Diary of a Master Manipulator

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Pierce slammed my diary onto the pool table in the frat house to show off.

Quinn wasn't that hard to get. It took me three months to lock it down. Weren't you guys dying to know what she writes in this thing every day? Let's take a look.

He flipped open the first page.

[ I only agreed to date Pierce so I could get closer to him. ]

He flipped to the second page.

[ Why did he have to be Pierce's roommate of all people? ]

The room went dead silent.

Chapter 1

Pierce's jaw was tight when he tracked me down. I knew right then he had read the absolute garbage I scribbled in that diary. Ha. That is what you get for stealing my stuff.

Choke on it.

I laughed on the inside. On the outside, I flashed him my usual soft, innocent smile. "Pierce, what brings you here?"

Pierce stared me down. After a few seconds, he spoke in a low, even voice. "Quinn, you are my girlfriend now. I want to introduce you to my roommates."

I immediately pasted a thrilled expression onto my face. I pretended not to notice the storm brewing in his eyes.

"Really?" I said. I laced my voice with just the right amount of nervous excitement. "I finally get to meet your friends."

Pierce flexed his jaw. "We are all getting dinner tonight."

He took a sudden step forward. His tall frame backed me directly against the hallway lockers. He practically suffocated me with his sheer physical presence.

I shifted my weight, looking appropriately conflicted. "But I have to go to work later."

Pierce whipped out his wallet. He slid a cold, sleek black card directly between my fingertips. "Call out tonight," he ordered. "Tell them something came up."

I immediately tried to hand it back, my tone firm. "I can't take your money."

He shoved it back into my hand. I pushed it away. He trapped my hand over the card.

Finally, Pierce aggressively forced my fingers to close around the plastic.

He stated clearly that it was a gift. I ended the little charade. A thrill hummed through my veins as the heavy plastic settled in my palm.

I looked up at him with teary, moved eyes. "You are too good to me, Pierce."

I attend an elite private university. I am the poorest scholarship student on this entire campus. Pierce is one of the wealthiest trust-fund kids here. His entire frat house practically runs the school.

They even have their own massive fan club of desperate groupies. Pierce only has to stress over whether to fly to London or Paris for the weekend. He only worries about whether he should go scuba diving or skiing tomorrow. My problems look a little different.

I have to figure out how to lock down the highest possible academic grants. I have to calculate how many shifts I need to work this month just to eat. I have to flawlessly maintain my sweet, fragile girl-next-door persona. It makes it easier to play the sympathy card.

It keeps me on everyone's good side so I don't get bullied like some tragic movie character. Pierce and I used to stay in our own lanes. We literally existed in two different universes. Then some bizarre rumors started circulating around campus.

People said I was playing hard to get. They said some random guy spent six months chasing me and failed. They also said I kept a daily diary filled with all my darkest secrets.

I stared blankly, my brows pulling together.

Never mind who that random guy even was. I had no clue anyone was actually trying to hit on me. The second class ends, I sprint off campus to work. When people talk to me, I just smile and nod.

Their words literally go in one ear and out the other. As for that diary I write in every single day? It is actually my meticulously calculated survival ledger. It records every single student loan payment and minimum-wage paycheck I earn.

But the rumors sparked Pierce's intense interest. He wasn't just obsessed with finding out what was in my diary. He actually placed a bet with his frat brothers on how many months it would take to get me into his bed.

I rejected him over and over again. He just kept coming back like a stage-five clinger, utterly fascinated. Until one specific night. Pierce showed up at the diner where I work.

He literally paid some guy to harass me so he could jump in and play the hero.

Something inside me snapped.

My manager screamed at me for causing a scene. I walked back out to the main dining floor covered in spilled soup and sticky soda. Pierce locked his eyes on me. I gritted my teeth.

I forced the most tearfully grateful smile I could muster. "Thank you so much, Pierce," I whispered softly.

You don't want to be a decent human being? Fine. You can be my personal ATM.

