Chapter 2

I looked at the expensive silk pajamas the thief was wearing and the collection of limited-edition designer sneakers neatly arranged in the shoe rack by the entrance. My anger curdled into a cold, absurd calmness.

I laughed from sheer rage. "A beggar? Excuse me, miss, but it seems your family and education never taught you about theft. Well, stealing someone else's property is called theft under the law. And under morality, it is called shamelessness.

"Are all those designer brands you wear bought with whatever scraps of decency you have left?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!" she snapped, her expression darkening instantly. "Theft? When did you ever see me stealing? I just picked up the wrong delivery. People mix up deliveries every day. You're the one being dramatic, installing trackers and everything. How disgusting can you be?"

"You picked up the wrong delivery?" I held up my phone, opened my order history, and questioned, "I've had four deliveries stolen this week alone! And every single time, you conveniently avoid the cheap stuff and go straight for mine?

"Besides, you live in this private dorm, while my deliveries are dropped off at the delivery rack outside the regular men's dorm building. You crossed half the campus late at night to 'accidentally pick up' a guy's delivery? Do you take me for an idiot?"

Stumped by my barrage of questions, she struggled for words, and her expression turned extremely ugly. "My name is Francine Merrick. My father is Bill Merrick, the chairman of Merrick Corporation."

She stepped forward, jabbing her finger hard into my chest. "You want to talk to me about law? About morality? Well, I'll have you know that there is nothing in this school that I can't handle!

"So what if I ate a few of your meals? I'll pay you 1,000 dollars, alright? That's enough chicken curry to feed a broke college student like you for a year! Take the money and get the hell out of my sight!"

With that, she pulled a wad of cash from her bag and flung it right at my face. Hundred-dollar bills scattered through the air as she looked down at me arrogantly, her eyes full of malice.

I looked at the money on the floor, then back at her arrogant face. I crouched down and said, "Francine Merrick, was it?"

The corner of her lips was about to curl into a mocking smile, but all I did was simply tie my shoelace and straighten back up.

"The money is clean," I said, looking her straight in the eye. "But you're filthy. Keep it for yourself. I don't want a single cent in compensation. All I want is a public apology."

Francine's smile froze on her face. "Declan Cordery, don't push your luck! Trust me, I can see to it that you don't last a day at Greyfriars!"

"It doesn't matter whether I trust you. But what's certain is that you're about to pay the price for your actions," I said, looking at her and pointing at her stomach. "You ate most of that chicken curry, didn't you?"

She froze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I laced it with medical-grade emodin and croton oil. By my calculations, the effects should be kicking in right about now."

As if to prove my words, Francine's face instantly flushed before it quickly paled, and then it turned a sickly shade of green. She clutched her stomach with both hands, and her body began to shake.

Under her horrified gaze, I calmly dialed 911. "Hello, police? I've caught a serial thief red-handed. But she seems to be having some kind of attack right now. Yes, probably from eating something that's gone bad…"

Francine's eyes widened. She pointed at me, unable to speak for a long moment. Then she let out a pained groan and bolted toward the bathroom.

From behind the door came her hysterical roar. "Declan Cordery! I'm going to kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"

I stood at the doorway, listening to the commotion inside.

This was only the beginning.