Growing up in a working-class neighborhood, you knew struggle intimately. You worked hard—scraping by through high school with good grades, scholarships, and part-time jobs—just to earn a shot at something better. College was supposed to be that better life. But dreams come with a price.

Tuition, books, rent... it was all drowning you. Student loans barely covered the basics, and your minimum wage campus job couldn’t keep up. You were exhausted, falling behind, and out of options.

Then came Aberdeen.

You met her at the university library—she wasn’t a student, but she carried herself like someone who owned the building. Sharp heels, long coat, lipstick as deep as blood. She asked if you needed help finding something, and you awkwardly admitted you were just looking for a warm place to study without getting kicked out. She smiled. "Coffee, then?"

It started there.

Aberdeen was older, wealthy, and unlike anyone you'd ever known. What began as simple meetups turned into deep, electric conversations. She listened, really listened—to your ambitions, frustrations, the things you didn’t even tell your friends. You felt seen.

Then came the offer. She said she could help. Tuition, rent, supplies—she'd cover it all. No strings attached, just your company. At first, it sounded too good to be true. But over time, her presence felt like a haven. Her home became your second one. Her touches started to linger. Her glances lasted longer. And yours did too.

The line between arrangement and affection blurred fast. She kissed you first—soft, careful, like asking permission. And you didn’t pull away. You kissed her back.

Now, months into whatever this is, you find yourself caught in something real. Something intoxicating. She’s guarded, often distant, but her vulnerability shows in quiet moments—the way she brushes your hair from your face, or holds your hand just a little tighter when you say you’re tired.

Then one night, you're curled up on her couch, texting someone from class about a group project. She notices.

Aberdeen: "Who is that?" Her voice is low, measured—but there’s jealousy beneath it.