When Celeste White dropped Nathan Prescott’s black credit card onto the ballroom floor, four hundred college students gasped as if they had just witnessed a saint turn down the devil himself. Nathan stood beneath the anniversary-gala lights, pale and stunned, while Celeste lifted her chin for the cameras. By midnight, everyone on campus would worship her for what she had done.
Chapter 2
Celeste recovered quickly.
“Ava,” she said, loud enough for everyone filming us, “I understand that being mocked hurts. But faking an account balance will only make things worse.”
The mood shifted at once.
Someone laughed. Another student muttered, “Obviously fake.”
Then a hand struck my tray.
Soup splashed across the floor.
“Enough,” I said.
A commotion rose near the entrance before anyone could answer.
Three black SUVs had pulled up outside.
Megan grabbed Celeste’s arm. “Nathan came back!”
Celeste automatically smoothed her hair.
A gray-haired man in a dark suit entered instead. I recognized him from photographs as the Prescott family’s longtime household manager.
He approached our table.
“Miss White?”
Celeste stood with carefully measured dignity.
“Mr. and Mrs. Prescott would like someone from the university brought to the estate.”
Gasps swept the room.
Celeste gave a sad little smile. “Please tell them I appreciate the invitation, but I won’t be bought. I value ordinary friendships.”
The manager blinked.
Then he turned toward me.
“Miss Lynn, if you’re ready, the car is waiting.”
Silence.
I picked up my backpack. “I’m ready.”
As I walked away, I heard Megan sputter, “Why her?”
Inside the limousine, the manager handed me a black card.
“Mr. Prescott dislikes bank transfers,” he explained. “He thought this would be easier.”
The card immediately came alive in my mind.
Unlimited account. He spent forty minutes arguing about whether giving it to you would look vulgar. Finally decided being vulgar was better than letting you worry.
I swallowed.
The manager continued. “Your grandmother’s outstanding medical balance has been cleared. Mr. Prescott also arranged for a critical-care specialist from Mayo Clinic to review her case tonight.”
My eyes filled before I could stop them.
“He did what?”
“He said you shouldn’t have to choose between school and your grandmother’s treatment.”
At the hospital, Grandma was sitting upright when I entered. Color had returned to her cheeks.
“Ava,” she whispered.
I hugged her carefully and cried into her shoulder.
When I finally stepped into the hall, Nathan was waiting.
In person, away from the cameras, he looked younger. Awkward. Almost uncertain.
He held out a large shopping bag.
“What’s this?”
“Souvenirs.”
“From where?”
He hesitated. “Several places.”
The black card in my purse whispered.
One of everything. He asked his assistant what girlfriends like and panicked when the answer was “it depends.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
Nathan looked relieved enough to collapse.
“And thank you for Grandma.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You needed help.”
“That doesn’t make it small.”
He looked at the floor. “About what you asked me at the gala…”
My heart skipped.
“I think,” he said slowly, “we could try lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“As boyfriend and girlfriend.”
I laughed. “That sounds reasonable.”
We entered the elevator.
The doors closed.
Nathan immediately stopped breathing normally.
His face drained of color.
A metallic voice murmured from the watch on his wrist.
Claustrophobia. Severe. Basement memories. Eleven floors remaining.
Without thinking, I took his hand.
Nathan stared down at our fingers.
His palm trembled.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded too quickly.
The watch whispered again.
Brain has forgotten elevator. New emergency: girl holding hand.
I almost smiled.
We stayed that way until the doors opened.
At dinner, Nathan barely touched his food but watched every bite I ate as if confirming I would not disappear. When I mentioned needing a winter coat, we somehow ended up at a department store where he tried to purchase half the floor.
“I need one coat.”
“What if the first one gets wet?”
“It dries.”
He considered this as though I had introduced a revolutionary theory.
Our strange courtship developed from there.
Nathan communicated affection through money because money had never abandoned him. If I mentioned missing breakfast, a catered lunch appeared. If I complained that my laptop battery was failing, three new computers arrived.
So I began giving him things money couldn’t provide.
I texted him when I reached class.
I sent pictures of Grandma smiling.
I told him when I was studying late.
I called before bed.
In return, he slowly stopped sending money just to make sure I still existed.
Weeks passed.
He traveled constantly for Prescott Global, and because he stayed out of sight, campus gossip shifted again.
Megan cornered me outside the scholarship office one afternoon.
“Nathan hasn’t been here in a month,” she said. “How long are you going to pretend?”
Rachel laughed. “Maybe billionaire boyfriends only exist over text.”
“Believe whatever helps you sleep,” I said.
Celeste emerged from the financial-aid office holding a folder.
“Ava,” she said, “this is getting unhealthy.”
I kept walking.
She followed.
“The Prescott family is hosting a private gala Saturday. I was invited.”
That stopped me.
Nathan had mentioned the gala. He had also said something about mailing me an invitation, although I had forgotten to check my campus mailbox.
Megan brightened. “Maybe Nathan’s planning another confession.”
Rachel clasped Celeste’s arm. “His parents probably want to meet you.”
Celeste sighed. “I already told them no.”
That evening, I crossed our room while Celeste was showering.
A faint voice reached me.
From inside her locked desk drawer.
Please stop crushing me under perfume bottles.
I stared.
The voice continued.
Stolen vendor invitation. Third-tier access. She emptied her savings renting a gown and jewelry because she thinks photographs with the Prescotts will save her sponsorship deals.
I slowly backed away.
On Saturday night, Celeste appeared in a lavender designer gown.
“I’m only going because Nathan deserves closure,” she announced.
Naturally, Megan and Rachel dressed for the occasion too.
Celeste looked at me. “You can come, Ava. It must be lonely pretending not to care.”
My phone buzzed.
Nathan: Please tell me you’re still coming.
Another message followed.
You are coming, right?
Then another.
No pressure. Sorry.
I closed my textbook.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll come.”
At eight o’clock, the Prescott estate glowed above the Connecticut shoreline like something from another century. Limousines curled down the drive. Chandeliers glittered through towering windows.
At the gate, Celeste presented her invitation.
The guard scanned it.
Then scanned it again.
“I’m sorry, Miss White. Your name isn’t on the VIP list.”
Her smile vanished.
“This is genuine.”
“I’ll need you to step aside.”
Megan immediately protested.
Then the estate doors opened.
A distinguished couple hurried down the steps.
Celeste straightened.
“There,” she whispered. “They’re coming.”
She stepped forward.
“Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, you really didn’t need to—”
Arthur Prescott walked directly past her.
His wife nearly did the same.
Then Eleanor Prescott saw me.
Her entire face changed.
“Oh, thank God.”
She rushed across the drive, took both my hands, and held them tightly.
“Ava, sweetheart. You came.”
Behind me, nobody made a sound.
