The third-year wing of Upperhill Academy was a different world than the rest of the school. Here, the air was thicker with the scent of expensive perfume, the stakes were higher, and the social hierarchies were carved in stone.
At the center of this world sat a vacant desk in the front row; a desk that remained empty until the very last second before the bell.
Then, the heavy doors of the room swung open.
Hannah Freil commanded the molecules of the air to move out of her way. She was, by every objective standard, the most beautiful girl on campus. Her hair was a cascading river of spun gold that caught the morning light, and her eyes were a piercing, icy blue that seemed to look through everyone as if they were made of glass. She had been absent the day before—some whispered she was at a gala in Montreal, others said a private fitting in Paris—but her return was always an event.
As she slid into her seat, a flock of her inner circle immediately descended upon her like vultures.
"Hannah! You're back," one girl, Chloe, whispered, leaning over the back of her chair. Her eyes were wide with the kind of manic energy that only comes from being the first to deliver bad news.
"I am," Hannah replied, her voice a cool, melodic chime. She began to pull a designer tablet from her bag, her movements graceful and slow. "I missed the tragedy of a Tuesday, I assume? Did the cafeteria run out of organic greens again?"
"Worse," another girl, Sarah, hissed, glancing toward the front of the room to ensure the teacher hadn't arrived. "Much worse. While you were gone, someone tried to lay a hand on James."
Hannah's hand froze mid-air. Her manicured nails, painted a soft, innocent pink, hovered over the screen. The temperature around her desk seemed to drop ten degrees. Everyone knew the unwritten rule of Upperhill: James Thorn was Hannah Freil's territory. They had been together in the eyes of the social elite since their first year—an alliance of power, beauty, and status that no one dared to challenge. She called him her boyfriend to anyone who would listen, and James, in his typical detached manner, never bothered to publicly correct her.
"Someone?" Hannah asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "A girl from the music department? Or one of those cheerleaders who doesn't know her place?"
Chloe leaned in closer, her voice a low, jagged rasp. "No, Hannah. It wasn't a girl. It was that scholarship boy. The one from the back of the library. Joel Cho."
Hannah's head snapped up. Her icy blue eyes searched Chloe's face for a sign of a joke. "The quiet one? The one who looks like he's made of porcelain and fear? You're telling me he touched James?"
"He didn't just touch him," Sarah added, her phone already out as she mimed a scrolling motion. "He kissed him. In the middle of the East Hall. In front of everyone. It was a dare, supposedly, but people are saying he confessed. He told James he liked him. Right there, in front of the lockers."
The color drained from Hannah's face, replaced by a sharp, mottled red of pure, unadulterated rage. She gripped the edge of her desk so hard the wood groaned. The idea of James—her James—being touched by anyone was an insult. But to be touched by a boy?
"Show me," Hannah commanded, reaching for Sarah's phone. "I want to see the video. I want to see exactly how he dared to put his mouth on my man."
The girls looked at each other, their expressions turning sheepish and fearful.
"We can't," Chloe whispered. "James... he went to the second-year wing this morning. He made a scene. He told everyone the video had to be deleted immediately. He said the IT department is tracking the metadata. Anyone caught with a copy is basically dead. He had it erased from the school server, too."
Hannah's eyes narrowed until they were mere slits of blue ice. Her chest heaved beneath her silk blouse. The fact that James was protecting the video didn't read as mercy to her; it read as a cover-up. It read as James being affected by it.
"He erased it?" Hannah whispered, her voice trembling with fury. "He's protecting that little freak? I always knew Joel was a strange one. Always hiding in the corners, looking at people with those big, innocent eyes. I knew he was a freak, but if he thinks he's going to use some pathetic 'confession' to steal my man from me, he's delusional."
She stood up abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. The sound drew the attention of the entire class, but no one dared to say a word. Hannah Freil in a rage was a force of nature that most people stayed far away from.
"He thinks he can just slide into James's life because of a kiss?" Hannah sneered, her fingers curling into a fist. "He has no idea who he's dealing with. I've spent three years building my place beside James. I'm not letting a charity case ruin my future."
"Hannah, wait," Sarah said, reaching out to touch her arm. "The professor is coming. Where are you going?"
Hannah shoved her bag over her shoulder, her shoes clicking against the floor like a death knell. Her face was a mask of cold, calculated cruelty—the kind of beauty that was meant to destroy.
"I'm going to find the thief," Hannah said, her voice echoing through the silent classroom. "Where is he? Where does he hide when he's not stealing watches and boyfriends?"
"He's in the Student Council office," Chloe called out, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and dread. "James made him his personal assistant this morning. He's been in there since the first bell."
Hannah stopped at the door. Her jaw set in a hard, jagged line. His personal assistant. The words felt like a slap in the face. James had taken the boy into his private sanctuary. He had given him a title. He had given him proximity.
"The President's office," Hannah repeated, a dark, wicked smile crossing her lips. "How convenient. He's already in the cage. Now I just have to go in and show him what happens to people who touch things that don't belong to them."
She turned and walked out of the classroom, her stride long and purposeful. Every student she passed in the hallway scrambled to get out of her way. They saw the look in her eyes—the predatory focus of a girl who was about to defend her throne.
As she reached the final turn in the hallway, the Student Council office came into view. She straightened her blazer, smoothed her golden hair, and fixed a look of absolute, lethal authority on her face. She was the Queen of Upperhill, and she was coming for her crown.