đź’¦LILLY POVđź’¦
 The worst part wasn't falling.
 It wasn't even being pushed.
 It was being looked at like I didn't matter.
 I kept my head down the rest of the day, cleaning trays and dodging stares, my chest still tight from earlier. The guy in the expensive shirt had vanished, probably off to shower in a diamond-encrusted tub or whatever rich boys did after ruining someone's dignity.
 Ididn't even know his name.
 But the way he looked at me—like I was a problem, an inconvenience—that stuck.
 Still, I didn't cry. Crying was a luxury. People like me had jobs to keep and rent to pay. And feelings? Feelings came second to survival.
 By evening, the cafeteria was mostly empty. I stacked trays into their racks and swept the floor in neat lines, trying not to think about how heavy my limbs felt. Maybe if I finished fast, I could still get home in time to help liam.Â
 Then I heard them.
 Voices. Loud. Arrogant.
 I turned slightly. A group of guys had walked in through the side door—laughing, joking, not seeing me in the corner. The guy in front? Him. The mop-shirt guy. And now I had a name, thanks to one of his loudmouth friends.
 "Lucas Demon, king of the east wing!" someone called out. "Back from the cleaning wars!"
 He smirked. "Hey, what can I say? I survive mops and peasants."
 The others burst out laughing.
 I froze, rage burning in my throat. My hands clenched the broom so tight my knuckles went white.
 He knew I was there.
 He had to.
 And he didn't care.
 I turned to leave—then stopped.
 Something inside me snapped.
 Maybe it was the day. Maybe it was the week. Maybe it was just finally being done being stepped on.
 I spun around. "Glad to know I'm entertainment for you."
 The room went still.
 His smirk dropped.
 His friends stared like they'd just seen a ghost rise out of the floor.
 I didn't wait for him to answer. "Just so you know," I added, voice steady despite my pounding chest, "some of us work because we have to. Not because we want to spy on people from golden thrones."
 He blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again.
 I walked past them without looking back. But behind me, I heard it—whispers, low and sharp.
 Then I heard something else.
 "You better be careful, Luca," someone murmured. "She's not just a cleaner."
 ---
 Luca
 That voice again.
 "You better be careful, Luca. She's not just a cleaner."
 The words hit like a slap.
 "What the hell does that mean?" I asked, trying to play it cool.
 Julian exchanged a look with Ethan, then shrugged. "I heard a rumor. One of the professors put her name forward for the Legacy Grant."
 I blinked. "The what?"
 "The Legacy Grant," Julian repeated. "Full tuition. Elite mentorship. Reserved for someone from within the university community, but not necessarily a student. A way in. One slot every two years."
 I laughed, sharp and loud. "You're kidding. Her? A cleaner with a scholarship?"
 "She's smart," Julian said, voice low. "Some say she used to be enrolled before she dropped out for family reasons."
 My mind raced.
 That wasn't part of the script.
 She was supposed to be a girl I shoved, forgot, and never saw again.
 But now?
 Now she had a name. A story. A chance.
 And for the first time in a long time, something twisted in my chest that wasn't arrogance. It was curiosity.
 And maybe... a hint of fear.
 ---
 That night, Luca found himself pulling up a student file he was never supposed to see.
 And there she was.
 Lillian Lorenzo.
 19
 Former scholarship student.
 Academic probation—withdrawn due to "extenuating personal circumstances."
 Under review.