Eliza had watched his eyes. She had been watching specifically for that moment of weakness, that flash of desire, that proof that she still had power over him. And it hadn’t happened. His gaze had stayed locked on her face or on his laptop or on the door like he was counting the minutes until he could leave.

She had lost something she didn’t know she wanted until it was gone.

The study room door opened.

Eliza looked up, heart jumping into her throat. For one stupid, desperate second, she thought Jordan had come back. Thought he’d realized he couldn’t walk away from her that easily. Thought maybe the connection they’d once had wasn’t completely dead.

A random girl stuck her head in. Asian. Short. Enormous glasses that covered half her face.

"Sorry, is this room booked?"

"No." Eliza’s voice came out rougher than intended. "I was just leaving."

The girl nodded and retreated.

Eliza finished gathering her papers. Her hands had stopped shaking but her chest still felt tight. Like something was sitting on her sternum. Like she couldn’t quite get enough air.

She pulled out her phone and stared at Cameron’s messages.

where u at babe

hello??

whatever hit me up when ur done being weird

That was Cameron. Three messages in five minutes, escalating from casual to annoyed to dismissive. No concern. No curiosity about what she might be doing. Just irritation that she wasn’t performing her designated girlfriend duties on his schedule.

Eliza typed a response.

Had a study session. Just finished.

Cameron’s reply came immediately.

cool come over later we can watch something

Not a question. A statement. An assumption that Eliza would show up when summoned because that was what girlfriends did. Cameron’s apartment. Cameron’s TV. Cameron’s choice of entertainment. Eliza had never once picked the movie or the restaurant or the activity.

omw

She sent the message before she could think about it. Habit. Trained response. The reflexive obedience of a girl who had been raised to secure the best possible outcome and then maintain it at any cost.

Eliza stood and walked out of the study room.

The library was busy with mid-afternoon traffic. Students clustered around tables with laptops and textbooks. Study groups whispered in corners. A guy near the stairs was sleeping with his face pressed against an open biology textbook, drool pooling on the page.

Eliza walked through it all like a ghost.

Her reflection caught her eye in the glass doors leading outside. Cream top. Black skirt. Honey-blonde waves. The face that had gotten her into exclusive parties and VIP sections and the bed of Pacific Crest’s most eligible bachelor.

She didn’t recognize herself.

The Eliza in the reflection looked beautiful. The Eliza in the reflection looked like someone who had everything figured out. The Eliza in the reflection was exactly the person her mother had trained her to become.

The Eliza in the reflection was miserable.

She pushed through the doors and stepped into the afternoon sun.

Campus sprawled around her in manicured green perfection. Students crossed the quad in groups and pairs, laughing at jokes she couldn’t hear, living lives she wasn’t part of. A group of freshman girls walked past, and one of them whispered something to her friend while glancing at Eliza with the kind of evaluation that Eliza recognized.

Competition assessment.

That was how Eliza had been taught to see other women. Competitors. Threats. Obstacles between her and the resources she needed to secure. Her mother had explained it clearly: In a world of limited valuable men, every attractive woman is your enemy. You smile at them. You compliment them. And you destroy them the moment they threaten your position.

Eliza had smiled at Chloe Kim exactly once. The day Chloe had shown up on Alexis Van Der Berg’s arm at a party, looking like she belonged even though everyone knew she was a scholarship student with no family money. Eliza had assessed Chloe as a temporary distraction. Pretty but harmless. No real threat to anyone’s position.

Now Chloe was dating Jordan McKnight.

The transformed Jordan McKnight.

The Jordan McKnight who owned a hot springs resort in Newport Beach and walked through campus like the world owed him money.

Eliza’s phone buzzed.

where are u

walking

She typed the single word and kept moving. Her heels clicked against the concrete pathway. Her skirt swished against her thighs. Her carefully crafted appearance broadcast exactly the message she’d intended.

Nobody was looking.

That wasn’t quite true. A few people glanced her way. But the attention felt different than it used to. Less intense. Less hungry. Like she was a decoration they’d seen too many times to notice anymore.

Jordan had been the exception.

Jordan had looked at her like she was the only thing worth seeing in any room. Jordan had tracked her movements with the desperation of someone afraid the sun might disappear if he blinked too long. Jordan had made her feel special in a way that Cameron never had.

And she had thrown it away because Jordan didn’t have the right last name.

Eliza’s chest tightened again.

She remembered the Prada bag. Twenty-eight hundred dollars. Jordan had given it to her three days before Christmas with a card that said "Because you deserve beautiful things." She had accepted it with a smile she’d practiced in the mirror. Thanked him with words she’d rehearsed. And then she’d texted Cameron from the bathroom to confirm their plans for the following night.

The bag was still in her closet.

She hadn’t touched it since Christmas Day.

Something about it felt wrong now. Tainted. Like wearing it would broadcast her shame to everyone who saw it. Like the stitching spelled out BOUGHT WITH SIMP MONEY in letters only she could read. Like every thread was a receipt for what she’d done.

The bag wasn’t just expensive. It was evidence. A physical manifestation of the transaction that defined what she and Jordan had been. She’d taken it because Cameron expected her to have things like that. Because girls in Tier 1 carried Prada, not H&M. Because if she was going to date someone like Cameron Mitchell, she needed to look the part.

But every time she saw it in her closet, she thought of Jordan’s face when she’d unwrapped it. How his expression had been so hopeful. So earnest. Like he really believed a handbag could make her love him the way he loved her.

The memory made her chest feel tight.