Chapter 2

"A receipt for the same necklace doesn't prove anything." The Dean's brow furrowed deeply as he tried to force down the swelling uproar in the hall. "Harper, end this farce immediately."

"The receipt isn't enough for you? Let's take a look at something a little more entertaining." Harper sneered.

The screen went dark, and a video popped up.

The backdrop was a Manhattan penthouse, city lights blazing through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. A man stood directly behind me in the frame. His hands brushed past my neck as he clasped that exact diamond necklace around my throat.

A conversation echoed through the speakers.

"This necklace is too flashy. I don't want to wear it." That was my voice.

"If you don't like it, we'll swap it out. I'll handle the auction house, be a good girl." The man's voice was low, dripping with indulgence.

Harper whipped her head around to glare at me, her eyes burning with a toxic mix of jealousy and sick triumph. "You still want to stand there and say you didn't seduce my dad?"

My gaze bypassed her entirely, locking dead onto the final frozen frame on the giant screen.

The man in the video was Julian. My father.

So, the "dad" Harper had been screaming about... was my own biological father.

And Harper was my exact age. What did that mean?

It meant that while my mother—the sole reigning matriarch of New York's top real estate empire—was pregnant with me, her "perfect husband"—who had traded on his looks to marry into the family under a brutal prenup—was already keeping a second family on the side.

Julian had been a mere employee at my mother's company before he relentlessly pursued and married her. When she died, she left her entire fortune to me.

Every single dime Julian spent—including the designer brands he bought for Harper to prop up his fake "old money" persona—came entirely from the monthly living allowance I signed off on.

My mind snapped back to three years ago.

Mother had died of sudden heart failure on our private yacht in Monaco. Julian had cried so hard he passed out several times, yet he moved with record speed to sign her cremation papers.

Was that really an accident?

Ice crawled up my spine to the base of my skull. It wasn't panic. It was pure, lethal rage.

"What? Too guilty to speak?"

Harper took a step forward, getting practically in my face. "Silence is an admission! But since we're roommates, I'll give you a chance."

She pointed down at the aisles of the hall.

"Get down and crawl a lap around the room. Look into the cameras and yell 'I'm a homewrecking slut' ten times, then sign your withdrawal papers right here. Do that, and I'll let you off."

The front rows jumped to their feet in sick excitement. A chant of "Crawl! Crawl!" exploded through the hall like a tsunami. A sea of phones shot up, instantly going live, the camera flashes blindingly bright.

I lifted my chin, staring dead into Harper's eyes. "The man on the screen is my father. Julian."

The hall went dead silent for exactly one second.

Then, it erupted into deafening, mocking laughter.

"Holy shit, she's actually calling her Sugar Daddy her father?"

"Being a mistress gave her actual delusions!"

"Claiming a random man is her dad just to clear her name? Fucking insane!"

Harper jabbed a finger at my face. "Sloane, look in a mirror! Where the hell do you look like him? You're not just a slut, you're shameless, trying to fake your way into a rich family!"

She wasn't wrong. My bone structure was inherited from my mother—cold, sharp, and aristocratic. Harper, on the other hand, had perfectly inherited Julian's bottom-feeder genetics—eager, fawning, and cheap.

"Sloane!"

The Vice Dean of Discipline marched onto the stage, stopping right beside me with an ashen face. Dropping his voice to a hiss that only the two of us could hear, he delivered his ultimatum: "Apologize immediately and leave the hall. If this escalates, the university will expel you for moral turpitude."

He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about damage control.

But if I took even one step back right now, my name would be permanently branded as a sugar baby.

The mood in the crowd had shifted from spectating to a full-blown witch hunt.

"Get off the stage, you whore!"

Someone from the pit hurled a full champagne flute at the stage.

The glass shattered right at my feet, sending a razor-sharp shard bouncing up to slice against my calf.

I glanced down at the blood trailing down my leg.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my father's number.

I hit the speaker button.

"Baby, what's wrong? Is the gala over?"

Julian's voice floated out of the device.

I spoke clearly.

"Dad, since when do I have a sister?"