RUMORS Secrets, Lies & Alibis

Part 2: The Envelope

POV: Isabella “Izzy” Virelli

The East Wing dormitory buzzed with the controlled chaos of move-in day. Designer luggage filled the hallways, and the air hummed with excited conversations about summer travels and family scandals. I navigated through it all, grateful for the familiar weight of my worn duffel bag—a reminder of the person I was pretending to be.

“Room 237,” I murmured, checking my key card against the brass numbers on the door.

The room looked exactly as I’d left it in May—two twin beds, a shared closet, and a window overlooking the main courtyard. Roni had already claimed her side, evidenced by the explosion of Louis Vuitton trunks and the lingerie hanging from every available surface.

“You’re back!” Roni launched herself off her bed, pulling me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and possibility. “I’ve been dying to hear about your summer. Please tell me you did something scandalous.”

“I worked at my grandmother’s clinic.” I dropped my bag onto my bed. “Very scandalous volunteer work.”

“God, you’re impossible.” She flopped back onto her bed. “I spent July in the Hamptons and August in Monaco. The gossip alone could fuel us through midterms.”

I half-listened as she launched into stories about yacht parties and trust fund drama, my attention drifting to the window. The courtyard was still full of students and parents, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones.

Alexander stood near the fountain, surrounded by his usual crowd of admirers. Even from three floors up, he had this magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. Julian had moved to the library steps, now holding court with a different group, gesturing dramatically with his champagne flute.

“Earth to Isabella.” Roni waved a hand in front of my face. “You’re doing that thing where you analyze everyone like they’re chess pieces.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You absolutely do that. It’s one of your more terrifying qualities.” She sat up, suddenly serious. “Speaking of terrifying, Cassandra’s been asking questions about you.”

My stomach dropped. “What kind of questions?”

“Family stuff. Financial background. She cornered me at Lily Hartwell’s pool party and wouldn’t let up.” Roni chewed her lip. “I told her to mind her own business, but you know Cassandra. She’s like a bloodhound when she smells a secret.”

I forced myself to stay calm. “Everyone has secrets here. Mine aren’t particularly interesting.”

“Isabella.” Roni’s voice went soft. “You know you can trust me, right? Whatever you’re hiding—”

“I’m not hiding anything.” The lie came easily now, after months of practice. “I’m just a scholarship kid who doesn’t like attention.”

Roni looked like she wanted to argue, but a commotion in the courtyard distracted us both. We rushed to the window to see Julian standing on the fountain’s edge, apparently serenading a group of underclassmen with what sounded like an opera aria.

“He’s completely insane,” I said, but I was smiling despite myself.

“Completely,” Roni agreed. “And completely gorgeous. If I weren’t fake-dating Nick Sterling for strategic purposes, I’d seriously consider climbing him like a tree.”

“You and half the school.”

We watched as campus security approached Julian, who promptly jumped down from the fountain and bowed deeply before sauntering away, leaving the guards looking confused and slightly charmed.

“Dinner in twenty?” Roni was already pulling clothes from her closet. “I want to scope out this year’s fresh meat before the alpha predators claim territory.”

“Go ahead. I need to unpack.”

After Roni left in a cloud of perfume and ambition, I finally allowed myself to breathe. The silence felt like a luxury after the chaos of arrival day. I unpacked methodically, hanging my carefully curated thrift store finds next to the space Roni had left for me—about a quarter of the closet, which was still more than I needed.

The last thing I pulled from my bag was a photo of my parents from their wedding day. My mother looked radiant in vintage lace, my father handsome in his tailored tuxedo. They had no idea then what their pharmaceutical empire would become, or how many people would someday want to use their daughter as a pawn in their own games.

I slipped the photo into my desk drawer and headed down to check my mailbox before dinner.

The East Wing mailroom was quieter now, most students already heading to the dining hall. I spun the combination on box 237 and pulled out the usual stack of academy newsletters and family letters.

But at the bottom of the stack was something that made my blood freeze.

A black envelope with my name written in elegant script across the front. No return address. No postmark.

With trembling fingers, I opened it.

I know what you are.

That was it. Four words in the same elegant handwriting, no signature, no explanation.

I looked around the empty mailroom, suddenly aware of every shadow, every sound. Someone knew. After all these months of careful planning and perfect performance, someone had figured out that Isabella Virelli, scholarship student, was actually worth more than most small countries.

The question was: what did they plan to do about it?