Chapter 3

My roommate lowered his phone and looked at me in open contempt.

“Here’s some friendly advice. Quit pretending to be something you’re not. Keith’s right there if you want to see what someone with real money actually looks like. Stop embarrassing the rest of us.”

The other two immediately chimed in, “Exactly. If girls start avoiding us because they think we’re all losers by association, you’re going to have a problem with us.”

I thought about how loudly Keith had been drawing attention to himself in both the freshman chat and the campus forum. Suddenly, I had a bad feeling.

The people behind that underground clique were probably watching us like contestants being pushed into a cage match.

Whoever came out on top and whoever went down would determine which of us became their next target.

I took a deep breath and calmly said, “I’m not rich. I’m just a regular student. Keith’s amazing. Keith’s the real deal. Happy now?”

“Man, you really don’t know when to quit. We were going to leave you alone, but since you just admitted you were faking the whole rich-kid act, you brought this on yourself.”

“Post it in the group now. Maybe we’ll be the first ones to get on Keith’s good side.”

That was when I noticed they had been secretly recording me.

The video was posted in the group chat.

The ridicule started all over again.

[What’s this?]

[Looks like the poser’s roommates posted it!]

[He kept insisting he wasn’t pretending, and then he basically admitted it himself.]

[So, this is the poser everyone’s been talking about? Too bad they didn’t get his face.]

[Bet there’s a reason for that. He’s probably ugly as hell. LOL.]

Just as I was trembling with anger, a sudden commotion broke out in the dorm lobby.

“Keith’s here!”

“So, who’s the campus heartthrob exposing next? Which poser is up?”

Keith walked in, surrounded by a crowd. He was dressed head to toe in a designer outfit. When he looked up, our eyes met.

His gaze was provocative. I said nothing and simply turned away.

I headed toward the associate dean’s research office.

The door was open, so I walked straight in.

“Hello.”

Associate Dean Paul Trussell looked up from his desk. His face immediately broke into a smile as he came over to greet me.

“Henry, you made it! If I didn’t know your father personally, I would have worried that those other two top-tier universities were going to steal you from us.”

I waved a hand and smiled. “Every school has its strengths. Lambridge University was always my first choice.”

After we talked for a while about the university opening some of its research labs to undergraduates early, I tentatively asked, “Mr. Trussell, my dad mentioned there’s an underground clique on campus?”

He paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “Yes.”

“What do we know about them so far? How do they choose their targets?”

The case had been almost impossible to investigate, partly because of what happened to the victims.

They were all freshmen, barely out of high school, and the abuse had left them with severe psychological trauma.

Every victim had eventually taken their own life, which meant the university had almost nothing concrete to work with.

His brows furrowed.

“There’s something I haven’t had a chance to tell your father yet. After reviewing the victims’ backgrounds, we recently noticed a pattern.

“The group tends to target students who come from financially disadvantaged families but draw a lot of attention to themselves.

“Several of the previous victims, for example, were voted Outstanding Participants during freshman orientation camp.”

My stomach dropped.

Was that not exactly the image Keith had been building for me?

When I left the office, my thoughts were a mess.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a familiar figure disappear around the corner.