Chapter 2: Secrets, Scandals, and First Love

Harrison Caldwell and I were desk mates in high school.

Spring was made for sleeping through lectures; summer made us all sluggish. Harrison and I would whisper and joke, sometimes doze off together. We’d secretly roast the math teacher’s wild ties—"Dude, is that a jellyfish?" Harrison would whisper—and grumble about the mountain of homework.

Our desks were always a mess—notes everywhere, half-finished assignments, and doodles of superheroes or hearts. Harrison loved flicking paper footballs at me when the teacher’s back was turned. I’d pretend to be annoyed, but honestly, I lived for it.

Whenever the discipline committee caught us talking, they’d drag us off to the principal’s office for a lecture.

We’d sit next to each other, trying not to crack up while the principal did his usual routine about "leadership" and "setting a good example." Harrison would nudge me under the table, and I’d bite my lip to keep from laughing.

I liked him—liked him so much it hurt.

It was the kind of crush that made my stomach do flips every time he smiled. I’d replay our conversations at night, wondering if he ever thought about me.

Back then, everyone wore the same uniform. I had no clue that Harrison’s plain, logo-less gray sweater was Ralph Lauren or that his button-down was Brooks Brothers. Even the fountain pen he gave me was Montblanc.

I just thought he had cool taste. I never guessed the price tags. My own clothes were all hand-me-downs or Target clearance. I kept that fancy pen buried in my backpack, terrified I’d lose it.

When the admissions officer got me into that high school, I knew there were rich kids—but I didn’t get just how rich.

The halls echoed with laughter and inside jokes about SAT prep, football games, and prom drama. My classmates talked about ski trips to Aspen and summer in Europe like it was no big deal. I felt lost, but Harrison always made me feel like I belonged.

After every class, kids would mess around, totally chill about their looks. I never guessed the ones who slung their arms around me were heirs to family empires.

Sometimes, they’d invite me to their houses to study, and I’d be floored by the giant lawns and marble kitchens. To them, it was just normal. I’d sit quietly, trying not to stare, trying to fit in.

No one ever talked about their backgrounds.

It was like bragging was off-limits. Status was something you just knew, not something you said. I learned to read the room, but I never really got the scale until later.

I was the one who made the first move with Harrison. I couldn’t hide my crush. Accidental brushes and whispered gossip left me dazed for days. No matter how I felt, I never said it out loud.

I’d doodle his initials on my notebook, then freak out and scribble them out if anyone got close. My friends teased me, but I always denied it, too scared to admit the truth.

I didn’t expect to be exposed.

The kid in the front row piped up to the teacher, all dramatic: "She always puts Harrison’s homework on top! She double-checks his for mistakes!"

I thought I was subtle. Being called out in front of everyone made me want to disappear.

My cheeks burned. I stared at my shoes, wishing the floor would swallow me. The room felt twice as loud, every whisper like a shout.

Harrison looked surprised. I thought he’d ditch me, but he just asked, "Is that true?"

His voice was gentle, kind of teasing, but I could hear he wanted the real answer. My heart raced, both terrified and hopeful.

I didn’t answer.

He saw my burning ears, reached under the desk, and took my hand. Then he turned to the kid in front and said, "C’mon, you know she likes me better."

"It’s normal for her to be a little nicer to me."

The whole class cracked up. Someone whistled, a girl tossed a paper ball at me, and Harrison just squeezed my hand. Somehow, it made everything okay.

So unlucky.

If I’d known Harrison’s ‘Caldwell’ was the same as Caldwell Holdings, I would never have gotten involved with him.

I only realized how deep it went later. Caldwell Holdings was everywhere—local banks, big charity events, even the hospital where my aunt worked. I felt dumb for not seeing it sooner.

The truth was, I was anti-rich and totally unsophisticated.

I grew up thinking money ruined everything. My family pinched pennies, and I wore my thriftiness like armor. Marrying into money freaked me out—I worried I’d lose myself in someone else’s world.