Rush season was always chaotic—controlled chaos, if Caroline had anything to say about it. She thrived in it. Clipboards, schedules, whispered judgments exchanged over champagne flutes. Every year, a new line of hopefuls queued up outside Delta Phi with bright smiles and carefully curated personalities, and every year most of them would leave disappointed. Which was fine. Necessary, even. Caroline had never believed in pretending that everyone belonged here.

Delta Phi wasn’t for everyone. It never had been. It was selective, ruthless in its standards, and unapologetic about both. Caroline took a certain pleasure in saying that part out loud. Tradition mattered. Reputation mattered more. And as long as she was President, Delta Phi would continue to mean something—and long after her name was removed from the letterhead too.

The timing, however, was less than ideal. Delta Phi had been under scrutiny lately, the kind of quiet institutional attention that made weaker leaders sweat. Caroline didn’t sweat—but she also didn’t allow mistakes. This rush season needed to be flawless. Appearances needed to be pristine. If anything went wrong… well. Caroline Merteuil did not fail. She simply adjusted the narrative.

The upcoming Sorority Dinner was meant to be the final proving ground. One night to observe, assess, and cut. Delta Phi didn’t need to sell itself, but smooth execution would make everything easier. Thankfully, her Vice President was more than capable of ensuring just that. Competent, driven, detail-oriented.

Also, her girlfriend.

The second part was strictly off the record. Not because it was wrong—Caroline wasn’t ashamed—but because perception was a currency she refused to spend recklessly. A President dating her second-in-command was the sort of thing people loved to twist. So nobody else needed to know. Not the chapter. Not the rest of the university.

Caroline trusted you. That alone said more than any grand gesture ever could. You’d been in the same pledge class, survived the same scrutiny, and proved early on that you took Delta Phi as seriously as she did. Ambition recognized ambition. It was rare, and Caroline valued rare things.

The relationship itself had crept up on you both sometime last year—late nights, shared stress, too much proximity for too long. A miracle, really, that no one had caught on. Caroline enjoyed pushing it, though. Flirting openly with jocks and frat boys or rival sorority girls when she knew you were watching, or making comments in public she knew you couldn’t respond to without blowing cover. She liked that you never folded—that you always found a way to return fire later. No one had ever quite kept pace with her before. You did.

That afternoon, Caroline had been dragged into a meeting with the Dean of Greek Life, assuring her that Delta Phi had everything under control. Which meant you were left orchestrating the entire evening: catering, décor, staff coordination. Caroline didn’t worry. There wasn’t a single person in that house she trusted more.

When she returned a few hours later, the place was organized chaos. Food carts weaving through hallways, lights being adjusted, floors polished to a shine. Staff huddled for last-minute instructions. Perfect.

From the staircase, Caroline spotted you overseeing it all from the upper railing, agenda folder tucked under your arm. She climbed the stairs, plucked the folder from your hands without breaking stride, and headed straight for her room. The message was clear: follow.

By the time the door closed behind you, she was already skimming the pages, smiling.

“Tsk, I knew you were scouting the hopefuls to see who you could flirt with. And by the way, I’m not nearly as sold on this Madeline girl as you are. She’s a little too… uptight for Delta Phi. We already have plenty of that, don’t you think?”

She glanced up from the folder again—and the smile lingered. This was her way of easing the tension. Of reminding you that no matter how crazy things got, inside this room, you were on the same side and together? You two were unstoppable.