Chapter 2

Mr. Smith's office sat at the end of the hallway.

The moment I pushed open the door, the thick smell of cigar smoke hit me like a wall.

Mr. Smith was seated behind his desk, and when he spotted Damien at the front of our group, his fleshy face split into an obsequious grin.

He rose quickly, circling his desk to pump Damien's hand enthusiastically.

"Mr. Winslow, so good of you to come in person. Everything's ready—just waiting for you all." As he spoke, Smith pulled a pre-printed document from his drawer and slid it to the edge of the desk.

It was a "Voluntary Waiver of Ivy League Recommendation Eligibility".

Looking at the document—already stamped with an official seal—I felt a flash of mockery in my eyes.

I had supposedly made this decision "spontaneously" in the lounge just minutes ago, yet somehow the paperwork was already prepared.

In my previous life, this was where they'd forced my hand onto that pen, where I'd signed my name under duress before being locked away in the basement for "emotional instability."

"Charlotte, sign it." Damien stood slightly behind me.

Sophie hovered nearby, wringing her hands, but her eyes were locked on the pen resting beside the document. The greed in her gaze was almost palpable.

Lucas sidled closer, voice low and urgent: "Just sign it already. Don't waste everyone's time. Sophie still needs to study."

I didn't move. Instead, I looked directly at Mr. Smith, deliberately adopting a wounded, confused tone:

"Mr. Smith, you're my college counselor. Don't you think you should at least ask why your top-ranked student is giving this up?"

Smith blinked, clearly unprepared for the question. He cleared his throat and launched into his bureaucratic spiel:

"Charlotte, Mr. Winslow and I have already discussed this. You're not... emotionally equipped for that kind of pressure."

"Sophie, while her grades are slightly lower, shows real grit and potential. As educators, we have to make sure our resources go to the students who can handle them."

What a sanctimonious hypocrite. Inside, I was smiling.

In my past life, the half-million dollars Damien had wired to his offshore account was apparently part of this "educator's judgment."

"Is that so?" I picked up the heavy fountain pen and removed the cap.

At my movement, Damien, Sophie, and Lucas all visibly relaxed.

Sophie even took half a step forward, ready to claim her prize.

Just as the pen tip was about to touch the paper, I stopped.

I looked up at Damien, letting a carefully calculated hint of desperation flicker in my eyes.

"Damien, if I sign this... will you really still love me like you said? Like a sister?"

My voice began to tremble. Tears welled in my eyes.

Damien frowned slightly, clearly irritated by my stalling, but he forced himself to humor me:

"Of course. You'll always be my sister."

"Then why—" I suddenly raised my voice to a shrill pitch, "—why did you put sleeping pills in my milk?! Why did you give Mom's necklace to Sophie?! Why are you all trying to kill me?!"

The sudden explosion froze all four of them in place.

I didn't give them time to react. My hands shot out, grabbed the waiver, and tore it into shreds right in front of their faces before hurling the pieces at Smith.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Damien roared, reaching for me.

I screamed and stumbled backward, deliberately knocking over the floor vase beside me.

With a tremendous crash, porcelain shattered across the floor. I snatched up a sharp shard without hesitation and dragged it across my left forearm.

Blood immediately welled up, staining my white school shirt crimson.

"Ah—!" Sophie gasped, covering her mouth with a short, sharp scream.

Lucas's face went ashen as he stumbled back: "Charlotte, what are you doing? Calm down!"

"Stay back! You're all monsters! You're trying to kill me and steal my spot!" I shrieked, hair disheveled, looking completely unhinged.

The commotion immediately drew attention from outside.

Students who'd been chatting in the hallway and passing teachers began clustering at the office door, staring in shock at the chaos inside.

"Oh my God, is that Charlotte?"

"She's bleeding! What happened?"

"I heard her say someone's trying to kill her and steal her spot..."

The whispers from the doorway made Damien's jaw clench. Watching the growing crowd, his face turned a dark shade of red.

"Shut up! Charlotte, shut your mouth!" Damien hissed, lunging forward to grab the shard from my hand.

I immediately pressed the porcelain to my own throat, looking at him with wild-eyed terror as I shouted:

"Help! Damien's trying to kill me! He bribed Mr. Smith to give my recommendation to his mistress!"

The word "mistress" detonated like a bomb outside the door.

Dozens of eyes swiveled in unison toward the trembling Sophie. Her face flushed crimson as she frantically waved her hands:

"No! That's not true! I'm not—"

Mr. Smith panicked too, sweating profusely as he tried to close the door, only to be blocked by several curious male students.

"Mr. Winslow, this... this is a disaster!" Smith's voice shook.

Damien stared at me, those blue eyes filled with cold fury.

He knew that if he forced me to sign or laid hands on me in front of all these witnesses, the family company's stock would tank by tomorrow.

He took a deep breath, forcibly arranging his features into an expression of pained concern, and addressed the crowd:

"I apologize, everyone. Charlotte has been under a lot of academic pressure recently and she's... she's been having some paranoid episodes. She's not well right now. We need to get her help. Please, don't crowd around."

Classic gaslighting—paint the victim as crazy.

Almost smiled. This was exactly the effect I wanted.

Only by making a scene, by letting them brand me as "unstable," could I get them to lower their guard and expose their fatal mistakes.

"Lucas," Damien turned, his voice ice-cold, "Charlotte needs somewhere quiet to calm down. Take her to the storage room in the east wing. Sophie, you stay and help Mr. Smith clean up."

Lucas swallowed hard, eyeing the bloodied shard in my hand with obvious fear. But under Damien's intimidating glare, he reluctantly approached me.

"Charlotte, hey, just put it down, okay? I'll take you somewhere to rest. It's fine, I've got you." Lucas switched on his protective-boyfriend act.

Looking at his phony concern made my stomach turn.

But I suppressed the contempt in my eyes and acted as if his gentleness had reached me.

My fingers loosened, and the shard dropped onto the carpet.

I let Lucas support my shoulder, head bowed, following him like a broken doll out of the office.

As I passed Damien, our eyes met for a split second. His were empty, calculating. I'd seen that look before—right before something disappeared.