Page 5 of Deranged Imposter

“And you’re fine with it?” I question the authenticity of his nonchalance.

“That we’re close?” he retorts, staring at the green-papered reminder on top of my drawer to organize my clothes by color. “It’s the truth.”

Thank goodness it wasn’t about the gold-digging comments that somehow spiraled into me having life insurance on him. And when he mysteriously passes away, I get every cent of his money.

The law building is far from the main campus, so we don’t see each other often during the day when we have classes. I’m the only broke student in a university enrolled with classmates of generational wealth; when they chitchat about what it means to lose preferential treatment, they mean me.

I owe a thank-you gift basket to whoever yammered about me being "in the doghouse" with Mikah when my senior year began. Speculations come in the form of a hurricane. After the storm, the calm brought me improvements with my classmates.

While we’re not friends, it’s better than having them avoid me like I’m a pariah or mouthing behind my back about things that are simply not true.

But the truth doesn’t look good.

They say I’ll be bestowed to Mikah and give him a successor because wealthy families, especially the Masinis, don’t give free handouts. Why would they take me in, pay for my education, and give me allowances to snag the latest costly fads if it didn’t benefit them?

“My roommate wouldn’t like it,” I mumble as a last-ditch effort. “She’s at an international study program for five weeks, so I’m subleasing from her.”

Something in his eyes, full of blurred ardor and barbed wickedness, cuts deep into the hysterical mass of nerves in my stomach.

Chapter Two

Mikah

I should’ve been cautious, second-guessing, and questioning the cheery smile on Isa’s soft lips. At the very least, wonder why she’s picking out a two-piece suit for "dinner" at my parent’s home.

It’s common for her to pick out my clothes on special occasions, sometimes on the daily as well. I never asked her to do it, but she thinks I’ll wear flammable material without her help.

Once, I think sullenly as I juggle a compelling smile.It happened once.

I’m a handful, and it’s a complicated reason. I know it stems from my dislike of wearing a façade to deal with pompous bastards looking down flagrantly at Isa. The pretentious yacht clubs, too.

Polo matches, gambling spots, and boat associations: they’re synonymous, and they are widespread.

Why do I have to give them an ounce of respect when they don’t do the same for Isa? She’s an extension of me.

After fifteen years of friendship, my craving for her attention still fanatically expands to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean.

The effort to curb the need to keep my eyes on her, a hand touching her skin, or to delegate every minute of her time has been futile.

From tutors and private schools to living arrangements, I stopped trying to find justifications for our physical proximity.

I focused my attention on my exam for a split second, and she moved out of our penthouse in the blink of an eye. That was how she succeeded in putting me in a suit for dinner while her promise to live together distracted me.

“—isn’t that right, Mikah?”

Some nameless woman’s mouth is moving, but words aren’t registering in my head. I loosen the grip on the thin champagne flute before I snap it in half. The woman has this idiotic infatuation gleam in her eyes and an arm around her ribs to hoist her cleavage, popping her hip further to accentuate the inappropriately high slit by her thigh.

“Pardon me,” I say dryly and set the glass onto the tray as a waitstaff drifts by.

My mother shoots me a disappointing scowl from across the room when she catches me ending another conversation short. She excuses herself from her guests and marches up to me with the grace of a stealthy alligator.

She’s about to rip me a new one.

Where does she have the time to play matchmaker with her acting career? Doesn’t she have promotions to go to, investors to meet, or scenes to act?

“Mikah Masini,” she gripes, dark eyes narrowing scornfully.

Tension whips at the bottom of my spine as I endure her silent wrath for a solid minute. The suit is getting too tight, so I make a note to have a new one fitted later.

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