It was the first day of senior year when Nico Sives, our class heartthrob, flashed his signature smirk and tossed out a casual suggestion like it was no big deal.

“Hey, let’s set up a class fund,” he said, spinning a pen between his fingers. “River, you handle the money, yeah?”

I blinked. “Why me?”

Nico leaned back in his chair. “Come on, we’re all rich kids here. No one’s worried about money. You take care of the funds and whatever interest it racks up? It’s yours. Think of it as a little thank-you.”

Honestly, it sounded like troubles and risks. So I shook my head.

But then Calla Grant, our ever-so-graceful class rep, chimed in to second that idea.

“River, your dad’s been working for my family for years. He’s had it rough. Take this chance, earn a little for yourself, give him one less thing to stress over. Yeah?”

With the both of them pushing me into a corner, I didn’t have much of a choice. I agreed.

For three whole years, I kept the fund running like clockwork. No one ever questioned me and everyone transferred their dues right on time. These trust fund kids treated money like it grew on trees.

Then came graduation night.

We were at this upscale restaurant downtown for our farewell party when Calla raised her glass with a grin.

“River, the fund’s still got plenty, right? Send me a hundred grand—I’m thinking gold figurines for everyone. Thirty grams each. A little something to remember each other by.”

I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “The fund’s empty.”

——

Everything stopped. Forks froze halfway to mouths. All eyes snapped to me.

Calla’s smile cracked.

“What did you just say?” she asked, like she couldn’t believe her ears.

She stood up so fast her chair almost toppled. Within seconds, she was towering over me, eyes blazing, breath laced with alcohol and entitlement.

“Are you freaking serious right now? Three years of class funds—every single person paid two grand a year. That’s should at least 250K! And you're telling me it’s all gone?!”

She jabbed her finger at my chest.

“Where is it, River? Did you funnel it into your broke-ass family? Or did you just pocket it for yourself? Come on, say it!”

Her words cracked something open inside me—three years of biting my tongue, of pretending I belonged among people like them.

I stood up, met her glare head-on.

“I may not be well-off, but I’m not a thief, Calla.” 

I turned to the others. 

“All you people ever look at is how much you send. Ever bother to check how much we spent? You want me to pull up the—” 

“Oh please!” Calla cut me off, full of righteous fury. “None of us here need to count pennies. Only you do. So here’s your chance—tell us where the money went, or I call the cops.”

I stood up, picked up my beat-up old phone and opened the fund app. Then I held it up for the whole room to see.

Balance: 20 dollar.

Calla’s face twisted. “Twenty?! Are you serious right now?”

I didn’t blink. I transferred every last cent to her.

“There. You can dig through the expense reports yourself if you think something’s off.”

I held out the phone—but Nico stepped in and snatched it.

“Okay, okay,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder like this was all a misunderstanding. “We’re all a little tipsy, alright? No point ruining friendships over numbers. If it’s really a problem, I’ll cover it.”

“What? No. I’m not gonna let you do that. We need to find out where’s the money–”

Nico silenced her by grabbing her face and planting a kiss right on her lips.

The room exploded.

“Yo! Nico made the first move?!”

“They’ve been sneaking around for years. Finally went public, huh?”

I didn’t stick around to watch the show.

I picked up my bag, head down and walked out. Back at the villa, that slow-burning fire of humiliation from dinner was still lodged in my chest like a rock.

I was done.

I took the stairs two at a time, dug my old suitcase out of the closet and started shoving clothes in without even folding.

The door flew open, crashing into the wall.

“I see you’re trying to escape,” Calla said, arms crossed in the doorway. “You’re running away because you feel guilty, aren’t you?”

Nico lingered behind her, his eyes flicking between the floor and me, face still flushed from the kiss he planted just minutes ago.

I zipped the suitcase shut, not saying a word.

When I grabbed the handle and tried to push past her, she stormed in and grabbed my wrist—hard. Her grip was tighter than I expected; her nails dug in like she meant to bruise.

“Where’s the money, River?” Her voice cracked with rage. “All two hundred and fifty grand. You don’t leave this house until you tell me where it went!”

“Let go of me,” I said, pulling back, but she held on like her life depended on it.

“I told you. It’s gone. The expenses are all logged—you can check for yourself.”

At the word expenses, Nico’s face shifted. He moved quickly, stepping between us.

“Calla, take it easy. I’m sure River has a reason for—”

“Oh, he’s got a reason alright,” she snapped. “The son of a chauffeur walking around with our class fund? You think this isn’t suspicious?”

Then her eyes locked on mine, cold and merciless.

“Just tell me straight. Was it your dad? Did he take the money?”

And there it was.

After all this time, that’s still all I was to her—the driver’s son. No matter how well I did in class, how clean I kept the books, how hard I worked—none of it mattered.

My voice shook, but not with fear. “Watch your mouth, Calla. My dad didn’t take a single cent.” I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over the transaction logs. “The records are right here. Look for yourself.”