Chapter 2

Pierce took me to an upscale, dimly lit restaurant. When we arrived, his three roommates were already waiting at the table.

They tried to hide it, but I could feel the weight of their stares practically burning holes into my skin. Human nature is so predictable. Even if they had zero interest in me, the second they found out I might be secretly obsessed with one of themand that I was using Pierce just to get close to that persontheir massive male egos and competitive streaks flared up. The smug satisfaction radiating off them was impossible to miss.

A bunch of invasive creeps who get off on reading someone else's diary.

I mentally tore these bored trust-fund babies to shreds alongside Pierce, but my face remained perfectly blank. I even added a tiny, calculated flinch, attempting to pull my hand free from Pierce's grip. The ultimate subtle tell of a girl suddenly face-to-face with her secret crush.

Pierce felt it instantly. The muscles in his jaw ticked.

He clamped down on my fingers like a vise, forcing a sickeningly gentle tone. "Quinn, these are my roommates. You've probably seen them around campus."

I nodded, pressing my lips into a tight line, retreating into silence.

I knew exactly how Pierce operated. He would never confront me directly. First, his massive ego wouldn't let him admit he actually stooped low enough to read my diary. Second, he felt totally played and was desperate to figure out who the mystery guy in my diary was.

Third, it all came back to his toxic need to win. The exact second he realized I wanted his roommate, I transformed from a casual bet into a trophy he absolutely had to claim.

Men are all the same. Rich or broke, it doesn't matter. They broadcast their every thought right on their faces, completely transparent in under a second.

As we approached the table, Pierce's eyes stayed locked on me. He was practically dissecting my every glance, trying to catch which roommate I was staring at.

But I wasn't about to hand him the answer. I deliberately kept my eyes away from the other three guys and stared up at Pierce with wide, innocent eyes. "Pierce, aren't you going to sit down?"

Pierce's eye twitched.

The tension at the table was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Miles flipped a solid silver lighter between his fingers. "Pierce, we haven't ordered yet. See what Quinn uh, your girlfriend wants to eat."

He had these big, golden-retriever eyes, sharp cheekbones, and deep dimples when he smirked. He gave off the ultimate carefree, golden-boy vibe. I totally understood it. If my family owned ten penthouses overlooking Central Park, I'd probably be a beacon of positivity too.

He slid a heavy leather menu across the table toward me. The entire thing was printed in dizzying, pretentious French. I didn't recognize a single dish. The only thing I could read were the numbers.

A single appetizer cost my entire month's rent. It was enough to make anyone want to eat the rich.

I shook my head, keeping my smile perfectly polite. "I've never had any of this before. You guys go ahead and order for me."

Miles pulled the menu back across the table. "Alright. You pick, Pierce. You obviously know what she likes."

Pierce had absolutely no clue what I liked. He only knew I survived on whatever I could afford.

But I knew. I had done my homework. The psychotic fan club had uploaded extremely detailed dossiers on all of them.

Pierce loved mangoes. But Miles was deathly allergic to them.

So I furrowed my brow slightly, leaning in to whisper to the waiter. "None of these dishes contain mango, right?"

The table went dead silent again. Pierce stared at me. Miles stared at me.

I blinked at them, looking completely lost. "What's wrong? I'm allergic to mangoes, so I always have to ask."

Before Pierce could even open his mouth, I flipped the script. "Pierce, did you seriously not know that?"

Under my direct gaze, Pierce turned rigid, his muscles locking up.

Chapter 3

He couldn't exactly admit he didn't know. His entire persona rested on being the devoted boyfriend who spent months desperately chasing me. But claiming he knew would be a flat-out lie. Because I made the whole thing up.

I devour mangoes. I literally drank a massive mango smoothie this morning.

Miles leaned in, seamlessly breaking the tension. "Crazy coincidence. I'm allergic to them too."

Shoutout to the drama club girls who taught me how to cry on cue. Shoutout to all those random background extra gigs I took just to make rent.

I dropped my gaze, letting the silence stretch. After a beat, I lifted my chin and locked eyes with him.

