Trust Fund Trouble

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her lightly. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly, too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about charity.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

"Did you see the donor list?" she asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before-once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His gaze darkened. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My brain was still short-circuiting.

My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions? Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig, but carefully."

I nodded, even though nothing about this felt safe.

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. I climbed in, brain still spinning.

If my mom was connected to the Delacroixs, even by accident...

It meant I was sitting on a powder keg.

And Alec Delacroix might be holding the match.

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French-it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions-Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

He was everything this school worshipped , menace, and a last name carved into every building on campus.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a wicked grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about climate change.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

Tonight was extra glamorous. Strings of fairy lights dangled from the chandeliers like constellations on caffeine. A string quartet played a dramatic remix of "drivers license." Waiters weaved through the crowd with caviar bites and crystal flutes. I was ninety percent sure one of the appetizers was just gold leaf on a cracker.

"Did you see the donor list?" Dani asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for-opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

It was annoying, the way he owned the space without even trying. The confidence. The sharp suit. The way the light hit his cheekbones like God was playing favorites.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting. He'd smirked both times like my attitude amused him.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat, his gaze unreadable. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His expression shifted, the teasing edge gone. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

I felt like someone had unplugged my brain.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My thoughts were spiraling. My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions?

Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim – Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

I laughed, but it came out hollow.

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm tighter. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. The sharp chill slapped my skin, grounding me for half a second. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog and old money paranoia.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

A black SUV rolled past, windows tinted. I caught a flash of a figure insidebsomeone watching.

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig. Carefully. Quietly. No TikToks about it."

I managed a weak smile. "Deal."

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. As I climbed in, I glanced back at the ballroom, the glowing chandeliers, the polished perfection of the Delacroix world.

I wasn't just a scholarship girl anymore.

I was a liability.

A threat.

A target.

And if what Alec said was true, I wasn't just crashing their party.

I might've been born into it.

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her lightly. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly, too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about charity.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

"Did you see the donor list?" she asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before-once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His gaze darkened. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My brain was still short-circuiting.

My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions? Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig, but carefully."

I nodded, even though nothing about this felt safe.

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. I climbed in, brain still spinning.

If my mom was connected to the Delacroixs, even by accident...

It meant I was sitting on a powder keg.

And Alec Delacroix might be holding the match.

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French-it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions-Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

He was everything this school worshipped , menace, and a last name carved into every building on campus.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a wicked grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about climate change.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

Tonight was extra glamorous. Strings of fairy lights dangled from the chandeliers like constellations on caffeine. A string quartet played a dramatic remix of "drivers license." Waiters weaved through the crowd with caviar bites and crystal flutes. I was ninety percent sure one of the appetizers was just gold leaf on a cracker.

"Did you see the donor list?" Dani asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for-opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

It was annoying, the way he owned the space without even trying. The confidence. The sharp suit. The way the light hit his cheekbones like God was playing favorites.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting. He'd smirked both times like my attitude amused him.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat, his gaze unreadable. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His expression shifted, the teasing edge gone. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

I felt like someone had unplugged my brain.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My thoughts were spiraling. My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions?

Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim – Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

I laughed, but it came out hollow.

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm tighter. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. The sharp chill slapped my skin, grounding me for half a second. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog and old money paranoia.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

A black SUV rolled past, windows tinted. I caught a flash of a figure insidebsomeone watching.

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig. Carefully. Quietly. No TikToks about it."

I managed a weak smile. "Deal."

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. As I climbed in, I glanced back at the ballroom, the glowing chandeliers, the polished perfection of the Delacroix world.

I wasn't just a scholarship girl anymore.

I was a liability.

A threat.

A target.

And if what Alec said was true, I wasn't just crashing their party.

I might've been born into it.

Dani's Tesla smelled like coconut air freshener and secrets.

The second we pulled away from the Delacroix Gala, I slumped into the passenger seat, my phone clutched like a grenade that could detonate with one more anonymous text.

Neither of us spoke for the first five minutes. The silence wasn't awkward it was loaded. Like we were both waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Okay," Dani said finally, gripping the wheel like it had personally betrayed her. "Explain it to me again, but slower."

I rubbed my temples. "Alec said my mom's name showed up in a Delacroix legal audit. Then I got an email from a law firm saying I might be entitled to inheritance. And then bam mystery threat text."

