The Rich Girl Dorm Trap

In my last life, Chloe never stopped complaining about 501.

Too suffocating. Too intense.

Always studying. Always competing.

Like if they skipped one day, they'd drop dead.

But now?

This felt like a dream.

My three roommates were top scorers from three different states.

Their SAT scores didn't even show how good they were—the test was the limit, not them.

After moving into 501, I realized it wasn't just hard work.

They were straight-up brilliant.

One spoke four languages. One was deep into AI. The last? A math prodigy, basically locked in for a physics PhD at an Ivy.

I'd basically scored three private tutors—for free.

I could wake up laughing.

Especially Emma Dawson.

Every time she caught me doing calculus, she'd frown over my shoulder.

"You're still getting this wrong? Why use such a stupid method? You're wasting time. I can't even watch."

I instantly held up my book like an offering. "Please. Teach me."

Like she'd been waiting, Emma snatched my pen.

One calc problem—she solved it four different ways. Clearer than any professor.

Once Emma started tutoring, the other two jumped in.

That's when I realized—they'd already finished all four years of coursework.

Now they were bored. So they taught me, constantly pushing harder.

I slept six hours a night, fully living that "bookworm" life Chloe hated.

To her? Torture.

To me?

Heaven.

I soaked it all up like a dry sponge.

I didn't have time to care about Chloe—her cars, her gifts, her parties.

By the end of the semester, I even landed a scholarship.

It wasn't even one-thousandth of what I'd made running errands in my last life, but I was happy for days.

Because this time, I earned it.

I was figuring out what to get my roommates when Chloe finally cornered me in the library.

In just over a month, she looked wrecked.

Her eyes were unfocused, her hair dry and yellowed. She'd dropped at least fifteen pounds.

She grabbed my hand, tight. "They're all insane. All of them. At night, they play cards. If someone loses and gets mad, they burn me with cigarette butts. And I can't make a sound, or they slap me."

The burn marks flashed in my head.

That was Reina Brooke's thing.

Richest of the three—and the most average-looking.

Jealous of anyone prettier. Loved ruining pretty things, slowly.

Last time, she said my skin was like silk—and burned a heart into it.

This time, she said Chloe's legs were straight and pale. Like porcelain.

So when I saw the neat row of burns on Chloe's thigh—

Yeah.

Not surprising at all.

Chloe went on, "I'm going crazy. I really am. Mia... what if we switch back?"

I scoffed inside but put on a look. "But don't they give you five grand a month? Most people can't touch that. You really want to switch? I mean... I wouldn't mind."

At "five grand," her eyes dimmed.

"What are you talking about? I'm just venting. Rich people have quirks, right? Why make it a big deal?"

Now it sounded like I was the one complaining.

I didn't argue. I wasn't the one suffering.

She didn't bring it up again. Just walked off, dazed.

I watched her go, oddly relieved.

That five grand a month?

It wasn't pay.

It was blood money.