Chapter 62 *
Scarlett’s POV
A phone.
Pink case. Completely covered in pink diamonds.
My stomach dropped.
I recognized this model immediately. International luxury brand. Global limited edition. Top-tier client exclusive.
I'd had one before. Different color. Same ridiculous design.
The diamonds weren't cheap rhinestones. These were high-clarity stones. Perfectly cut. Probably VS1 or higher grade.
This thing cost at least four hundred thousand dollars. Maybe five.
I closed the box. Set it back on the bed.
"Damon. This is too much."
"Your phone is old."
"My phone is fine."
"The screen is cracked."
"Barely. Just a small crack in the corner."
"You're my wife. You should have nice things."
"I don't need a half-million-dollar phone."
His eyebrow went up slightly. "How do you know how much it costs?"
Shit.
My mind raced.
"The diamonds." I gestured at the case. "They're obviously real. And this brand is famous for being expensive."
He watched me. His expression unreadable.
I tried a different approach. "This kind of phone isn't practical. It's just for show."
"What's wrong with it?"
Fuck. I was digging myself deeper.
"The diamonds probably fall off. And it's uncomfortable to hold."
"You haven't even touched it yet."
"I can tell just by looking."
"Try it first."
He picked up the box. Took out the phone. Held it out to me.
I didn't take it.
"Scarlett."
"It's really expensive, Damon. We should return it."
"This is currently the most expensive phone in the world. Royal families use it." His voice was calm.
"That's exactly why I shouldn't have it."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not royalty. I'm just a college student."
"You're not just a college student." He stepped closer. "What are you to me?"
Oh no.
I recognized that tone. That look in his eyes.
"Damon—"
"Answer the question." He moved even closer. Invaded my space. "What are you to me?"
My throat went dry.
"Your... wife."
"Exactly." He took my hand. Placed the phone in my palm. Closed my fingers around it. "So you'll take the gift."
I opened my mouth to argue.
He leaned down. His face inches from mine.
"Do I need to prove it again?"
My mind flashed back to the living room. That kiss. His hands on my waist. The way he'd—
My face went hot.
"No."
"Good." He straightened up. Smiled. "Then we're done here."
I pushed food around my plate. Tried not to think about how much I was starting to owe him.
The house. The clothes. Now this phone.
"When do you need to make your college decision?"
I looked up. Damon was watching me.
"What?"
"Your acceptance letters. You need to choose a school and submit final materials. When's the deadline?"
"Next Wednesday. Noon."
He pulled out his phone. Typed something.
Probably a message to Axel.
"We'll go together."
"You don't need to—"
"I want to."
That tone again. The one that meant the discussion was over.
I went back to eating.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
Tea in three days? 3 PM. The Colony Club. - Kalliope
The Colony Club. Three days later. Three PM.
Kalliope was already there when I arrived. Sitting at the same corner table where we'd met before. Two cups of tea already poured.
She stood when she saw me. Smiled.
"Scarlett. Thank you for coming."
Her whole demeanor was different. More respectful. Less condescending.
I sat down across from her.
"How are you?" she asked.
"Fine. You?"
"Better now." She took a sip of tea. "Adrian was picked up two days ago."
I already knew that. The Broker system had confirmed it.
But I acted surprised. "That's good."
"The doctors say treatment will take approximately three months." She set down her cup. "They're very optimistic about his recovery."
"I'm glad to hear it."
She studied my face. "I want you to know how grateful I am. For what you did."
"I just made a phone call."
"It was more than that. And we both know it."
She leaned forward slightly. "If there's ever anything you need. Anything at all. The Santoro family will be there."
I nodded. Said nothing.
She got the message. Changed the subject.
We made small talk for another twenty minutes. Surface-level stuff. Nothing important.
When I left, I felt lighter.
One gold coin debt almost settled.
Just had to wait for Adrian to actually recover.
I got home around six.
Changed into comfortable clothes. Made myself some tea.
Damon wasn't home yet. Probably still at the office.
I settled onto the couch with my laptop. Started going through college materials.
Harvard's accepted students portal. MIT's housing application. Stanford's orientation schedule.
I'd need to choose soon.
My phone rang. I picked it up. Checked the caller ID.
Dean of Admissions - Columbia University
I answered. "Hello?"
"Scarlett Romano?" A woman's voice. Tense. Worried. "This is Dean Martinez from Columbia's Office of Admissions."
"Hi. What's up?"
"Have you seen the news?"
"What news?"
"Online. About you."
My stomach dropped.
"What are you talking about?"
"There's an article. It went viral about six hours ago." She sounded genuinely distressed. "Scarlett, are you somewhere you can sit down?"
I was already sitting. But my body went cold.
"Just tell me."
"Someone published an exposé. They're accusing you of cheating on your SAT."
The world stopped.
"What?"
"The headline is everywhere. 'SAT Perfect Score Recipient Scarlett Romano Accused of Cheating.' It has over a hundred million views."
I couldn't breathe.
"That's impossible."
"I know this must be shocking. But Scarlett, this is bad. Really bad."
My hands were shaking.
"What exactly does it say?"
"They compiled your high school records from Montana. Your GPA was 3.2. You ranked around 80th in a class of 200." She paused. "Then you moved to New York and got a perfect 1600 on the SAT six months later."
"So?"
"They're saying the timeline is suspicious. That you took the test in New York instead of Montana. That there's no record of any SAT prep courses or tutoring."
"I didn't need tutoring."
"I believe you. But the internet doesn't." Her voice cracked. "The comments are brutal. They're saying the Romano family paid for a test-taker. That you couldn't possibly jump from mediocre grades to a perfect score without cheating."
I closed my eyes.
"They're comparing your high school transcript to your SAT results. Making charts. Saying it's statistically impossible."
"It's not impossible. It's just—"
"I know. But perception is reality right now." She took a breath. "The College Board issued a statement. They're investigating."
My blood ran cold.
"Investigating what?"
"The test center security footage. Your answer sheet. Whether there were any irregularities."
This couldn't be happening.
"Scarlett, I need you to stay calm. Don't respond to any media requests. Don't post anything on social media." Her tone became more official. "Columbia is monitoring the situation closely. We'll be in touch as the investigation develops."
"Okay."
"Try to get some rest. This will get resolved."
She hung up.
I sat there.
Staring at nothing.
Then I grabbed my laptop.
Typed my name into Google.
The first page was entirely articles about me.
"SAT Perfect Score Holder Accused of Massive Cheating Scandal"