The Trophy They Stole From Me

[07:59:58]

The red countdown in the center of the screen ticked down.

I took a bite of my two-dollar cold convenience-store sandwich, staring at the encrypted email sent by my father.

"Secure this year's Pinnacle Award."

"Do not use any family resources. Do not expose your identity. Prove to the committee that you are worthy of this hundred-billion-dollar commercial empire. Deadline: the end of the semester."

The countdown hit zero, and the email self-destructed.

I swallowed the dry, hard bread. That was my father—issuing an ultimatum that read like a termination notice.

I half-closed my laptop, and the screen shifted into dark mode.

A dull thud echoed from the main room, just past my bed curtain.

"The latest custom Birkin 25." Chloe's voice pitched high.

I peered out through a gap in the curtain. Chloe casually dropped the black bag onto her desk. Our roommates, Mia and Jess, instantly swarmed her, their eyes locked onto it.

"Oh my god, Chloe! This has to be tens of thousands of dollars, right?" Mia gasped.

"Pocket change." Chloe leaned back in her chair, lightly drumming her perfectly manicured nails against the desktop. "My dad finally took the limit off his black card for me. After all, as a Sterling, I can't exactly look shabby out in the real world."

I stopped chewing.

Sterling?

There was only one Sterling family at the absolute top of the Forbes list, and its patriarch had just mercilessly sent me an email a moment ago.

"Wait, did you say Sterling? The conglomerate that controls half the private banks in America?" A trace of reverence instantly crept into Jess's voice.

"Yeah." Chloe leaned in, lowering her voice. "Keep it quiet, though. My dad told me to stay low-key. He doesn't want me swarmed by gold diggers on campus."

I scanned the bag they were drooling over. The stitching on the inner handle was crooked, and the metallic hardware on the strap gave off a cheap, brassy sheen.

A bottom-tier knockoff.

At the start of the semester, Chloe had just been a fringe hanger-on, crashing rich kids' parties for free drinks. Now, she had unexpectedly set her sights on hijacking my family name.

"Aria. Hey, Aria?" Chloe suddenly turned toward my bed.

"If you ever finally get the chance to go somewhere decent on a date with Ethan, I could lend you the bag," she said loudly. "Ethan is a star player on the varsity team, after all. You always walking around him in those thrifted hoodies is super embarrassing for him."

Mia let out a low chuckle, chiming in. "Honestly, when I saw you two sitting together in the dining hall last time, it really was... a bit mismatched."

Jess didn't say a word, but she shot me a look. That single look was silent, yet more stifling than words.

I didn't pull back the curtain.

"No thanks," I flatly refused.

"Suit yourself." Chloe rolled her eyes, turning back to brag to Mia and Jess. "Some people are just so used to poverty, they're afraid to even touch nice things."

"Oh, Chloe, you're so sweet for even offering," Mia kissed up immediately. "If I had a bag that expensive, I definitely wouldn't bear to let anyone else borrow it."

I stopped chewing.

No, I had already stopped chewing. The bread caught in my throat, impossible to swallow.

I tossed the last bite of my sandwich into the trash. Wasting even one more word on this cheap vanity was taking away from my typing time.

I had consumed too much coffee, and I needed to use the restroom.

Pushing back my chair, I walked straight out of the dorm.

It wasn't until I reached the restroom door that I realized I had forgotten toilet paper. Sighing impatiently, I turned back. Just as I reached out to push the door open, I caught a glimpse through the gap. Chloe stood right in front of my desk. Mia and Jess were gone; she was the only one in the room.

I had forgotten to put my laptop to sleep. The screen blazed with absolute clarity, displaying the data framework I had spent the last month working on day and night—

The Sterling Conglomerate: Core Projection Model for Global Market Returns Over the Next Decade.

This was absolutely not just some academic paper to scrape together a school award. Every strategic deduction and risk-control algorithm within it was my ultimate trump card to prove my worth to my father.

Chloe stared fixatedly at my screen, her eyes unblinking.

I held my breath, watching as she slowly reached out and wrapped her hand around my mouse.