Chapter 1 #2
Not that I owed him an explanation. Not that he’d care. Asher was the kind of person who wasn’t on the same level as me. I should’ve been warning him, should’ve been speaking down on him. He knew who he was dealing with, and he had the audacity to talk to me like that?
“Me, a prick?” he shot back, incredulous.
“You’re the most self-absorbed asshole I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.
” He scoffed, sharp and humorless. “I’m sorry you discovered your precious hair gel was out of stock this morning, but try keeping your eyes up when you walk.
I had those papers organized. Now they’re a mess.
Some of us have real problems to worry about. ”
Wow, someone had seriously pissed in his cereal.
I caught my reflection in the window beside us before I could stop myself. In my rush to the office, I hadn’t styled my golden-blonde hair like I usually did. No careful shaping, no polish. Just soft, unruly waves falling across my forehead, stubborn and unintentional.
For reasons I hated to admit, it mattered. It always had. Somewhere along the way, I’d learned that appearances were armor, and I wore mine carefully.
College was supposed to be my reset. My proof that I could be taken seriously. That I could be more than who I used to be. Instead, I squandered that to be the same high school Beckett who partied, hooked up, and put on a front. The popular, rich guy they expected me to be.
And standing there, with Asher Montgomery tearing into me like he always did—as if I were an equal peer, not above him—that old insecurity stirred, sharp and unwelcome.
“Great. Brilliant,” Asher drawled, all sharp edges and contempt. “I’m sure you’re not the lazy cheater I assume you are.” He bumped my shoulder as he moved to shove past me, like I was nothing more than an inconvenience in his path.
Instinct kicked in before sense could catch up. I reached out and caught his wrist, light, barely a hold, just enough to stop him.
“Don’t fucking touch me, Harrington.” He yanked his arm free, fury flashing hot and fast.
For a split second, his sleeve rode up. A bruise bloomed there. Dark. Ugly. Too defined.
My breath snagged. I knew immediately it hadn’t been me. My grip hadn’t been tight. Hadn’t lasted. That mark belonged to someone else. Someone who’d held on harder. Longer.
The questions rose to my lips anyway. What happened? Who did that to you?
I swallowed it back. Asking would be a death sentence. He’d eviscerate me for the audacity alone.
His gaze followed mine, landing on the bruise. Something shuttered behind his eyes. Then he turned sharply and stalked away, back the way I’d come from, disappearing into the same office. Of course. Money problems, just like mine.
People liked to pretend they knew Asher Montgomery—good grades, sour attitude, and arrogance.
But college wasn’t high school. No one cared where you came from unless you advertised it.
No flashy cars. No last names whispered in hallways.
If you kept your head down, your secrets stayed yours. Unless you were me, of course.
I stood there longer than I meant to, watching the office door swing shut behind him, the image of that bruise burned into my mind. I didn’t understand why it bothered me so much. I hated him.
He was a pompous, condescending asshole who treated me as if I didn’t belong in the same academic stratosphere. Like there was no possible universe where I could be smart and attractive and financially stable.
He had to be jealous. That was the only explanation.
Anger carried me all the way back to my apartment, a tight, burning thing lodged beneath my ribs.
Anger at the entire morning. The letter.
The humiliating conversation about my father’s tuition check bouncing.
Running straight into my rival, like the universe had planned it for maximum damage.
And the way Asher spoke to me, like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
Like I had nothing to offer someone like him.
The thought made my jaw clench.
I needed answers. I needed to call my mom and untangle whatever this mess was before it swallowed me whole.
None of it made sense, and the silence hurt more than the news itself.
If something were wrong, she would have told me.
She always did. She might not have done it out of love, but Martha Harrington loved to gossip.
The apartment door swung shut behind me.
I barely registered the noise of gunfire and shouting before I passed through the living room.
My older brother, Lucas, was sprawled on the couch, headset on, fully immersed in Call of Duty.
He barked orders at his online teammates as if he were commanding an actual battlefield.
I paused for half a second, watching him. I had no idea how he managed to stay on top of his classes while monopolizing the living room television and playing video games as if it were a full-time job. I sighed and walked past him into my room, closing the door and dialing my mom’s number.
“What, Beckett?” Mom answered with a weary sigh, like my voice was an inconvenience she’d misplaced in her schedule. Martha Harrington had never been burdened with motherhood. Children were accessories. Proof of legacy. Not something you raised.
“The school says my tuition check bounced,” I said, keeping my voice clipped, controlled. “I owe twenty-seven thousand dollars for this year’s tuition. I don’t have access to my trust from Grandpa, so I need another check sent in.”