I was about to hand it over when Nico slapped it out of my hand. The phone flew across the room and cracked against the wall.

Everything went still.

Even Calla looked stunned for a second.

“Nico, what are you—?”

“You’ve got boost on your system,” he said quickly. “We can only solve this matter when we’re sober. Let’s not deal with this right now. Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”

He didn’t give her a choice. He all but dragged her out of my room while she stumbled behind him, too caught off guard to protest.

But something about Nico’s reaction stuck with me. He looked… scared. Like he knew something I didn’t.

I knelt to pick up my phone. The screen was spiderwebbed, but somehow still alive.

It started buzzing in my hand. Incoming video call.

Nico.

He had just walked out. Why was he calling?

I answered on instinct.

And the second the feed came through, my heart stopped.

The image shook for a second—then it focused.

Two people stumbled into view.

Calla and Nico.

Laughing, breathless, tangled in each other. Clothes half-on.

“So,” Nico panted, breath hot and close to the mic, “tell me again. Which one you like better. Me, or River?”

Calla gave a bored little laugh, hands trailing down his chest. “Are you joking?” she scoffed. “He was just the chauffeur’s son—now he’s a thief, too. No way he even comes close to you.”

Nico chuckled low, turned his head toward the phone and looked straight at the camera.

He knew what he was doing.

And then the screen went dark as the phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

My chest burned.

I had always thought—maybe somewhere, beneath her snobbery and sarcasm—Calla saw me. When I sprained my ankle in gym, she was the one who helped me limp to the nurse’s office. When I stayed late studying, she left sliced fruit on my desk.

She always offered me a ride. She always sat close in group projects.

And I… I thought maybe, just maybe, there was something there.

But to her, I was never anything more than the help.

I rolled my suitcase to the front door. Calla’s room upstairs was shut tight, but through the thick walls I could still hear the faint, disgusting rhythm of what was happening inside.

I walked to the kitchen. My mom was drying dishes, eyes red from holding back tears.

“Mom,” I said softly, “I’m heading out. I’ve got that military school interview today.”

She nodded, reached into the fridge and pulled out a carefully wrapped lunch box.

“Take care, son. Call me when you get there,” she said as she pressed the lunchbox into my hands.

“I will,” I said, my throat tight. “You take care too.”

I turned without looking back, pulling my suitcase behind me as I stepped through the doors of the Grant estate.

I wasn’t coming back.

***

The day of the interview, my heart was pounding. I’d been dreaming of this for years. Serving in the military had been my dream since I was five. But just as I reached the main entrance of the academy building, someone yelled behind me.

“River!”

I turned. Calla was storming across the courtyard, face pale with rage.

“Think you can run away from this?” she snapped, grabbing my arm with a grip like a bear trap. “You think you can just take the class fund and walk into an academy like nothing happened?!”

Heads turned. All the other interviewees were suddenly watching.

“Let go,” I said through gritted teeth. “I told you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I didn’t take that money. You guys spent it. You never kept track.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” she barked, then tossed a thick file down at my feet. “See this? Your dad’s account got a fourteen grand deposited last December. You seriously wanna stand here and tell me that’s not class money?”

I looked down at the printout. It was blurry, barely legible, probably cropped to hide context. And just like that, she tried to pin the whole thing on me.

“That was money I earned working jobs. I sent it to my dad because—God forbid—I wanted to help him out.”

“You?” she sneered. “What job pays a driver’s son five figures?”

She shoved me hard. I stumbled back—caught the edge of a step—and fell. My hands flew out to catch myself, but there was a sickening sound of broken bones and pain exploded through my wrist. I let out a sharp breath, sweat instantly breaking on my forehead.

“Hey! Someone just got shoved!”

People started shouting. Calla froze. Her eyes darted from my twisted wrist to the faces around her. For a second, she looked scared. Then her mask snapped back on.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “Now you’re faking an injury? What’s next, a fainting spell?”

“Move. Make way!”

A sharp voice cut through the noise as a military instructor pushed through the crowd. He knelt beside me, checked my arm.

“Fracture,” he said crisply, then looked up at Calla with steel in his eyes. “Who are you and why are you putting your hands on candidates?”

“I—I didn’t touch him,” Calla stammered. “He fell on his own!”

“That’s not true!” someone shouted from the crowd. “She pushed him!”

The instructor stood, voice low but firm. “I don’t care what your argument is—this is assault. And it happened at the academy gate.”

Then he turned to me. “I’m sorry, Son. With an injury like that, you won’t be able to complete the interview process today.”

That hit harder than the fall. I tried to get up, eyes pleading. “Sir, I’ve prepared for this my whole life. She’s lying. She pushed me. She’s framing me—”

“Enough!” another voice cut in.

Nico came jogging over, panting, a little too conveniently out of breath.

“River, come on,” he said, voice full of fake concern. “Calla was just upset. None of this was on purpose.”

Then he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Look, just pay back forty grand. We’ll cover the rest and this whole mess goes away.”