"You need to take it back." My voice carried across the rink. "All of it."

Ashley's practiced smile didn't waver. "Take what back, sweetie? The truth?"

"Truth?" I stepped onto the ice, my old ballet training keeping me steady. "Like the truth about your Christmas break? That video you sent the British exchange student? The one where you were wearing your boyfriend's varsity jacket—and not much else?"

Her smile froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No? Should we ask your boyfriend about those private Snapchats you've been sending to any other rich kids?"

"You little bitch!" She lunged at me, but someone stepped between us—David Young, his military bearing unmistakable even in civilian clothes.

I recognized him instantly—James's driver. My head snapped toward the curb, where a familiar Emperor Royale had pulled up silently.

Through the rink's glass walls, I catch a glimpse of the familiar silhouette. The car idled at the curb, dark and watchful.

"Miss Carter." David's voice was quiet but firm. "Your ride is waiting."

The back door opened silently. I slipped into the leather seats, the familiar scent of cologne enveloping me as the door closed with a soft click.

We pulled away from the curb, leaving Ashley and her friends staring after us.

The privacy glass separated us from David in the front. James looked exhausted, his usual pristine appearance slightly rumpled from what I guessed was an all-night meeting.

Without a word, he produced a silk handkerchief—deep green with the Russell crest embroidered in silver thread—to clean away the dust and grime from my skin.

"Your hands are freezing." His fingers closed around mine before I could pull away. The warmth of his touch sent an unwanted shiver through me.

"Want to tell me what happened?" His tone was gentle and concerned, just like that of a protective older brother.

"Ashley's been spreading rumors. About the bag you gave me. And the other things."

"So you decided to confront her at an ice rink?" His thumb tracing circles on my palm.

I should have pulled my hand away. Should have demanded to be taken back to campus. Instead, I sat there, letting his warmth seep into my cold fingers.

"Grand Central," he leaned forward slightly and instructed Young.

The Grand Central Hotel—the place where we had that exhilarating night. The vivid memory sent a rush of heat through me, turning my face bright red.

"I... I should get back to school."