Chapter 3

Dean Peterson' s office was plush, all dark wood and leather-bound books.

He looked at me over his glasses, his expression stern.

Brianna sat in the chair beside his desk, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She looked small and fragile.

"Ms. Miller," Dean Peterson began, his voice grave. "I've received a very disturbing report from Ms. Evans."

He gestured to Brianna. "She tells me you subjected her to unwarranted hostility and accusations on her very first day. Is this true?"

Brianna sniffled. "She... she said I was a cheap copycat. She made fun of my clothes. She said I shouldn't even be here."

The last part was a lie, but it fit her narrative.

"Ms. Miller," the Dean said, his disappointment evident. "This university prides itself on inclusivity and respect. Brianna is here on a scholarship. She comes from a modest background. For you to belittle her, to flaunt your... financial advantages, is unacceptable."

The old Ash would have crumbled, apologized, tried to explain.

The new Ash just smiled faintly.

"Dean Peterson," I said, my voice calm, measured. "My father is Ashley Miller. You might know him. Miller Technologies?"

The Dean' s eyebrows shot up. Recognition flickered in his eyes.

"He's currently considering a seven-figure donation for the new campus innovation hub," I continued smoothly. "He also funds several of the university's scholarships. Including, I believe, the one Brianna is on."

Brianna' s head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock, then fear.

"If Brianna can afford to buy items so similar to my high-end ones, even if they are knock-offs, perhaps those scholarship funds are better directed elsewhere," I mused. "And I'm sure the university wouldn't want to jeopardize a major donation over a simple misunderstanding, would it?"

I pulled out my phone. "Would you like me to call my father now? He can clarify his position on this matter. And perhaps discuss it with the university president."

Dean Peterson' s face paled. He cleared his throat.

"Now, now, Ms. Miller, let's not be hasty," he said, his tone suddenly much warmer. "I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding. Freshman nerves, you know."

He turned to Brianna, his expression now less sympathetic, more appraising. "Ms. Evans, perhaps you misinterpreted Ms. Miller's words? Sometimes, in new situations, things can seem... harsher than intended."

Brianna stared, speechless. The tears had stopped.

"I'm sure you two will be able to work this out," Dean Peterson said, standing up, a clear dismissal. "Ash, a pleasure to meet you. Please extend my warmest regards to your father. We are very much looking forward to his support for the innovation hub."

I nodded. "I will, Dean."

As I left, I saw Brianna still sitting there, her face a mask of stunned fury.

The game had changed. She knew it. I knew it.

And for the first time since I woke up in this re-run of my life, I felt a flicker of something like satisfaction.