“How does one of you get a perfect score and the other not care?” Arabella sang into the camera, voice bright as a bell. Her ring light painted every cheekbone; her smile was calibrated. Donations pinged like applause. She held two envelopes up, side by side. One was stamped in Summit University blue. The other the same. “Look,” she said, giggling, “both acceptances. But honestly—” She tapped the envelope on the left. “Mine’s the scholarship. Mine’s the one with the glowing email.” Chat flooded with red hearts and caps-locked praise. emotes exploded. “State prodigy,” several hundred users typed at once. “Queen Arabella,” scrolled another cluster. Cordelia stood in the doorway, a long shadow cut across the plush carpet. She watched without entering the frame. Her palms were folded; she didn’t move. Arabella didn’t look away. “This is our win,” she said. “Two Changs at Summit. Two geniuses. But someone out here—” she glanced off camera, toward where Cordelia stood like a statue—“someone didn’t need it. Someone could afford to be casual.” The chat did the arithmetic for her. Casual became arrogance. Casual became guilty. Donations ramped. A subscriber goal ticked over to a flashing banner: NEW RECORD — 25K LIVE. A viewer demanded to speak to Cordelia. Arabella laughed, a tiny curated laugh. “Cordy? Where are you? I said come sit with me. You can wave at the camera, be humble. We’ll be a cute story—two sisters, two futures.” Cordelia’s mouth