"You're sure it wasn't spam?"

I gave her a look. "Spam doesn't know my name. Or tell me to stop digging."

"Right. Creepy. I don't like it."

I stared out the window, the city lights blurring into gold and neon streaks. "Same."

"So... what now?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

I'd spent my entire life working for scraps grants, scholarships, hand-me-downs. Now, suddenly, someone was dangling money I never knew existed, and another person wanted me to back off before I even asked why.

It didn't make sense. My mom wasn't rich. She wasn't powerful. She was a single parent who lived paycheck to paycheck and drank store-brand coffee.

Unless she was something else, too something she never told me.

"We go to the law firm," I said. "First thing tomorrow."

Dani nodded, then side-eyed me. "And what about Alec?"

"What about him?"

"You're really gonna pretend like he didn't drop a mystery-bomb on you, smirk like a Bond villain, and walk away?"

I groaned. "I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anyone. But come on, you have to admit, he's... something."

"He's dangerous."

Dani snorted. "Dangerous hot."

I didn't respond. Because unfortunately, she wasn't wrong.

The next morning hit like a hangover I hadn't earned.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand three missed calls from an unknown number and a calendar reminder I hadn't set:

"Appointment: Sterling & Parrish LLP – 10:30 AM."

"Creepy," I mumbled, sitting up in bed.

The gala felt like a fever dream now. But the text? The email? Alec's warning?

Very real.

Dani rolled over in the guest bed, blinking groggily. "Tell me that's coffee," she muttered.

"It's dread," I replied, checking my messages again. Still nothing from Alec. Not that I wanted him to text. Or cared. Obviously.

She sat up, hair a halo of messy curls. "We still going?"

"I have questions that need answers," I said, tossing on jeans and a cropped hoodie. "And if someone's messing with me, I want to know who and why."

Fifteen minutes later, we were downtown, staring up at a mirrored skyscraper with a name that sounded way too expensive to be in my vocabulary.

Sterling & Parrish LLP. High-profile law firm. Zero Yelp reviews. That alone made me nervous.

We rode a glass elevator to the 33rd floor. The receptionist wore all black and didn't blink once as she escorted us into a sleek, cold meeting room with a single glass of water already poured.

"Ms. Monroe?" said a woman in a tailored navy suit, entering with a folder in hand. Her heels clicked like gunfire.

"That's me," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

"I'm Ava Parrish. Your mother's file was flagged in our recent trust estate reconciliation."

I stared at her. "What does that mean?"

She opened the folder. "Sylvia Monroe was once listed as a beneficiary of a dormant trust set up by the Delacroix estate under the name 'Project Huron.'"

My head spun. "I've never heard of that. She never mentioned anything."

"It was sealed in 2004. Unusual, considering most beneficiaries are notified by default. This one was... manually redacted."

Dani leaned forward. "You're saying someone erased her name?"

Parrish gave a tight nod. "Or tried to. Until recently, it was buried in a category labeled 'Irregular Holdings.' But after a recent forensic audit prompted by Mr. Alec Delacroix it was rediscovered."

Wait. Alec prompted this?

"He was looking into his grandfather's offshore accounts," she continued, "and stumbled across an old ledger."

I couldn't breathe. "And my mom's name was in it."

"Yes. Along with a payment trail. Several monthly deposits. Disguised."

"Disguised how?"

"Hospital invoices. Care stipends. Prenatal care."

My blood went cold. "Prenatal?"

Parrish looked at me, then nodded.

It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. "You're saying my mom was... pregnant when this trust was set up?"

Dani's hand found mine under the table.

"Yes," Parrish said carefully. "And based on the timeline, there's a possibility that Project Huron was... a cover for inheritance transfers to unacknowledged heirs."

I almost laughed. "You're saying I'm Alec Delacroix's sister?"

"No," Parrish said quickly. "Not necessarily. There are multiple heirs, and the connection is... complicated. But you may be linked through a branch of the family not publicly known."

"So you're saying my mom had a kid with someone from that family."

"We're not legally authorized to assume paternity without a test. But based on our records, it's possible your mother was entitled to more than she received and someone went to great lengths to hide it."

