Part 1Reborn Heir in the Trap Car

The four of us had chartered a private Cadillac Escalade for Columbus Day weekend, heading north toward the coast.

Two hours past the city limits, the driver adjusted his rearview mirror, his voice dripping with forced casualness.

"Hell of a drive. Why didn’t you boys just hop on the Acela?"

My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird.

In my previous life, that exact question had been the spark. Back then, my three roommates had tumbled over one another to show off. They sneered at Amtrak—the crying babies, the stained upholstery, the hassle of booking holiday parlor cars. Money isn't an issue, they’d bragged, tossing around brand names like confetti, so why not charter a private ride and treat it like a luxury road trip?

Every word of their hollow, collegiate posturing had seeped into the driver’s ears.

Somewhere along the state route, the SUV had veered off course. By the time any of us noticed, we were surrounded in a gravel clearing by his associates. My parents paid an astronomical ransom without a second thought. It didn't matter. The crew panicked, cut our zip-ties, and slit our throats anyway.

I whipped my head toward the leather bucket seats beside me.

"Splitting the charter came out cheaper," Zach blurted out, his voice pitched an octave too high. "Holiday rail tickets are practically highway robbery right now."

Tyler and Scott nodded frantically in unison, their knuckles white, their faces drained of color. In their eyes, raw, suffocating terror was fighting against the dizzying realization of a second chance.

They had come back, too.

"Oh," the driver muttered. A subtle tremor of disappointment crept into his tone. "The way you boys carry yourselves, I figured you rolled in cash. Thought this was just pocket change to you."

A collective, silent breath escaped my roommates' chests. They genuinely believed that by crying poor, they had slipped the noose.

I leaned forward, letting a cold, theatrical crease form between my brows.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I scoffed, my voice cutting through the humid silence of the cabin. "We booked a private livery because public transit is disgusting. Who cares what it costs? Convenience is the only thing that matters."

In an instant, I dragged them back into the crosshairs.

Tyler’s eyes bulged, fixed on me in pure, paralyzed horror. Zach looked as though he might be sick right onto the carpet.

I didn't give them room to breathe.

"If my parents didn't interrogate me every time I took out the Gulfstream, we wouldn't even be in this cramped truck," I continued, rolling my eyes at the plush leather ceiling. "We could’ve had our estate driver bring the custom Prevost motorhome. This Escalade is fine, I guess, but it doesn't even have a private lavatory. We’re actually going to have to stop at a public service plaza."

I wrinkled my nose in theatrical revulsion. "Sharing a restroom with the general public. The thought alone makes me nauseous."

Tyler opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He blinked furiously at me, signaling with frantic, twitching eyes.

The driver’s gaze shifted in the glass, lingering on me with predatory interest.

"Well, now," he said slowly, a hungry little grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I had a feeling you weren't typical state-school kids. A real blue-blood. Never had actual old money in my back seat before."

I crossed one leg over the other, smoothing the cuff of my cashmere sweater.

"Obviously. My family’s conglomerate is ranked in the top five nationally. Even the governor clears his calendar when my father calls the capital. Honestly, if I hadn't wanted to duck my mother’s nagging this weekend, a guy in your tax bracket wouldn't share oxygen with me in this lifetime."

I turned my head slightly, cutting my eyes toward Zach, who was trembling so violently his teeth clicked.

"Zach, what is wrong with you?" I sighed, clicking my tongue. "Are you shivering? I told you to bring a real shearling coat. You’ve been wearing that Gucci windbreaker for months—don't you know their ready-to-wear has zero thermal insulation?"

The driver’s eyes tracked my gaze, landing heavily on Zach.

Zach looked as though he were standing on the gallows. He forced a smile that looked more like a death grimace, his hands coming up to clutch his knees.

"Bennett... I’m sorry," Zach stammered, tears suddenly spilling over his flushed cheeks. "I’ve just been so ashamed. I lied to you. It’s all fake. The jacket, the shoes—it’s all Canal Street knockoffs. I was vain. I wanted you to think I belonged in your world."

He buried his face in his palms, a jagged sob racking his shoulders.

Tyler and Scott immediately leaned in, patting his trembling back with frantic, desperate earnestness.

"It's true, Bennett," Tyler piped up, his voice trembling with manufactured humility. "We're sorry. Our families are barely lower-middle-class. We just wanted to be your friends so badly. This entire weekend... the three of us put our share on high-interest Klarna loans."

I almost admired the shamelessness of it. To claw their way out of the grave, they were willing to strip themselves down to the bone.

Then I narrowed my eyes, letting an arrogant sneer curl my lip.

"Fake?" I snapped, pitching my voice into sharp indignation. "Wait—what about that custom mechanical keyboard and optical mouse you gifted me for my birthday? Were those knockoffs too? Are you kidding me? No wonder my actuation timing felt like absolute garbage during ranked matches!"