Page 87 of The Bleak Beginning

By the time we reach my room, the tension is palpable. The hallway feels smaller than usual, the walls closing in on me. Chancellor Maxwell stands behind me, her fingers steepled in front of her as she regards me with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

“The door, if you wouldn’t mind, Miss Prescott.” she says, her voice measured.

The added presence of the Legacy boys is suffocating. They trailed behind me the entire walk over like vultures, their disgusted expressions a mask for their true intentions.

“Now,” she begins, her voice stern but not unkind as our small group shuffles inside, “I want to hear both sides of this story. Miss Prescott, you first.”

I take a deep breath, willing my voice not to shake. “Chancellor, I swear I didn’t steal anything. Sutton offered to buy me that dress. I honestly don’t know why she’s saying otherwise now.”

Sutton scoffs, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her arms as she crosses them. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I buy you anything? You’re nothing but an insignificant, unproductive weight on this institution's shoulders.”

Her comment hits me like a slap across the face. I flinch but otherwise force myself not to react. The comment stings more than I want to admit coming from her.

Chancellor Maxwell’s eyebrows shoot up, her gaze snapping to Sutton. “The last part of your statement, Miss Oliveri, is unnecessary.”

I could have sworn I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes before she quickly blinks it away. It was there and then gone in the next moment. But the damage has already been done.

The Legacy boys snicker behind their hands. Well, two of the three do. Being around Bishop it was like being caught in the crosshairs of a sniper, his gaze piercing and unrelenting, while his body was a statue of tension, ready to strike at any moment.

“I’m sorry,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “But I don’t understand what’s happening. Sutton and I were getting along fine earlier. We went shopping together, she insisted on buying me the dress. I don’t know why she suddenly turned on me.”

“Turned on you?” Bishop asks, like he finds my comment amusing. “What gave you the impression an Oliveri would want to be friends with you to begin with?”

My head snaps toward Sylvester, feeling a wave of confusion wash over me.

“You didn’t know?” Bishop asks, and he has the audacity to seem surprised.

I didn’t know what? My mind races, bouncing between Sutton and Sylvester, trying to piece together fragments of information. The confusion must show on my face, because Chancellor Maxwell’s rigidness softens slightly.

“Miss Prescott,” she says, but I don’t miss how she subtly checks the time on her watch, “were you not aware that Sutton and Sylvester are siblings?”

“Twins,” Sylvester corrects from somewhere behind Maxwell.

My eyes are like two torches suddenly illuminating Sutton’s figure while a wave of confusion washes over me.

To her credit, she remains composed and unfazed.

I shake my head, feeling increasingly out of my depth. “I…I just thought Sutton was nice. That we were becoming friends.”

A cruel laugh escapes Camden’s lips. “Friends? With you? That’s rich.”

Sutton cocks her head to the side, “why would I want to be friends with you? The Prescott’s really are dumber than they look if you really believed that.”

My mind couldn’t understand how someone I considered a friend could suddenly seem like a stranger to me. My head was in turmoil, trying to make sense of this new version of Sutton.

Chancellor Maxwell holds up a hand, silencing all of them. “That’s enough. Miss Prescott, do you have any proof of your claim? Any witnesses who can corroborate your story?” she asks to get us back on topic.

I shake my head, attempting to rid myself of this sudden influx of information. That’s right. We had gathered here because of a stolen credit card and a dress.

I rack my brain, desperately trying to think of anyone who might have seen us together. “The saleswoman at the boutique,” I say, grasping at straws. What was her name again? Eloise? Eleanor? Whatever, it didn’t matter. “She saw Sutton buy the dress for me.”

Sutton lets out a derisive snort. “Please. As if some minimum wage retail worker would remember anything. Besides, I’m sure she sees entitled losers trying to scam their way into clothes they can’t afford all the time.”

I recoil at her words, my skin prickling with humiliation. Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze hardens but she doesn’t reprimand Sutton this time.

“Is there anyone else who can verify your story?” she asks me.

I shake my head, a feeling of defeat settling heavily in my stomach. “No,” I say, and I can hear the disappointment in my own voice.

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