I felt like the ground under me shifted.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"We initiate a discovery claim. We'll need to subpoena full trust records. Possibly DNA tests, if it escalates."

"And if it does escalate?"

"You become a threat," Parrish said plainly. "To someone very powerful."

Dani and I walked out in stunned silence.

"I need fries," she announced suddenly. "Something greasy. Something artery-clogging. My brain's on fire."

We found a diner a block away and slid into a booth like two girls who just found out they might be secret trust fund babies from a billionaire bloodline.

"I can't believe this," I whispered.

Dani dunked a fry in ketchup. "So your mom might've had a secret relationship with one of the Delacroix elders, got shut out of the trust, and someone's trying to keep that buried."

"Someone rich," I said. "And scared."

"Which means Alec might actually be the least threatening Delacroix."

As if summoned, my phone buzzed. This time, it was him.

Alec: We need to talk. Where are you?

I didn't answer. Instead, I typed:

Me: Just left Sterling & Parrish. Thanks for the tip, I guess.

He replied immediately.

Alec: That wasn't a tip. It was a warning. Someone's already watching you.

Goosebumps rippled up my spine.

Me: Then maybe they should say hi next time.

Alec: Don't joke. Come to the archives tonight. Midnight. I'll explain everything.

Me: Why should I trust you?

His reply came three dots... then:

Alec: Because you're not the only one who lost someone. And if you dig alone, you won't make it to the truth.

I stared at the screen. Dani leaned over. "Midnight archive meeting? That's very 'Gossip Girl meets Cold Case.'"

"I should say no."

"But you're going."

"Of course I'm going."

The Kensington Prep archives were housed in the oldest building on campus built in the 1800s, barely renovated, full of dusty records and rumors about secret societies. It was where rich legacies buried things they didn't want found.

I slipped in through the side door at 11:58 PM. The halls were dead silent, lit only by exit signs and a few emergency lights. My sneakers squeaked on the marble.

I found Alec already inside, leaning against a metal filing cabinet, hoodie up, jaw tight.

"You came," he said.

"Couldn't resist the drama."

He handed me a folder. "Read."

Inside were yellowed documents, faded invoices, and an old photo.

I froze.

My mom, seventeen. Smiling. Holding hands with a boy I didn't recognize but something about him looked familiar. The nose. The mouth.

"This is..." I whispered.

"My uncle," Alec said. "He died in a boating accident. Or so they said. But I found out he disappeared right after that photo was taken. And Sylvia Monroe was the last person seen with him."

My head spun. "So you think they were together?"

"They were more than that," Alec said. "I think they were in love. And I think someone in my family made sure it ended."

I looked up at him. "Why tell me this?"

"Because your mom didn't just lose money. She lost safety. Protection. Maybe even her life."

I swallowed hard. "So what now?"

He looked at me really looked at me. "Now we find out who wanted her erased. And why they're still trying to erase you."

He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell cedarwood and adrenaline.

"You still don't trust me," he said softly.

"Nope," I said.

"Smart."

And then, before I could say anything else, the lights flickered-and a crash echoed from deeper in the archives.

Alec's expression sharpened. "We're not alone.

The crash echoed like a gunshot in a church.

Alec's hand was suddenly on my arm, firm but not panicked. "Stay behind me."

"Do I look like someone who follows that order?" I whispered, heart hammering.

He gave me a tight look. "Then don't get killed. That'd ruin the mood."

We moved silently through the archives, the dim overhead lights flickering like we were in a low-budget horror film. The rows of metal filing cabinets and ancient yearbooks suddenly felt more like a trap than a resource.

Another noise. Closer this time paper rustling, followed by a low thud.

Someone was definitely there.

I pulled out my phone to use the flashlight. Alec stopped me with a glance.

"Whoever it is might be watching for that," he murmured.

"Great," I muttered. "We're playing hide and seek in a billionaire's mausoleum."

He led us down one of the back aisles, where the cabinets grew older and dustier. Half the drawers didn't even close right, and some were held shut with faded string or rusted locks. This was legacy territory where the oldest secrets were stashed.

Another thump.

I turned toward the sound and caught the briefest shadow moving across the back wall.

"Did you see that?" I whispered.

Alec nodded. "He's not running."

"Then what's he doing?"

"Waiting."

That made it worse.

