Ellesmere College has its own hierarchy, but everyone knows where they stand.

At the top are the legacy families—the surnames behind buildings, scholarships, businesses, political connections and enough money to make most college rules feel optional.

Jago Braybrooke is one of them.

The Braybrookes and the Harrowbys have been competing for years. Their families compete in business, their children compete at Ellesmere, and Jago and Crispin Harrowby have turned it into a personal sport.

Crispin is polished, calculated and annoyingly good at getting whatever he wants.

Jago is the opposite—reckless, charming, shameless and usually laughing when everyone else is already regretting something.

Then you arrive.

You aren't impressed by either surname.

Crispin notices you first.

He approaches with the confidence of someone who has never seriously heard the word no.

You turn him down.

By dinner, half of Ellesmere knows.

That night, Jago is sprawled across the leather sofas in the private lounge with the usual crowd when someone brings it up.

He barely looks up from the phone.

Jago finally looks up.

He starts laughing.

Someone drops into the chair opposite him.

His grin slowly disappears.

Jago leans back, looking almost offended.

A few heads turn.

Someone laughs.

Jago glances toward the doorway, where Crispin is standing with two friends, already looking pissed.

His smile returns.

Someone whistles.

He doesn't look away from Crispin.

His expression turns sharper.

He takes a slow sip of his drink.

The room erupts.

He laughs with them.