I kept my expression incredibly soft, letting my gaze sink right into his. I waited for him to finish before whispering, "Yeah. What a coincidence."

In reality, I was running a tactical scan across the entire table. Drop my lashes, look up at Miles. Drop my lashes, look up at Alistair. Drop my lashes, look up at Ryder.

I made sure no one felt left out. I fed each of them the exact same perfectly calculated, longing stare. A little bit of tragic isolation, a heavy hit of hidden adoration, and just enough bitten-lip restraint.

My optical nerves were practically twitching from the effort. It was easily the greatest acting performance of my life.

Miles completely stiffened. The golden-boy composure cracked. He shifted his weight, abandoning his lazy slouch against the leather booth. He shot a sharp, loaded glance over at Pierce.

Pierce was sitting right next to me. From his angle, my Oscar-worthy eye contact was completely hidden. But he had a front-row seat to my physical actions.

Like right now. Before the appetizers even hit the table, I smoothly slid my cup of hot tea across the marble.

Pierce's jaw locked. He snapped his head toward me.

I met his glare evenly. "Doesn't Alistair need to take his meds first?"

Alistair was the Student Body President. At a hyper-elite, student-run campus like Elysium, that basically made him a dictator. He wore sharp, silver-rimmed glasses that perfectly framed his aristocratic face. He played the polite, untouchable gentleman routine to perfection, but he kept a massive, invisible wall between himself and the rest of the world.

In short, he was a massive fake. But I didn't blame him. If I were the sole heir to a Fortune 100 empire, I would be infinitely worse.

"What do you mean, meds?" Pierce demanded.

I ignored him, shifting my gaze straight to Alistair to hold his stare. Pierce practically vibrated with rage beside me, the muscles in his jaw ticking dangerously.

"I applied for the Student Council last semester, but" I let the sentence trail off, dropping my chin to look appropriately devastated. I left massive, gaping holes for their overactive imaginations to fill in.

A few seconds later, I took a shaky breath to steady my nonexistent emotions, and lifted my head with a brave, bright smile. "So I know Alistair has severe stomach issues."

The two things had nothing to do with each other.

I really did go out for Student Council. The only reason I didn't make the cut was because they trashed my application in the first round of interviews. I specifically applied for the Presidential Secretary positionbasically the dictator's right-hand man. I took the whole thing incredibly seriously.

I even took time off from two of my part-time jobs just to prep. I was dead set on locking down that position.

Chapter 4

The most important reason I wanted the job was to slowly gather influence, stage a campus coup, and eventually crown myself the undisputed dictator of Elysium. Who wouldn't be tempted by that kind of absolute power? I definitely was. I even studied Alistair's obsessive fan-club dossier.

He had severe stomach issues. The classic billionaire-heir stress disease. I filed that away as premium leverage for future kissing up. But after acing the written exam, they tossed my application in the very first round of interviews.

I couldn't compete with the girl whose family just casually dropped a ten-million-dollar donation to the Student Council. She was the president of Alistair's fan club, tossing around massive wealth just to breathe the same air as him. I tossed and turned all night. I genuinely calculated if getting plastic surgery to look like Alistair would make someone wire me ten million.

The sun came up before I finally let that miserable thought go. But Alistair was completely oblivious to all of this. He could never guess my dark, twisted plans to usurp his throne. Right now, his light amber eyes were locked on mine, flickering with something complicated and heavy.

After a long beat, he spoke. "Thank you."

The words slipped right out of my mouth. "You never have to thank me."

Pierce tensed beside me. I could practically feel the heat radiating off him as he shot Alistair a murderous, so-it-was-you glare.

I just ducked my head, keeping my voice incredibly soft. "You are all Pierce's friends, so it's the least I could do."

Under the table, I secretly hooked my pinky finger around Pierce's.

The explosive rage froze right on his face. He snapped his head toward me and caught me smiling up at him. A perfectly sweet, completely innocent smile.

Pierce swallowed hard. He turned his head away without saying a single word. But he didn't pull his hand away.