We rounded the corner and there, just beyond the last row, was a tipped-over ladder, a box of files scattered around it.

But no one in sight.

"He was here," I said. "Like... seconds ago."

Alec crouched beside the box. "These are foundation records."

I scanned the label. "'Donor Program H 2003.' That's the same year your uncle vanished."

He nodded. "Same year your mom went quiet, too."

"What if this is what he came for?"

"Maybe."

Then something clicked.

"No. What if it's what they came to destroy?"

Alec's eyes met mine. "You think someone else was sent to cover this up?"

Before I could answer, the door at the far end of the hall slammed shut.

Both of us flinched.

We were definitely not alone.

Alec grabbed a handful of the documents and shoved them into his backpack. "We need to go."

"No arguments here."

We sprinted out of the archives, footsteps echoing way too loud. As we burst into the cold night air, I realized something chilling:

Whoever had been in there didn't want us dead.

Not yet.

They wanted us scared.

Message received.

The next morning, Dani practically tackled me at the dorm.

"You look like you just survived a murder podcast."

"I probably did."

I handed her a folder of the copies Alec made. She flipped through them, eyes widening.

"Whoa. What even is this?"

"Donation ledgers. Foundations. Money funneled through fake names and dead people."

Her jaw dropped. "The Delacroixs really don't believe in boring family trees."

"There's more," I said. "The trust that was supposed to go to my mom it wasn't just hidden. It was reassigned."

"Reassigned to who?"

"That's the part we don't know yet."

Dani looked genuinely spooked. "So... what's the end game here? Like, what does someone gain by making your mom disappear from these records?"

"Control. Money. Maybe a clean inheritance line."

"Or maybe something worse," she said quietly.

I didn't like the way she said that.

Later that day, I ducked into the library to breathe. No Alec. No Delacroix drama. Just quiet and dust and the comforting smell of old books.

I found a spot by the window and opened my laptop. I had exactly 43 minutes before my Econ class and I wasn't wasting it on supply chain theory.

Instead, I typed: "Delacroix Foundation + Project Huron + 2003"

Most of the results were scrubbed. Obvious PR plants. Sanitized mentions.

But then something weird popped up a cached version of an old local newspaper article from 2004. The headline:

"Kensington Grant Program Ends Abruptly Amid Audit"

I clicked it.

The article described a secretive student funding project privately backed by the Delacroix family shut down after "accounting discrepancies." The program was quietly buried, no charges filed.

One quote stood out:

"Multiple recipients were minors at the time. The Foundation declined to comment on the sudden termination."

Minors?

I scrolled down then paused.

There, in the blurry photo, was a young woman I recognized instantly.

My mom.

She looked barely twenty, clutching a certificate and smiling in that half-happy, half-nervous way I now knew too well.

The caption read: "Sylvia Monroe, one of the final recipients of the Huron Fellowship, 2003."

I didn't realize Alec was standing behind me until I heard him exhale.

"She was part of it," he said.

I jumped. "Could you not sneak up like that?"

"Habit."

"You're like a cryptid in Dior."

He smiled faintly, but his eyes were sharp. "You found the article."

"You knew about it?"

"I knew my grandfather ran something shady. I didn't know your mom was involved."

"Or that she might've been... selected."

That word made my skin crawl.

He sat beside me. "What if Project Huron wasn't just about money? What if it was a cover for something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like... controlling legacies. Off-record heirs. People they could groom or use."

I looked at the screen again. "Then why cut it off?"

"Maybe someone talked. Maybe your mom walked."

"And someone didn't like that."

We sat in silence for a beat.

Then Alec asked, "Do you think she knew?"

"Knew what?"

"That you were born into all this. That someone would come looking."

"I don't know," I whispered. "But if she did, she died protecting it."

He looked at me carefully. "Then maybe it's time we protect it back."

That night, Alec showed up at my dorm again this time with a small black flash drive and a look that meant trouble.

"I have something," he said. "But we can't open it here."

"Why not?"

"Because it could be traced. This thing came from my grandfather's personal safe."

"You hacked it?"

"Sort of. He died last year. His will left everything to my father. But the safe? It wasn't in the inventory."

I raised

Alec didn't flinch at the text, but something in his posture changed. Stiffer. Guarded.

"Do you recognize the number?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No name. No ID. Probably a burner."

