The morning after Julian’s devastating announcement felt like waking up in someone else’s life. My phone had been buzzing nonstop since 6 AM with calls from numbers I didn’t recognize, text messages from classmates I’d barely spoken to, and what looked like interview requests from actual journalists. The pharmaceutical heiress story had apparently gone viral overnight.
I was still in my pajamas, trying to figure out how to handle the media storm, when someone knocked on my door. Not the casual tap of a roommate or friend, but the kind of authoritative knock that suggested official business.
“Isabella?” Dean Whitman’s voice carried through the door. “I need to speak with you.”
I opened the door to find her standing in the hallway with two men in expensive suits who looked like they’d ste