A pause. Then, “Oh, Beckett.” Her voice wobbled, fragile in a way that felt rehearsed. “Your father was arrested. Our assets were frozen. We can’t pay for your school right now.”
The words hit like a punch to the chest. She sounded more devastated about him than about the fact that my future was unraveling in real time. The realization burned, but it fit.
“What did Father do?” I asked.
My jaw tightened. I’d wanted to believe he wasn’t a walking cliché, but that hope was thin. He had already slept with his secretaries—yes, multiple. He switched them out a few times a year, replacing one blonde with perky tits with another. White-collar crime felt like the natural next step.
“He didn’t do anything,” she insisted quickly. Too quickly. “They’re accusing him of fraud. Theft from clients. But it’s all wrong. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.” Her voice faltered, and I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself.
My chest tightened. A low, anxious pressure bloomed beneath my ribs. “What about my trust fund?” I asked. “I know it’s supposed to unlock when I turn twenty-five, but this is an emergency. I’m starting my junior year. I need to stay enrolled.”
Another sigh. Heavier this time.
“It was the only account the feds couldn’t touch,” she said. “I had to use it to pay our bills.”
The room went very still.
“You… what?” I asked softly, the calm in my voice a thin sheet of ice over something violent. My trust fund wasn’t theirs. It was Grandpa’s. It was mine. Every Harrington man had one. It was supposed to be my safety net, not collateral for Father’s mess.
“I had no choice,” she rushed on. “You understand, right, baby? We’ll replace it once they release the assets. It’s temporary.”
Temporary. Like my education. Like my autonomy.
“I’m your son,” I said, the words sharp now, stripped bare.
“I’m at Whitworth because you and Father wanted it.
Because business school was part of the deal, and part of that deal was that you paid for it.
” My heartbeat was loud in my ears. Too loud.
“Fix this, Mother. Or I’ll find my own way to pay, and I’ll change my major. ”
Silence. Then, colder than anything she’d said so far, “You’re on your own, Beckett. Just until the feds—” I hung up.
I didn’t trust myself to hear another word. My hands were shaking now, adrenaline and panic tangling together. I threw my phone onto the bed like it had burned me and stormed back into the living room, stepping directly in front of the television.
“Seriously?” Lucas snapped as his game cut out. He yanked off his headset and rolled his eyes.
I barely registered him. My chest felt too tight. Like the floor had dropped out, and I was still falling.
“Did you know we’re broke?” The words tore out of me before I could soften them. “Father’s assets are frozen. Tuition’s gone. We’re fucked, Lucas.”
Lucas, always calm and calculated. The family’s resident numbers guy. If anyone had an answer, it should’ve been him.
He barely looked at me. “You’re fucked, Beckett,” he said plainly. “Mine was paid months ago.” He paused, then added almost casually, “I knew Dad was about to go down. I started digging into his finances this summer.”
Something cold twisted in my stomach. He shrugged, eyes already drifting back toward the television as if this were a mild inconvenience instead of the collapse of my future.
I crossed my arms, trying to keep myself from shaking. “You knew something was wrong,” I said slowly. “And you didn’t tell me? I’m your brother, for fuck’s sake!” The anger felt palpable inside me.
“I thought she’d handle it,” he replied.
“Pay everyone’s tuition at once.” His tone shifted just enough to sound apologetic.
“I tried to warn her without admitting I knew anything. Dad’s case screws me over too, you know.
I was supposed to finish school. Work for him.
Take over eventually.” He scoffed, bitter now. “That’s gone.”
He always did this. Redirected the pain. Made his disappointment feel heavier than mine.
“And it’s not like you wanted to be here studying business anyway,” he added. “Maybe this is freedom.”
The word landed wrong.
“If you’ve seen the numbers and you’re saying it’s bad,” I said, my voice hollowing out, “then I’m screwed. I’ll have to figure out how to pay for school myself.”
The reality finally crashed in, brutal and absolute. Mom could cling to hope all she wanted, but hope didn’t pay tuition. Nothing was coming to save me. No safety net. No quiet fix behind the scenes. I was on my own. Jobs. Loans. Systems I’d never had to understand because I’d never needed to.
My chest tightened.
“I’m going to Theo’s,” I said, turning away before he could see it all hit me at once. “We’re not done with this conversation, Lucas.” I stopped at the doorway. “And you better hope our little brother’s semester is covered. He’s got four years ahead of him.”
Lucas scoffed. He pulled his headphones back on, the game lighting up his face again, already gone.
And just like that, I was left standing in the wreckage of my family’s mistakes, trying to figure out how to rebuild with nothing but anger and resolve.