He Dumped Me for the Fake Heiress I Paid to Raise

I didn't go back to the dorm after the call with Marcus.

I went to Statistics. I took notes. I ate a turkey sandwich alone in the student center and answered two emails from my study group.

Like nothing had happened.

By the time I climbed the stairs that afternoon, the sun was slanting low through the hallway windows. I heard them before I opened the door.

"Oh my God, the leather. Feel it, Chloe."

"Is that the real monogram? Like, *real* real?"

I stepped inside.

A brown Louis Vuitton bag sat in the middle of Vivian's desk like a trophy. Brianna was stroking the strap. Chloe had her phone out, angling for a picture.

Vivian lounged in her chair, one leg crossed over the other.

"Adrian gave it to me," she said, loud enough for the hallway to hear. "Just because. He said I deserved something nice."

"How much was it?" Brianna asked.

Vivian waved a hand. "A few thousand? I didn't ask." She tilted her head toward me. "Honestly, people with real money never fuss over a bag. It's just a bag."

Chloe snorted. Brianna bit back a grin.

I dropped my backpack on my desk and almost turned away.

Then I saw the gold zipper pull. The slight bend in the left handle.

Two weeks ago, Adrian and I had spent a weekend in New York. When I unpacked at home, my bag was missing. The same brown monogram. The same bent handle. I'd figured I left it at the hotel and called to ask. They never found it.

Adrian had been the one who packed the car.

I crossed the room and lifted the bag off the desk.

Vivian shot up so fast her chair rolled into the bed frame. "Excuse me? What are you doing?"

Brianna jumped to her feet too, arms half raised, like I was about to bolt out the door with it.

"Put it down, Sophie. Are you insane?"

I unzipped the main pocket and peeled back the inner lining near the seam.

There it was. A thin, crooked scratch, about an inch long. Pale against the canvas.

"This is my bag," I said.

Vivian's face went stiff.

"I did this myself," I went on, tapping the mark. "With a car key, the first week I had it. I remember because I was furious."

For one heartbeat, nobody spoke.

Then Vivian's lips curved. Slowly. Like she'd remembered her lines.

"Wow." She folded her arms. "So this is what jealousy looks like. You see your ex's new girlfriend with a designer bag, and suddenly it's *yours*?"

"Every bag has scratches," Chloe said. "That doesn't prove anything."

"Seriously," Brianna muttered. "Get help."

I didn't answer them. I pulled out my phone, found Adrian's number, and hit speaker.

He picked up on the fourth ring. "What now?"

"Hi, Adrian. Quick question." I held the phone out so the whole room could hear. "Why does Vivian have the bag I lost in New York?"

Silence.

One second. Two.

Long enough that Vivian's eyes flicked toward the phone.

Then his voice came back, hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? I *bought* that bag. With my own money. For her."

"Where?"

"That's none of your business. God, Sophie. You lie like you breathe. You know that?" He let out a sharp laugh. "I must've been blind to date you for two years."

The line went dead.

Vivian smoothed her cardigan and smiled at me. The real smile this time. The one she'd flashed over her tissue that morning.

"Look," she said gently, like she was talking to a child. "I know you're hurting. I'm not going to make this a big deal. If you apologize for touching my things, we can forget it."

Brianna nodded. "That's more than fair."

I looked at the three of them. At the bag in my hands.

And I laughed. Not loud. Just a short, tired sound that made Chloe frown.

"You're that sure?" I asked Vivian.

"Completely."

"Great. Then let's call the police."

Her smile flickered. "What?"

I was already dialing.

"Hi, yes. I'd like to report a stolen item. I believe a handbag I lost about two weeks ago is in someone else's possession." I set the bag back on her desk, careful, so no one could say I damaged it. "I have the original purchase record, and the bag has a scratch inside the lining that I can describe. Yes. I'll wait."

When I hung up, Vivian's cheeks had gone blotchy.

"You're actually doing this," she said. "Over a *purse*."

"You said real money doesn't fuss over a bag." I shrugged. "So it shouldn't bother you."

---

Two campus officers and a city patrolman showed up forty minutes later.

Vivian met them at the door with wet eyes.

"I'm the victim here," she said, voice wobbling. "She just broke up with my boyfriend, I mean, he broke up with her, and she's been unstable ever since. She screamed at me this morning. Ask them."

Brianna stepped forward. "She did. She's been acting crazy."

The patrolman, a heavyset man with gray at his temples, glanced at me. "You the one who called?"

"Yes." I held up my phone and pulled up the receipt from my email. Date, store, item number. "This is the purchase confirmation. The scratch is inside the lining on the left seam. About an inch."

He studied the screen, then turned to Vivian. "Ma'am, can I take a look at the bag?"

Vivian grabbed it off the desk and hugged it to her chest.

"No. Absolutely not. It's mine. You don't need to look at anything."

"It'll take thirty seconds."

"I don't consent." Her chin jutted out. "I know my rights. My father has lawyers."

Chloe shifted her weight. Brianna's eyes darted between Vivian and the officers, her certainty draining away.

The patrolman's tone stayed flat. "Ma'am, if you refuse, we'll need to take the item in for further examination and verify the serial number with the retailer. That's standard."

"This is ridiculous!"

"Hand it over, please."

For a second I thought she'd actually run. Then her fingers loosened, and the officer slid the bag into a clear evidence sleeve.

While he wrote up the report, I stepped into the hallway and texted Marcus.

*Police have the bag. Purchase record attached. Please loop in Mr. Okafor.*

Our family lawyer replied within a minute. *On it. Don't say anything else to her.*

---

When the door closed behind the officers, the room felt smaller.

Vivian dropped onto her bed and crossed her arms. Her mascara had held up perfectly.

"You don't know when to stop, do you?" she said. "Adrian already told me he wasn't going to report you for harassment. He was being *nice*. And you go and make it worse."

"Yeah," Brianna said quietly. Less sure this time.

I picked up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder.

At the door, I paused and looked back at Vivian.

She thought this was about a bag. She thought the worst that could happen was an awkward call to Adrian.

She didn't know that the serial number inside that lining was registered to a credit card in my name.

The same card that paid for her tuition every semester.

"Get some rest, Vivian," I said.

And I shut the door before she could see me smile.