April brings a warmer Vermont, and I begin to thaw out to the States just as the ice melts.

Not that I didn’t love seeing a very frigid winter, it was quite an experience, but this early spring is beautiful and picturesque. Green begins to fill in all around; on the trees, in the grass, spreading through all of the flower beds strategically maintained throughout campus.

I spend most of my days in class and with Colton, everything about the boy consuming my life. I never thought I’d be this girl, the one who gets a boyfriend and dedicates every waking moment to her relationship … honestly, I’ve mocked birds like that all my life. But … I guess you never truly know what it’s like until you meet someone who just falls into your life like they were always supposed to be there. On paper, we have nothing in common, no similar background of interests. Yet, Colton and I just work. He puts up with my sassy, sometimes high-maintenance, ways, teasing me about my need for designer clothes and expensive wines. And I learn about his basketball, admiring his dedication but not treating him like the rest of campus does, like a god.

Well, except for in the bedroom, where he definitely is one.

“Haven’t seen you around here in a while.” Ciara sits like a feline waiting to pounce on the velvet navy couch in the study of Charter House.

That’s because I have purposely been staying away from these girls, the ones who were supposed to become my sisters. “Yeah, been so busy with class and my boyfriend. You know how it is.”

I put an emphasis on the last part of my sentence, because we both know she doesn’t know what it’s like to have a boyfriend. Considering she’s sleeping with Gretchen’s man.

“Some could take that as a sign that you don’t want to belong here.” Her glare is deadly.

But these girls don’t scare me. They never did, and that was probably the first indication I never should have gone along with their charades. But I’m on a mission now, and I don’t need to be caught in the act.

“I apologize, what can I do to make up for it?” I play right into her hand, like the canary to the cat.

She smiles. “Nina and I need to make a presentation for the Social Club board, show the alumni what we’ve been doing to increase the value of Charter House. But I am so busy …”

“I’ll work something up, if you give me some notes.” I jump at the chance to get her out of my hair, and into the study.

If I can use this excuse to be hanging around Charter House for the next few days, then I’ll take it. No one will suspect what I’m really doing, and it will give me open access to the library and studies here. And all of the desk drawers I’ll be filing through when no one is looking.

“Good little pledge. It’s due by Friday.” Ciara almost tuts me on the head as she passes, but thinks wiser of it.

I just roll my eyes internally, knowing that I have to endure this for only a little longer. And that I’m getting someone justice in the process.

* * *

My laptop sits open, a PowerPoint presentation pulled up with half written ideas on each slide. That’s how it’s looked for about an hour now, ever since Nina left me in the library with instructions and a scowl as she backed out the of the room.

Because for an hour, I’ve been discreetly searching through desk drawer after desk drawer, bookcase after bookcase, to try and find anything that might lead to more information on the scandal that these girls perpetrated and covered up.

Talking to Asher has spurred me on, making me even more convinced that I need to find this secret and … well, I’m not sure what I’ll do with it once I have it. On one hand, I don’t want to out this poor girl even more. But maybe, just maybe, she needs the advocate she never got at the time of the assault.

Someone walks by the entrance to the library, not that anyone ever comes in here to actually work, and I jump back to looking like I’m completing my Ciara-assigned punishment.

Jesus, I was not made for this spy stuff.

I walk around, pretending to look at books, when I come to a particularly interesting shelf. A stack of romance books in the midst of these first edition novels … is suspect. Titles with BDSM, erotica, second-chance and other tropes that I wouldn’t imagine finding in here sit on the shelf in the corner of the room. I thumb through a couple of them, looking for any piece of paper that might lead me on.

But alas, someone in the house just has a thing for romance novels. Bravo, I love a good sappy love story, or one that helps me get my rocks off, as much as the next girl.

As I’m turning to walk back to the desk, I lean my hand against the thick piece of wood at the end of the bookcase, trying to maneuver out of the corner. And as soon as I do, I feel it creak under my hand.

Pausing, I take my fingers away from the column, looking it up and down. To the untrained eye, it simply looks like the end piece of the bookcase, smashed as close up to the corner of the wall as possible. But look a little closer and I can see that the front piece of wood doesn’t quite catch the other two, that it’s been priced off a number of times and doesn’t lay just right.

Listening for footsteps, and hearing none, I quietly position myself in front of the wonky bookcase. And as silently as I can, I use both hands to pull the front piece free.

It takes some effort, but with a deafening groan, that makes sweat pool between my breasts in nervous anticipation that someone will hear, it finally gives way after a few tugs.

And when it does, a few sheets of paper come fluttering out, flying through the air, one hitting me in the face.

I grab it, my hands flying like mad around the space to stop the pages from making any noise as they float around. My stomach was in my throat, my pulse beating so hard in my ears that I was sure the girls in the house were going to hear it. Putting the pages together, I hide them behind my back until I get back to the desk, my computer still open to that stupid presentation.

Checking that the coast is clear one more time, I hide the sheets on my lap under the desk, and begin to flip through them.

It’s a non-disclosure agreement of sorts, definitely drafted by someone with a law degree and knowledge of what they were doing. Which means adults were involved in this … which means someone knew what these kids did and covered it up for them. I thought some of the privileged I knew back in Europe were wonky, but this took it to a whole other level.

Julia Henley.

I read the name of the girl’s life they ruined, it’s on the second page, along with the sum of money they used to pay her off. Hefty amount, but what did the murder of your soul cost these days?

And then I see the words that make my blood boil, my hair stand on end.

“Will have no further contact with alleged perpetrators of incident, the three males of Keil House.”