He took my phone gently, his thumb brushing mine. "We can run it through a tracer. I know a guy."

"Of course you do," I muttered, not letting go of the tiny shiver that crawled up my spine from that accidental touch.

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. "Are you okay?"

I hesitated. That question so basic, so human felt suddenly huge.

I could lie. I could say, Yeah, fine, just unraveling my family's erasure and possibly being hunted by billionaires with silencers.

But instead, I said, "No. But I will be."

That answer earned a small, rare smile from him. The kind that made his sharp cheekbones a little softer. The kind that made it harder to remember all the reasons I shouldn't like him.

"I'll keep you safe," he said quietly.

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

We left the townhouse in silence, both of us constantly looking over our shoulders. Campus felt too quiet for 9:30 PM, like someone had pressed mute on the world.

Dani called just as I reached my dorm.

"Where are you?" she hissed. "Someone broke into our room."

"What?" I stopped dead.

"I'm serious. Nothing's missing like, nothing major. But your desk? Ransacked."

Panic hit my chest like a punch.

"Don't touch anything," I said, turning around. "I'm coming now."

Dani met us outside the building, arms crossed, face pale.

"They were looking for something specific," she said. "They didn't even touch my side."

I rushed into the room. The drawers I'd locked? Pried open. My laptop? Moved. Files Alec and I copied? Gone.

"They took the paper trail," I said.

"But they left the digital copy," Alec added. "They don't know you backed it up."

Dani locked the door behind us. "Okay, this is officially past Netflix-drama and into felony."

I slumped onto the bed, feeling the exhaustion finally crash over me. "They know I'm close. That's why they're pushing now."

"They're desperate," Alec said. "That's good."

I raised a brow. "Good?"

"It means they're scared of what we'll find next."

I looked between him and Dani. "Then we need to hit first."

The next morning, Alec sent me a name via text: Nina Brookes. Former nurse. Retired. Lives just outside the city.

The same nurse from the surveillance video.

"You sure she's still alive?" I asked.

"She left the hospital the same year the video was taken. Never gave a reason."

"And now we're going to knock on her door like mystery Scooby-Doo trust fund brats?"

He sent back: Exactly that. Pick you up at 3. Wear black. I don't know why. Just feels right.

Nina Brookes lived in a little brick cottage that looked like something out of a baking competition. Cozy, manicured lawn, gnome in the garden.

But when she opened the door and saw Alec, she didn't smile.

She went very, very still.

"I knew this day would come," she said, voice thin but sharp. "Which one of you is hers?"

I stepped forward. "Sylvia Monroe was my mom."

The name made her shoulders drop.

"Oh, sweet girl."

She let us in. Poured tea like we were talking about weather and not potential coverups and disappearances.

"I always wondered what happened to you," she said. "Your mother was brave. Too brave."

"What do you remember about that night?" Alec asked.

"Enough to know someone powerful was watching everything."

She opened a small wooden box and pulled out a sealed envelope.

"She gave this to me that night. Told me to only give it to her daughter if she ever... vanished."

My fingers trembled as I took it.

Inside was a handwritten letter. One page. No date. But her writing slanted, looping, rushed.

If you're reading this, it means I failed. It means they got to me, like they got to him. Don't trust the Foundation. Don't trust the inheritance. Find the ledger. The original. That's the only truth they couldn't burn.

Beneath that, one more line:

You were never a mistake, Ivy. You were my rebellion.

My throat closed. I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope like it might break.

Alec didn't say anything, just rested his hand gently over mine.

Nina looked at him. "You're Philip's boy."

He nodded. "And I'm nothing like him."

She smiled, sad and knowing. "You better hope not."

Back on campus, the sun was dipping low painting the sky gold and blood-orange.

I leaned against Alec's car, the letter still clutched in my hand.

"She called me her rebellion," I said.

"She was right," he said softly. "You're not a legacy. You're a reckoning."

That made something spark in me. Like maybe this wasn't just about survival.

Maybe it was about flipping the whole script.

As he opened the door for me, a car pulled into the lot across from us.

Black. Windows tinted.

It stopped. Stayed.

"See that?" I whispered.

He nodded. "We're being watched."

My pulse spiked. "What do we do?"

Alec's voice was calm. Focused.

"We show them they picked the wrong people to scare."