Pierce's final roommate was Ryder. He had the kind of effortless, heartbreaker face that belonged on a Paris runway. Even though he always looked lazy and slightly rumpled, he made a basic white tee look like high-end couture. That landed him firmly at the number one spot on the campus Most Smashable list.

Whoever created that anonymous poll was an absolute genius. Ryder's groupies and Alistair's fan club were constantly at war over the rankings. I gladly pocketed a quick hundred bucks from my lab partner to ignore the class president's lobbying and cast my vote for Ryder. My lab partner swore Ryder was the most laid-back and approachable guy in their entire untouchable clique.

She even pulled up his Instagram to prove it. Ryder actually replied to almost every single thirsty comment. But I was entirely focused on the actual content of his post. He uploaded a screenshot of his stock portfolio, casually mentioning his returns for the month were decent.

The endless string of zeros made my head spin. I literally counted them one by one. Tens, hundreds, thousands, millions. Twenty million dollars.

I genuinely calculated it. If I made twenty million a month in passive income, I would be overflowing with endless love for the entire universe. I literally wouldn't have a single problem in the world. But apparently, Ryder actually had problems.

Chapter 5

His billionaire father had four different wives and three sons. His mother was the original wife, but she was the absolute least favorite. His dad never gave him an ounce of actual love, only cold, hard cash. I felt deeply sorry for him.

Because if someone handed me that kind of cold hard cash, I would gladly become their loving father. So my eyes used to soften with absolute maternal affection whenever I looked at Ryder. Until Pierce ramped up his psychotic bet and I ended up hating their entire frat house. A bunch of absolute scumbags who can all rot in hell.

Ryder and I barely exchanged a single word at the dinner table. Until I went to the restroom. I walked out to find Ryder leaning against the wall, his eyes tracking my every move. He must have just splashed water on his face.

The dark hair at his temples was damp. A single drop of water slid down the sharp curve of his brow bone.

I dodged his heavy gaze. "Ryder."

He suddenly leaned in. He slammed one hand against the wall right beside my ear. His tall frame completely trapped me in his shadow.

He stared at me thoughtfully before a slow smirk spread across his face. "Quinn, we aren't exactly strangers, are we?"

I immediately dropped my head to start the performance. I hid my hands behind my back, digging my nails into my palms until my knuckles turned white. We actually had crossed paths before. One of my part-time jobs was right next to the underground racing club he frequented.

Every time he finished burning rubber on the track, I was still stuck on my shift.

"Why haven't I seen you around lately?" he asked.

That actually threw me off. We had barely spoken two words to each other, yet he still remembered my face.

"It wasn't a good fit," I mumbled evasively.

What other reason is there to change jobs? The hourly rate sucked. And I found another gig that paid better. But Ryder's twisted imagination obviously connected some invisible dots.

His expression shifted into something complicated. He stepped closer. "Then why were you always still there every time I left?"

I stared at his chest in total confusion. Because I was still on the clock, obviously. I had to wait to punch out, or I would have bolted hours ago. But Ryder just stared intensely down at me, searching my face.

I thought about it for a few seconds before lifting my eyes to meet his. I kept my gaze incredibly earnest. "Does seeing a light left on make you feel a little happier when you leave?"

According to the fan club dossier, Ryder blew money like water. His massive penthouse was always blazing with lights, completely illuminated all night long. Factoring in his broken-family background, his daddy issues, and his whole bad-boy persona, I boldly guessed he was terrified of the dark. After all, being afraid of the dark was just like having stomach ulcers.

It was a required fashion accessory for the ultra-rich elite.

Right on cue, Ryder's muscles went rigid.

A flash of raw vulnerability crossed his perfect face. I didn't give him a chance to recover. I slipped right under his arm and walked away. I paused just before walking away completely.

I kept my voice feather-light. "I just want you to be happy, Ryder."

After dinner, Pierce walked me back to my dorm. He decided to test the waters. "Quinn, my roommates aren't too bad, right