Across the city, in Sophie’s apartnt, the sa forum post was glowing on a different screen.
Claire Reid was curled up on the living room sofa, phone in hand, scrolling through the comnt section with an expression that had gradually shifted from casual interest to genuine alarm. The post had been trending for hours now, and the narrative had hardened into sothing that read less like campus gossip and more like a public indictnt.
She set the phone down and looked toward the bedroom, where Sophie was sitting cross-legged on her bed, reviewing notes for a class she had in the morning.
"Sophie."
Claire’s voice carried the careful, asured tone of a friend about to say sothing she knew wouldn’t be well received.
"Have you seen what’s going on with the forum?"
"I’ve seen it," Sophie said, without looking up.
"Everyone’s saying Stan Harrison is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. That he’s got ulterior motives. That the whole thing with Sarah, the money, the debt, it’s all so kind of manipulation." Claire paused, choosing her next words carefully. "Maybe you should reconsider tomorrow. The shopping trip. Maybe it’s not a good idea to go."
Sophie turned a page of her notes, still not looking up.
"He gave property worth over a hundred million dollars, Claire." Her voice was calm and unhurried. "No strings. No conditions. No note. He didn’t even stay to watch open the envelope." She let that sit for a mont. "Do you really think it would be appropriate for to cancel on him because of an anonymous forum post?"
Claire opened her mouth, then closed it.
The math was difficult to argue with. A man who had quietly handed over an entire building, the most exclusive building in the most sought-after developnt in the city, without asking for anything in return was not a man whose character could be credibly assassinated by a blog post written by soone too cowardly to attach their real na.
"I know what I’m doing," Sophie added, finally glancing over. Her expression was steady, composed, entirely unbothered. "I’m not naive, and I’m not careless. If sothing feels wrong tomorrow, I’ll handle it. But I’m not going to let a stranger on the internet decide who I spend my ti with."
Claire held her gaze for a mont, then exhaled softly and nodded.
"Okay. Just, be careful."
"I’m always careful."
Sophie turned back to her notes, and Claire returned to the sofa without another word.
The forum was still buzzing on her phone screen. She glanced at it once more, then set it face-down on the cushion.
Whatever the internet thought it knew about Stan Harrison, it clearly didn’t know the half of it.
....
The campus entrance was busier than usual for a Saturday morning, and Stan felt the shift in atmosphere the mont he stepped through the gate.
It started with the looks.
Small, sidelong glances from girls who adjusted their paths to give him a wider berth. Whispered conversations that dropped in volu as he passed, then rose again behind him. A cluster of freshn near the bulletin board who stopped talking entirely, watched him walk by, then resud with a collective shake of their heads.
"That’s him? That’s Stan Harrison?"
"He looks normal enough. Kind of handso, actually."
"Doesn’t matter what he looks like. You read the post. His heart is rotten."
"You really can’t judge a book by its cover."
The forum post had done its work overnight. Quinn Carter’s anonymous masterpiece had spread through the student body like a virus, and by morning, the verdict was in. Stan Harrison was a predator. A manipulator. A wolf who used money as a leash and campus beauties as prey.
Stan kept walking, expression neutral, hands in his pockets.
He’d known this was coming the mont Zack had shown him the post. Campus rumors had a half-life of about a week, they burned white-hot for a few days, then sothing newer and more scandalous replaced them and everyone moved on. All he had to do was wait it out.
Still. He hadn’t expected to beco famous this way. He wasn’t planning to let this slide, once he got concrete evidence, Quinn would definitely pay for it...
The growl of a high-performance engine cut through the morning air before he saw the car.
A candy-red Ferrari pulled up to the curb beside him, low, aggressive, gleaming in the morning light like a weapon designed for peaceti. It rolled to a stop with the deliberate precision of soone who wanted every head in the vicinity to turn.
Every head in the vicinity turned.
"Oh my god, is that a Ferrari?"
"That’s at least three million dollars’ worth of car."
"I love rich people. I love them."
The won who had been giving Stan a ten-foot buffer zone monts ago were now drifting toward the Ferrari with the involuntary magnetism of iron filings. A few of them looked like they were physically restraining themselves from pressing their faces against the glass.
The driver’s door opened.
A young man in fitted black trousers and artfully dyed white hair stepped out with the practiced ease of soone who’d been making entrances like this his entire life. Good-looking in the sharp, manufactured way that expensive grooming and a personal stylist could produce. Lean. Confident. Every movent calibrated for maximum visual impact.
Felix Lawn.
Stan didn’t recognize him, but the crowd clearly did. Felix was another second-generation heir, family money, real estate connections, the usual pedigree, and, predictably, another one of Sophie Youngs’s long list of unsuccessful pursuers.
He’d driven across town the mont he heard that Sophie had agreed to go shopping with Stan Harrison.
The forum post had given him the excuse he needed. In Felix’s mind, Stan Harrison was exactly what the internet said he was, a predator with a charming face and dark intentions. And Sophie, beautiful, trusting Sophie, was about to walk straight into his trap.
Felix couldn’t allow that.
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