Are The Ivies Worth The Cost?

Before we submitted our college applications, the popular girl in our class, the billionaire’s daughter, suddenly said she could get all of us into Harvard or Yale. “My parents donated several buildings to those schools. Getting you all admitted is nothing.” Most of my classmates’ college entrance exam scores were still a long way from those schools, but they believed her. They gave up submitting their own applications and counted on her to pull strings so they could get into college. In my last life, I realized her promise was unreliable. I immediately urged them not to give up on their applications, to keep a backup plan, and I called their parents one by one. But that infuriated the popular girl. She mocked me for being poor and said I did not understand how the upper class worked. She claimed I had ruined everyone’s future. My boyfriend also snapped at me for being jealous. “You’re just jealous that Lissy’s family is rich. You can’t stand the thought of all of us going to Harvard or Yale. So what if you have good grades? You could work your whole life and still never catch up to what her family built over three generations.” For the sake of our three years as classmates, I did not argue with them. But before the deadline, when I found out they still had not submitted their applications, I called the police and exposed the popular girl’s fake identity. The popular girl was condemned by everyone. In despair, she jumped into a river and killed herself. My classmates all said she deserved it and thanked me for saving their futures. But at our class farewell dinner, my boyfriend poisoned my drink, and the entire class watched coldly as I writhed in pain. “At worst, we would have lost our chance at college. Lissy lost her life!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the popular girl claimed she could pull strings for us.

In my previous life, I practically dragged my useless childhood sweetheart to Harvard with me. My academic record was top-notch, and I spent three years tutoring him. I asked my father to donate a library to Harvard University, ensuring that they would extend an additional offer of admission to Felix. Finally—when he rejected the offer in favor of taking a gap year to go work in Australia with the girl he was infatuated with—I raised such a massive scene that I ultimately forced him to go to Harvard with me. After graduation, we got married. The natural ending. He built a tech empire and made me the wife of the richest man in the country. One regret. He died too young. Didn't leave me a single word at the end. Just went. And I — I inherited his billions, and lived comfortably all the way to eighty-eight. But when I died, I saw his soul. His eyes were blood-red. "You forced me onto this path. You took me from the only woman I ever loved. I died with regret. Pray we never meet again in the next life." ...What the fuck? He'd been in that much pain? And I was the only one — happily riding it out? Captions drifted across my vision. [Lmao — how thick is this side character's skin?] [Male lead dies young in agony, she breezes through to 88 as the richest widow in the country.] [The girl he actually loved was the one who flunked her SATs and ran off backpacking, hello???] [They both died young, missed each other, and the side character had the time of her life.] Even I felt bad. When I opened my eyes, I was back — standing in that basement he'd sworn would be his life of freedom, on the day he was supposed to reject his Harvard offer. This time, I am not stopping him from going to Australia.

I’ve always taken people literally. When Dad told me to empty the basin, I asked where he wanted me to pour the water. “On my head,” he snapped. So I did. When Mom told me to do the laundry, I asked whether I should add detergent. She gave a cold laugh. “Sure. Add caramel sauce.” So I poured an entire bottle of caramel sauce into the washing machine. Everyone said I was stupid. But this “stupid” guy took first place in a nationwide academic competition. I earned my school’s only direct-admission spot at one of the country’s top universities. The day the results were announced, Lucas Hale, the school bully, ripped my application apart in front of the entire class. “You can’t even understand sarcasm. Why should someone like you get direct admission? “Last night, I saw you get out of a luxury SUV. Who knows what kind of deal you made with the woman inside?” The whole classroom went quiet. Then everyone started looking at me differently. Lucas stood there with a self-righteous expression. “I’m just speaking up for the rest of the class. Why should we work ourselves to death only to lose out to someone who got in through connections?” I thought about it seriously. Then I took out my phone and called my older sister. “Claire, they said I got my admission spot by sleeping with someone. Is that true?” A few seconds later, I held the phone out to Lucas, whose face had gone pale. “My sister wants to know something.” “What’s your name?” “And your student ID number?”

When dorm picks opened, two beds were left. My hometown girl, Chloe Parker, beat me by a step and grabbed Room 501—the honors suite. That left me with Room 502, the rich-girl suite. In 501, the try-hards rode her nonstop. She made grad school. In 502, I ran errands and pulled five grand a month. At graduation, she snapped and shoved me off the roof. "It's all your fault. Without you, I wouldn't wake up every day buried in studying. How'd you stack hundreds of thousands in four years while all I got was a useless grad school offer?" I opened my eyes. Dorm selection day. Behind me, Chloe shoved past and lunged forward. "I'm picking first. I want 502."

Ava Stone, a scholarship student at the elite Blackwood Institute, had her life turned upside down after a seemingly innocent ride home from Tony Blackwood— the campus golden boy. What begins as a simple favor spirals into a heated, reckless encounter in the back of his luxury car. Two months later, Ava discovers she’s pregnant. The father, the most powerful and privileged student on campus, wants nothing to do with her or their unborn child. Cast aside without remorse, Ava is left staring down expulsion, public scandal, and total ruin in an institution rotten with old money, bloodlines, and merciless classism. In a world built to break girls like her, how long will she survive?

I go to the boutique my son has invested in to pick up the gown I've ordered for a banquet. Just as I'm about to leave, the manager, Wendy Reed, stops me and says that I still owe them money. She pulls out the bill. I look down at it and see that the boutique is charging me 300 thousand dollars for their creativity, 500 thousand dollars for fabric therapy, and one million dollars for their chief designer's mental wellness. On top of other expenses, the price totals up to two million dollars. I laugh incredulously and send a message to my secretary. "Withdraw our funding from my son's company and this boutique!"