Chapter 3

During our school's final SAT practice exam, I scored a near-perfect 1520.

Dante scored a miserable 900.

He crumpled his score sheet into a tight ball and tossed it carelessly into the recycling bin.

“Whatever. It’s not like I actually need the SATs anyway,” he muttered.

Bianca was standing right beside him, her eyes shining with pure adoration: “Dan, you're still so amazing.”

Dante laughed, leaning down to pinch her cheek: “Of course! I just have to go back to Manhattan and take over my family’s business. Standardized tests are for normal people.”

I walked past their lockers, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Siena,” Dante called out, his voice sharp.

I stopped, but I didn't turn around.

“Are you seriously still throwing a fit over that recommendation letter?”

I remained silent, my shoulders tense.

“I know you feel slighted,” he said, stepping around to face me. “But you've seen Bianca's situation. She needs this opportunity way more than you do.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost pleading register: “Just take the card I gave you. The PIN is your birthday. Whatever you need for college—tuition, rent, books—just charge it to me.”

He honestly believed that money could wash away any sin.

He thought a handful of plastic and a bank account could erase my humiliation and replace the future he had stolen from me.

“I don't want your money,” I said, my voice flat.

“There you go again,” Dante snapped, his patience evaporating instantly. “When are you going to drop this pathetic, useless pride of yours? How much do you even make working at that grease trap of a shop for a whole month? What I’m offering you is more than you’ll ever see in your entire life!”

Bianca stepped forward, tugging gently on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Dan, don't be so harsh on Sie,” she whispered, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “She's just... she's just not used to having someone help her.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with a patronizing pity: “Siena, I know you must hate me. But I really was out of options. My stepmother... she’s a monster. She would have kicked me out.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears on cue, her lip trembling.

I watched her flawless performance.

Over the course of our senior year, I had watched this exact same play unfold a hundred times.

She was always the helpless, suffering victim in front of Dante.

And I was always cast as the cruel, unfeeling villain.

“Dan already said he’ll make it up to you,” Bianca continued, her tone taking on the self-important air of a lady handing out scraps. “Whatever you want, just tell us. We’ll take care of it.”

A cold, sharp laugh finally slipped from my throat. It was the first time I had smiled in days.

Dante stared at me, visibly taken aback. “What are you laughing at?”

“I'm laughing because the two of you are such a perfect match,” I said, looking from his face to hers. “A cheap bitch and a loyal dog. I hope you stay together forever.”

Before he could react, I turned and walked away.

“Siena! Get back here!” Dante’s furious roar echoed down the hallway, but I didn't spare him a single glance.

That night, Jenny sent me a screenshot over text.

It was a photo of Dante and Bianca at a high-end lounge downtown.

Dante was holding a microphone, singing under the dim neon lights, while Bianca snuggled against his chest, her face glowing with happiness.

In the background, their wealthy friends were holding up a massive, custom-made banner.

“Congratulations to our girl Bianca on her Columbia admission! Wishing Dan and Bianca a lifetime of love!”

Jenny’s text arrived a second later: “Siena, don't look at it. He isn't worth your tears.”

I clicked my phone screen off and threw it onto the mattress.

I pulled a stack of SAT practice books toward me, opened to a blank section of advanced calculus, and began solving the equations one by one.

Only when my mind was entirely consumed by numbers and formulas could I drown out the hollow ache in my chest.