Trust Fund Trouble

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her lightly. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly, too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about charity.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

"Did you see the donor list?" she asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before-once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His gaze darkened. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My brain was still short-circuiting.

My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions? Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig, but carefully."

I nodded, even though nothing about this felt safe.

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. I climbed in, brain still spinning.

If my mom was connected to the Delacroixs, even by accident...

It meant I was sitting on a powder keg.

And Alec Delacroix might be holding the match.

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French-it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions-Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

He was everything this school worshipped , menace, and a last name carved into every building on campus.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a wicked grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about climate change.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

Tonight was extra glamorous. Strings of fairy lights dangled from the chandeliers like constellations on caffeine. A string quartet played a dramatic remix of "drivers license." Waiters weaved through the crowd with caviar bites and crystal flutes. I was ninety percent sure one of the appetizers was just gold leaf on a cracker.

"Did you see the donor list?" Dani asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for-opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

It was annoying, the way he owned the space without even trying. The confidence. The sharp suit. The way the light hit his cheekbones like God was playing favorites.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting. He'd smirked both times like my attitude amused him.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat, his gaze unreadable. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His expression shifted, the teasing edge gone. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

I felt like someone had unplugged my brain.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My thoughts were spiraling. My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions?

Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim – Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

I laughed, but it came out hollow.

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm tighter. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. The sharp chill slapped my skin, grounding me for half a second. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog and old money paranoia.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

A black SUV rolled past, windows tinted. I caught a flash of a figure insidebsomeone watching.

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig. Carefully. Quietly. No TikToks about it."

I managed a weak smile. "Deal."

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. As I climbed in, I glanced back at the ballroom, the glowing chandeliers, the polished perfection of the Delacroix world.

I wasn't just a scholarship girl anymore.

I was a liability.

A threat.

A target.

And if what Alec said was true, I wasn't just crashing their party.

I might've been born into it.

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her lightly. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly, too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about charity.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

"Did you see the donor list?" she asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before-once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His gaze darkened. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My brain was still short-circuiting.

My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions? Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig, but carefully."

I nodded, even though nothing about this felt safe.

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. I climbed in, brain still spinning.

If my mom was connected to the Delacroixs, even by accident...

It meant I was sitting on a powder keg.

And Alec Delacroix might be holding the match.

The first thing you learn at Kensington Prep isn't how to calculate compound interest or speak fluent French-it's how to fake it.

Fake your smile.

Fake your designer.

Fake that you actually belong.

The second thing you learn? Never cross a Delacroix. Especially not the heir to the Delacroix billions-Alec Roman Delacroix, also known as the walking, talking reason half the girls here forgot their GPAs.

He was everything this school worshipped , menace, and a last name carved into every building on campus.

"Liv, you're staring again."

I blinked, snapping my gaze away from Alec's profile as he leaned against the marble railing, sipping something gold and expensive. His jawline could cut glass. So could his attitude.

"I wasn't staring," I muttered.

"Uh-huh," said Dani, my best friend and certified chaos enabler. "You were mentally undressing him like he's a Dior mannequin."

I elbowed her. "Gross."

"Please. You've had a crush on him since junior year. Just admit it so I can die in peace."

"I'm not into him," I lied. "He's everything I hate rich, arrogant, and allergic to shirts that cost less than a mortgage."

"Don't forget emotionally unavailable," she added with a wicked grin. "That's your real type."

I sighed and took a sip from my plastic champagne flute. The bubbly burned slightly too sweet and too fake just like the glittering ballroom we stood in. It was opening night of the Delacroix Foundation's Annual Gala, a.k.a. the excuse all the old money families used to flex on each other while pretending to care about climate change.

My invite came from the scholarship list. Dani's came from being the daughter of a disgraced crypto king who was now "consulting abroad." Read: hiding in Bali.

Tonight was extra glamorous. Strings of fairy lights dangled from the chandeliers like constellations on caffeine. A string quartet played a dramatic remix of "drivers license." Waiters weaved through the crowd with caviar bites and crystal flutes. I was ninety percent sure one of the appetizers was just gold leaf on a cracker.

"Did you see the donor list?" Dani asked, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Alec's dad just dropped ten million like it was tip money."

"Gross," I repeated, but this time I meant it.

