Eliza reached Cameron’s apartment building. The Residences at Pacific Crest. Luxury student housing for students whose parents could afford three thousand dollars a month in rent. The building had a doorman who nodded at her with the practiced neutrality of someone paid to pretend he didn’t notice which girls came and went from which apartments. The lobby had marble floors and a chandelier that probably cost more than her entire year’s tuition.

Cameron lived in the penthouse unit. Of course he did. Top floor. Corner unit. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the entire campus spread out below like a kingdom he owned.

She took the elevator up. Watched the numbers climb. Tried to remember why she’d agreed to come over. Cameron had texted her during lunch, something casual and demanding in the way his texts always were. Come over at 3. Not a question. Not an invitation. Just an expectation that she’d comply.

And she had.

Because that’s what she did now. She complied.

Eliza knocked on his door.

Cameron answered wearing sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was bare and gym-toned in that effortless way that came from good genes more than actual work. His hair was messy in the way that said he’d probably just woken up from a nap despite it being three in the afternoon. His eyes had that slightly unfocused look that meant he’d been day-drinking or gaming or both.

"Hey babe." He stepped aside to let her in. His voice carried the faint irritation of someone who’d been kept waiting. "Took you long enough."

"I was across campus. The library’s a fifteen-minute walk."

"Whatever." Cameron was already walking toward the couch. His bare feet making soft sounds on the hardwood. "You want something to drink? I think there’s wine in the fridge. Or beer if you want beer."

Eliza followed him inside.

The apartment smelled like Cameron’s cologne and old takeout containers he hadn’t bothered to throw away. Expensive cologne layered over cheap negligence. A pizza box sat open on the coffee table with three remaining slices going stale. Grease had congealed on the cheese into small yellow pools. His laptop was open to what looked like a betting website. Some college basketball game he’d probably put money on without thinking twice about the amount.

The apartment was beautiful in the way expensive things often were. Clean lines and modern furniture and a kitchen with appliances Eliza knew Cameron had never used. But it was also messy in that specific way that said its occupant had never been taught to clean up after himself because someone else had always done it for him.

"Sure." Eliza sat on the couch. The leather was cold through her skirt. The cushions were firm and expensive and somehow less comfortable than the worn fabric couch in her dorm common room. "Wine sounds good."

Cameron went to the kitchen. She heard him opening the fridge. The clink of a bottle against the shelf. The cabinet door as he grabbed glasses.

Eliza stared at the pizza box.

She wondered if Cameron even noticed what he ate. If the difference between gourmet and Domino’s registered to someone who’d never had to choose the cheaper option. If he’d ever looked at a menu and calculated how much tip he could afford.

"Here." Cameron handed her a glass of white wine. Not chilled enough. The glass was slightly warm like it had just come out of the dishwasher. The wine itself looked like it had been open for days. Oxidized. Flat. "So what were you studying?"

"Our sociology project. The debate about economic mobility and wealth distribution."

"Boring." Cameron dropped onto the couch beside her. His weight made the cushions shift. His thigh pressed against hers with casual ownership. His hand landed on her knee. Warm and heavy and already starting to move. "Delgado’s class, right? I haven’t started mine yet. Probably do it the night before. She’s hot for an old lady though."

Eliza sipped the wine. It was slightly vinegary.

"She’s thirty-six."

"Like I said. Old." Cameron’s hand moved higher on her thigh. His fingers traced the edge of her skirt. "So who’d you get paired with again? I forgot."

"Jordan McKnight."

Cameron’s hand stopped moving.

"The simp?"

"He’s not really." Eliza heard herself speaking. "He’s different now."

"Different how?"

"Just different. He looks different. He acts different. He’s dating Chloe Kim."

Cameron laughed. The sound was sharp and dismissive.

"Maybe she’s using him for something." Cameron’s hand resumed its path up her thigh. "Doesn’t matter anyway. Guy’s still a joke."

"Can we not talk about him?"

"Sure babe." Cameron’s fingers found the edge of her lace garter. "Plenty of better things to do anyway."

His mouth found her neck.

Eliza closed her eyes.

Cameron’s hand pushed her skirt higher.

Eliza felt nothing.

That was the worst part. Not anger or disgust or shame. Just nothing. An empty space where emotion should have been. Cameron was touching her, and her body responded with the appropriate signals, and her mind was somewhere else entirely.

Her mind was in a study room with a boy who used to worship her and now couldn’t wait to leave.

"You’re quiet today." Cameron’s voice was muffled against her throat. "Everything okay?"

"Fine."

"You sure? You seem distracted."

"I’m fine."

Cameron pulled back. His eyes were dark with frustration.

"Doesn’t seem like you’re fine. Seems like you’re somewhere else."

Eliza looked at him.

Six-one. Sun-kissed hair. Strong jaw. The kind of face that opened doors and closed deals. Everything her mother had taught her to want. Everything she had sacrificed Jordan to obtain.

"I’m here."

"Your body’s here. Your head’s not." Cameron’s jaw tightened. "Is this about that McKnight guy?"

"What? No."

"You sure? Because you brought him up pretty fast. And now you’re acting weird."

"I’m not acting weird."

"You’re not acting normal either." Cameron’s hand dropped from her thigh. "If you’ve got something going on with your ex or whatever, you need to tell me."

"There’s nothing going on. He’s my debate partner. That’s it."

Cameron studied her face.

Eliza held his gaze. She had years of practice lying to people. Her mother had trained her well. Eye contact. Relaxed shoulders. Steady voice. No micro-expressions that might betray uncertainty.

"Fine." Cameron didn’t sound convinced. "But if I find out you’re playing games, we’re done. I don’t do drama."

"There’s no drama."

"Good." Cameron stood up. "I’m getting another beer. You want anything?"

"No."

He walked to the kitchen.

Eliza sat on the expensive couch in the expensive apartment with the expensive boyfriend and wondered how she had ended up so completely miserable.

The kind of person who needs to figure that out on their own.

Jordan’s words echoed in her head.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe she needed to figure out what kind of person she actually was. Not the person her mother had trained her to be. Not the perfect social climber who extracted maximum value from every relationship. Not the beautiful decoration that existed to enhance someone else’s status.

Just Eliza.

Whatever that meant.