Chapter 5

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the library plaza. Gwendolyn, now safely back in her own worn jeans and a gray hoodie, was heading for the quiet sanctuary of the stacks.

A screech of tires shattered the calm. Colette's Porsche swerved to a stop, and Jordi jumped out, his face dark with fury. He had seen the forum posts.

He stormed up to her, grabbing the strap of her backpack and yanking her around to face him.

"So that's your game?" he spat, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "The second we break up, you go out and sell yourself to the highest bidder?"

A circle of students formed around them, phones already recording. This was better than reality TV.

Colette sauntered over, arms crossed over her chest, a smug look on her face. "I guess we know why you weren't that upset, don't we? Found yourself a generous sugar daddy to pay the bills."

Gwendolyn looked at Jordi. The man she had loved, the man she had supported, the man whose dreams she had put before her own. He looked pathetic. A spoiled child throwing a tantrum. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold, clear calm.

She wrenched her backpack from his grip. "Even if I did," she said, her voice steady and sharp, "it's better than being a parasite who leeches off a woman and then discards her when she's no longer useful."

Jordi's face turned a blotchy red. "I got the internship at STG on my own merit! You're just jealous."

"Merit?" Gwendolyn laughed, a humorless sound. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. Bank statements. Credit card bills. Receipts.

She threw them in his face. The papers scattered at his feet like dead leaves.

"Let's talk about merit, Jordi," she announced, her voice ringing with newfound strength. "Let's talk about the three years of your life that I financed."

She pointed to a statement on the ground. "Your sophomore year tuition. Twenty thousand dollars. Paid for by my three jobs."

"Gwen, stop," he hissed, trying to grab the papers. Chloe and a couple of her friends moved to block him.

"The rent on your Upper East Side apartment," she continued, her voice rising. "Three thousand a month, paid for with cash advances from my credit cards. The very cards you maxed out. And that Armani suit you're wearing right now? I bought that for you last month."

A collective gasp went through the crowd. The looks on their faces shifted from curiosity to contempt. Colette stared at Jordi, her expression horrified.

Colette's face contorted in disgust as she looked at Jordi's clothes. She stepped away from him as if he were diseased. "Even that Armani suit you're wearing to impress ME? She bought that for you?" Colette demanded, shoving him.

"She offered!" Jordi stammered, his face pale. "They were gifts!"

"Were they?" Gwendolyn asked sweetly. She took out her phone, tapped the screen. She remembered that conversation with crystal clarity. It was the night after he had maxed out her third credit card. A cold, heavy knot of fear and suspicion had settled in her stomach, prompting her to discreetly hit the record button on her phone while he pleaded. A recording of Jordi's voice filled the air. "I'll pay you back, Gwen, I swear. With interest. As soon as I graduate and land the STG job."

The proof was undeniable. His carefully constructed image of a self-made man crumbled into dust.

Gwendolyn pulled up the calculator app on her phone, her fingers tapping away with grim satisfaction. She turned the screen towards him.

"$57,000," she said, her voice like ice. "That's what you owe me. Principal plus interest. You have twenty-four hours to wire it to my account. If you don't, I'm taking these statements and this recording directly to STG's legal department and filing a fraud complaint."

The mention of STG made Jordi's legs buckle. It was his golden ticket, his entire future. He looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time in years-not as his convenient support system, but as someone who could destroy him.

A wave of pure, unadulterated satisfaction washed over Gwendolyn.

She turned to leave, her head held high.

"You think you're so tough?" Colette's voice, sharp and venomous, stopped her. "You pathetic, broke little girl."