Years of being at St. Jude's had turned into a slow, localized hell for Hanalei.
For years, she had lived a double life. While her father sat in the Oval Office and her mother managed a global empire, Hanalei arrived at school in an unmarked yellow cab—driven by a Secret Service agent in plain clothes, though she prayed no one noticed the bulge of a holster under his windbreaker. She did it for one reason: Dimitri. She had seen the way his lip curled when an Aston Martin dropped off a student. She wanted him to see her, not her father's title.
But in a school full of nepo-babies, being "the girl who takes a taxi" was like wearing a bullseye. Years of being the "poor girl" had toughened her skin, but it hadn't stopped the stinging whispers in the hallways or the way her lunch tray always seemed to find the floor.
Today, the cafeteria was a battlefield, and Hanalei was losing.
