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While he was getting laid, I researched everything I could about the family that broke mine.

Shaking my head, I look around the room while pulling my cell from my jeans pocket. Then I lift it to my face and open it before finding the folder with everything we’ve compiled.

I study the images of Rhion and Dr. Amina Pierce—a genuine power couple. Amina comes from a prominent Moroccan family, and Rhion’s lineage dates back centuries. They have two children—Callum, age twenty-three, who works for his father. He graduated top of his class with a perfect GPA, earning his Bachelor’s and Master’s in Business Administration from Wharton and a Master’s in Public Administration. He’s fluent in five languages and oversees the London branch of Pierce Holdings.

Their daughter, Eva Rose, should be in her second year of college, but there are gaps in her history, and any image of herafter the age of twelve has been scrubbed. That alone piqued my curiosity, and I spent days scouring the internet for anything.

“Do you know why we have to meet with our advisor again?” Liam probes, distracting me.

Gritting my teeth, I state, “I’m sure it has something to do with kissing the ass of our benefactor.” Then I refocus my attention, pulling up the email with our financial aid package.

Rereading thePierceScholarship details, I ball my hand into a fist at my side as I grip my phone so tightly the screen nearly gives way.

It’s an insult to everything our family worked for. Rhion Pierce obliterated the merger that would’ve provided the capital we needed for expansion. Instead, my father had to file for bankruptcy, laying off thousands of people before Christmas last year.

“Are you still looking at that?” Liam asks, peering down at my phone.

Is he fucking serious?

“Yes,” I hiss. “It’s fucking embarrassing to have to attend this school with money from the family that ruined us.” My nostrils flare. “Or are you too busy fucking whatever moves?”

Liam’s jaw ticks. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think almost every waking moment is spent trying to figure out a solution—a way to get revenge?”

It’s a low blow. The insinuation that he’s lackadaisical because he allowed himself to have some fun is bullshit.

“Liam and Mason Bradley,” a man shouts before I can apologize.

My brother stands and stalks off without looking back. He’s rightfully pissed.

“Please take a seat,” he instructs, pointing to the two chairs in front of his desk. Then, he begins to sort files on his desk.

Liam and I both sit and await further instructions.

“Gentleman, Groveton College is lucky to have two phenomenal athletic scholars such as yourselves.”

He’s laying it on thick.

I gaze out the corner of my eye at Liam, and he’s wearing a matching expression—this dude is full of it.

Smirking, I glance at the nameplate on his desk—Gregory Sherman.

“As Mrs. Scott mentioned to you both a few weeks ago, part of your scholarship requires that you attend the annual Pierce family charity ball and intern at a branch of Pierce Holdings during school breaks,” Mr. Sherman explains.

I’m not looking forward to dressing up like a stuffed pastry, but the internship is promising. It could provide just the opportunity we need.

Liam subtly taps my foot with his. Our matching chestnut eyes connect, saying all that needs to be said—that’s our in.

Mr. Sherman babbles on for at least thirty minutes, never once pausing to ask if we have any questions before he finally looks up.

“Classes start this week. You should’ve already received your schedules,” he states, standing.

Liam and I follow suit. This meeting wasn’t a complete waste of time, but it’s time that could have been better served.

“Wait, Mr. Sherman, I have a quick question about my schedule,” Liam announces.

He doesn’t appear too thrilled not to be rid of us. “Of course,” Mr. Sherman grumbles, confirming my initial assessment.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” I explain, twisting to peer back at them.