Vivian stood. "We're taking these seats," she announced, already pulling out a chair at Tasha's table.
Tasha blinked, uncertain. "Uh... okay."
"Yes, we're the girls from the other night," Vivian said, her voice smoother now, more curious than kind.
Tasha nodded slowly. "I'm a new student."
"I thought I recognized you. I'm Anna Wimberry."
"Tasha Ronald," the girl replied softly, shaking Anna's hand.
"And you remember me?" Vivian asked, her tone unreadable.
"Yes," Tasha said. "Vivian."
Anna watched her closely. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Really?"
Tasha hesitated. "Yes. Why?"
Vivian leaned in. "You can tell us. Is it... family stuff?"
Tasha looked down, wrestling with her feelings. She hadn't expected to cry again, especially not in front of strangers. But the pain was real, and it was building.
"I saw him today," she said at last. "He acted like I didn't exist. Like everything we shared meant nothing."
Vivian reached across the table, gently touching her arm. "You'll be okay. Do you love him?"
Tasha wiped her tears. She did. That was the worst part.
Anna sighed. "If this is what love looks like, count me out."
Vivian narrowed her eyes. "He's a student here, isn't he?"
Tasha nodded.
"Let us help you," Anna said, already plotting. "Who is he? What's his name?"
Tasha hesitated, then said, "Clinton. Clinton Cornell."
The name landed like a bomb. Students nearby turned their heads.
"Excuse me?" Vivian blinked. "Tell me you're lying."
"She's not," Anna said, staring. "You just broke whatever was left of Vivian's heart."
Vivian sank back in her chair, stunned.
———-
David crossed the room to where Clinton sat, hunched over a phone that hadn't been unlocked. The boy's deep brown hair fell close to his eyes, lost in thought. David gently touched his shoulder and leaned in close.
"Is everything alright?" he whispered.
Across the room, the other three friends had been chatting idly, half-distracted by their conversation about Harrison's birthday and Samuel's sister's upcoming wedding, while Clinton sat apart, absorbed in whatever was on his mind. They assumed he was preoccupied with the penthouse project by the ocean, a venture he hadn't yet confessed to his mother.
Clinton had felt triumphant when the funds were finally transferred from the family accounts to the landowner. He'd pitched it to his mother as a promising investment. The paperwork had already arrived. Now, he just had to keep up the lie.
Earlier, he'd told the others about the purchase, his voice casual as he slipped away to sit in the corner of the nearly empty hall.
The boys often met here, an expansive, sunlit hall in the university that was left largely untouched by students or staff. No one else dared use it, not after David had "donated" an exorbitant check to the university director, effectively making the space theirs. Word spread quickly. Freshmen were quietly warned not to trespass.
At the moment, the boys were locked in a small debate, Harrison wanted them all at his birthday party, while Samuel needed an excuse to skip his sister's wedding. Not that he liked the man she was marrying, a tall, bearded entrepreneur who, in Samuel's opinion, was far too close in age to their mother.
Samuel still remembered the first time he overheard Georgia speaking to their mother in the manor's sunlit drawing room. He had just opened the fridge when he caught the scent of her perfume, sweet oils and something floral. She was perched on a velvet chair by the tall windows, dressed in a crimson dress and matching bonnet, casually telling their mother that she had met "the one" in a Los Angeles megastore, of all places. The man had paid for her entire cart. That, apparently, had been enough.
Mrs. Bianca was thrilled. "As long as he makes you happy, darling," she'd said.
Samuel wasn't convinced. Mr. Nathaniel, the mystery fiancé, had flown in to spend time with Georgia, and they'd wasted no time whispering about love, future children, and dream homes. Samuel couldn't bring himself to care. The man was wealthy, three luxury hotels, a real estate empire, and old enough to be her father.
Samuel hadn't been thrilled when Georgia announced the engagement and wedding date. He doubted this man could've sustained a relationship with someone his own age if he'd tried.
Still, Georgia was happy, obsessing over the perfect cake, the dreamy custom dress she'd dreamed of since childhood. Samuel didn't want to disappoint her, but skipping her wedding for a birthday party felt like a betrayal. He needed the perfect excuse.
David spoke again, pulling Clinton back to the present. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"
Clinton finally looked up. His face was unreadable. He let out a breath and set the phone down.
"I'm fine. Just overwhelmed by the whole building project," he said. The others weren't convinced. They knew when he was lying.
Daniel leaned against the desk, one leg perched up. "Hire a planner. It's not rocket science."
Clinton gave him a tired look, running a hand through his hair.
Harrison glanced at his watch. "It's late. When are we leaving?"
"Wait," Samuel interjected. "We still haven't figured out what I'm going to tell Georgia."
None of them said it aloud, but they all knew why it mattered. Samuel had fled Georgia's last birthday party, held in another country, barely an hour after it began. Too many people. Too many stares. He'd slipped away from the crowd and flown home without a word.
Harrison sighed. "Let's talk about it next time. I'm starving. And I need a shower."
David stood as well. "Same."
Daniel glanced out the window. "Lyon's probably waiting."
Downstairs, the chauffeur sat silently in the car, knowing better than to call. The last time he had, Daniel had ignored the calls and stormed out to meet him. When Lyon tried to explain himself, Daniel had taken the car keys, ordered him out, and driven off, only to deliberately crash the car into a tree, nearly hitting an old woman.
That stunt nearly cost Lyon his job. Mr. Gundi had spared him, barely.
Back upstairs, Clinton stood and stretched. "Almost five," he muttered, checking the time.
"Anyone hungry?" Daniel asked, glancing toward the exit.
They all shook their heads. The campus restaurant wasn't an option. Too public. Too many eyes.
"I'll eat at home," Clinton said.
Gabriella usually prepared his meals, except when her mother's health kept her at the clinic. Clinton had watched her serve him day after day, graceful and focused. He never told her how much he noticed.
"Georgia's probably cooking one last time before she leaves," Samuel added. He would never admit it aloud, but he loved his sister's cooking. He'd just sit, eat in silence, then shrug off her questions about the meal, pretending not to care.
She'd told him she was flying out soon. Work was calling. Contracts. Obligations. She wasn't happy to leave so soon, but the wedding had to be planned, somehow.
She already had her bridesmaid in mind, Chloe, her childhood friend. She hadn't told anyone yet. She wanted to surprise her.
As the boys exited the hall, janitors moved in to clean a spotless space simply because they were paid too well not to. The group strolled down the corridor, laughing at something Daniel said. They drew stares from both students and professors still lingering on campus.
Tasha spotted them.
Her heart lurched at the sight of Clinton. She still remembered the way he'd made her feel on her first day, the way his eyes had lingered on her face. Now, he looked away without a word.
Her chest tightened. She blinked hard and turned, heading for her locker to grab her books.
Clinton rested his head against the car seat. The air-conditioning was just the way he liked it. A message lit up on his screen, and he gave the driver new directions.
Outside the window, he caught a glimpse of her, walking fast toward the eastbound bus stop. Vivian had stormed out of the restaurant. Anna had chased after her, leaving the girl behind, stunned and alone.
"Trust me, she'll calm down," Anna had whispered before vanishing outside.
Clinton didn't stop the car.
His father had just texted: Come home. Now.
He didn't need to ask why. It was about the money. Of course it was.