I hated everything the Delacroix name stood for-opulence, power, and the kind of wealth that could bury your mistakes six feet deep with a single phone call.

And yet... I couldn't look away from him.

It was annoying, the way he owned the space without even trying. The confidence. The sharp suit. The way the light hit his cheekbones like God was playing favorites.

"Earth to Liv," Dani whispered. "He's coming over."

"What?"

"Act cool. Or better act expensive."

I tried to casually sip my drink again, promptly choking as Alec stopped directly in front of me.

"Olivia Monroe," he said, voice smooth like danger wrapped in velvet.

My stomach dropped. We'd spoken exactly twice before once when he accidentally sat in my assigned seat during Econ, and again when I'd called him out for texting during a student council meeting. He'd smirked both times like my attitude amused him.

"Delacroix," I said, trying to match his calm tone.

"You always say my name like it's an insult," he noted, eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure how to solve.

"Maybe it is," I replied sweetly.

Dani let out a tiny, strangled squeak behind me.

His mouth curved just slightly. "I like your dress."

I blinked. "It's vintage."

"Translation: not five thousand dollars," he said, nodding. "Brave move around this crowd."

"Bold of you to assume I care what this crowd thinks."

He studied me for a beat, his gaze unreadable. "You should. You're on their radar now."

I frowned. "Why?"

His expression shifted, the teasing edge gone. "Because your name was added to the trust fund case."

Everything around me slowed.

"What?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your mom's name came up. In my family's legal audit."

I froze. "That's not possible. My mom died broke. She didn't even leave behind a will."

He didn't blink. "Apparently, someone thinks otherwise."

My throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say," Alec said, his tone quiet but sharp, "you're not the only one who hates the Delacroix name. Someone's trying to link your family to ours."

I took a step back. "Why would they do that?"

"Money. Revenge. Maybe both."

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. "This is a joke, right?"

"I don't joke about family legacy."

He glanced at the crowd and then back at me. "You should come with me."

"No."

"Liv

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

He exhaled, frustrated. "Fine. But when the tabloids dig up dirt that doesn't exist, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Alec turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng of glittering gowns and designer tuxedos.

I felt like someone had unplugged my brain.

"What the actual hell just happened?" Dani whispered.

I couldn't answer. My thoughts were spiraling. My mom had been a nurse. She'd worked double shifts to keep me in school and ramen in our cupboard. The idea that she'd somehow been connected to the Delacroix billions?

Impossible.

Unless...

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and opened my inbox. There it was an unread email from a law firm I didn't recognize:

Subject: Potential Claim – Estate of Sylvia Monroe

I clicked it open. The words blurred together, but one line stood out:

"You may be entitled to inheritance held in trust by the Delacroix estate."

"Dani," I whispered. "I think I'm in trouble."

She grabbed my arm. "Okay, deep breaths. We can handle this."

"Can we?" I asked, eyes wide. "Because I think Alec just declared war on me."

"Or flirted with you," she muttered.

"Same thing in rich people language."

I laughed, but it came out hollow.

Before I could spiral further, my phone vibrated with a new notification.

Blocked number. One text.

"Leave it alone, Olivia. You don't know what you're digging into."

My fingers went cold.

"Dani..."

She read over my shoulder, then grabbed my arm tighter. "We're leaving. Now."

We pushed past the crowd, out through the glass doors and into the cool night air. The sharp chill slapped my skin, grounding me for half a second. I sucked in a shaky breath, the scent of gardenia mixing with city smog and old money paranoia.

"I don't get it," I said. "My mom never said anything. No hidden accounts, no secret trust funds

"Maybe she didn't know."

"Or maybe she did and took it to the grave."

A black SUV rolled past, windows tinted. I caught a flash of a figure insidebsomeone watching.

We stopped at the valet stand. Dani raised a brow. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But if someone thinks I'm a threat... I need to find out why."

She linked her arm through mine. "We'll dig. Carefully. Quietly. No TikToks about it."

I managed a weak smile. "Deal."

The valet brought around Dani's cara beat-up Tesla she swore still had trauma from her dad's crypto crash. As I climbed in, I glanced back at the ballroom, the glowing chandeliers, the polished perfection of the Delacroix world.

I wasn't just a scholarship girl anymore.

I was a liability.

A threat.

A target.

And if what Alec said was true, I wasn't just crashing their party.

I might've been born into it.