Chapter 1
“Oh my goodness,” Victoria Sterling purred, her voice soaked in mock concern. “I’m so terribly sorry.” She adjusted her Cartier bracelet with deliberate slowness, its gold catching the hallway’s fluorescent light. Her green eyes glittered with malice as she surveyed Andrea, like a cat toying with a mouse. “I didn’t see you there. Though I suppose that’s what happens when you’re just a… what do they call scholarship students here?” She turned to her entourage, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, right. A Leftover.”
Laughter rippled through the group of red-tied elites flanking her, their polished appearances and smug expressions a stark contrast to Andrea’s soaked white tie and stained shirt. The searing heat of the coffee that had just been “accidentally” dumped on her chest barely registered. The burn of humiliation was far worse.
Andrea stood rooted, her hands twitching by her sides, clenched into tight fists. The corridor had gone quiet apart from the snickering. Eyes bore into her from every direction. She knew how this scene would unfold—she’d witnessed it before with other scholarship students who had dared to cross the invisible line between their world and the elites’. They would stay silent, wilt under the scrutiny, and accept their place at the bottom of Blackthorn’s unforgiving hierarchy.
But not this time. Not her.
Andrea’s gaze dropped for the briefest moment to the spreading brown stain on her shirt. The uniform her mother had spent two weeks’ worth of diner tips to buy. She thought of the long hours working nights at the gas station, trying to stay awake to study in between shifts. That anger, buried so deeply for so long, flared to life now, hot and relentless.
She took a sharp breath and raised her chin, locking eyes with Victoria.
“Funny,” she said, her voice steady despite the rapid thrum of her heart. “I’d think someone of your… status would have better manners. Or at least better aim.”
The hallway stilled. For a second, it felt like the entire school held its breath.
Victoria’s entourage exchanged wide-eyed glances, their whispers silenced by the sheer audacity of Andrea’s response. Nobody talked back to Victoria Sterling. Especially not a scholarship student.
A flicker of disbelief crossed Victoria Sterling’s face, a crack in her perfect mask of control. But it was gone in an instant. Her emerald eyes narrowed with icy precision as she stepped closer, each click of her heels on the polished floor reverberating like the judgment of a hanging jury.
Andrea stood frozen, her pulse pounding in her ears, but she refused to back away.
Not now.
Victoria stopped inches from Andrea, leaning in until her breath was warm against Andrea’s cheek.
“Well, look who thinks she’s special,” she whispered, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Her lips curved into a tight, venomous smile. “Tell me, did you learn your wit serving coffee to truckers at that pathetic little gas station? Or was it from your father before he ran off with your family’s savings?”
The words hit Andrea like a fist to the stomach. Her breath caught, the sharp intake betraying her surprise. How did Victoria know?
The long nights spent working behind the counter, pouring coffee and stocking shelves while fighting to keep her GPA perfect, were private struggles, nothing more than whispers of her past. Yet here it was, laid bare in the middle of the gleaming hallway for everyone to see.
The crowd of onlookers watched, the tension palpable. Some looked away, their faces pinched with secondhand embarrassment, while others leaned forward, hungry for the spectacle. Andrea could almost hear their collective thoughts: She’ll break now. She has to.
But she didn’t.
The sting of Victoria’s words was real, but Andrea had felt worse—much worse. She thought of her mother’s tired smile as she handed over that first diner paycheck to cover a rent payment. Of the shame she had swallowed when her father’s gamble debts became their burden. Of the quiet resilience she’d had to learn just to keep going. Victoria Sterling, with her shiny shoes and glittering malice, didn’t scare her. Not anymore.
“Actually,” Andrea said, her voice steady though her heart threatened to burst through her chest, “I learned something else at that gas station.”
Victoria’s eyes flickered, a brief sign of uncertainty. Andrea straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin ever so slightly, her voice rising with quiet conviction.
“I learned that real class has nothing to do with the clothes you wear or how much money your daddy makes. It’s about how you treat people. Something your expensive education seems to have missed.”
The hallway erupted with a collective gasp. The sound rippled through the crowd like a shockwave, the silence that followed almost deafening. A few students covered their mouths, suppressing laughter. Even among the red ties, there were whispers—small, rebellious smiles that hinted at the delight of seeing someone finally stand up to Victoria.
Victoria’s face twisted, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson that clashed with her icy poise. She took another step closer, her voice lowering into a hiss meant only for Andrea.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, each syllable a threat. “This isn’t your local public school where you can play at being special because you got a few good grades. The Blackthorn Academy has rules, hierarchies. And by the time you figure them out, you’ll wish you’d stayed in your place, back at that gas station, little bitch.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, acrid and suffocating. Andrea didn’t flinch. Instead, she smiled, faint but deliberate, the kind of smile designed to drive a blade deeper.
“Then I guess I’d better learn fast,” she said simply.
The bell rang, sharp and sudden, breaking the spell. The gathered students began to disperse, though their glances lingered on Andrea, some curious, others appraising. She could feel the shift in the air. The girl in the white tie had done something no one else had dared: she stood her ground. And everyone had noticed.
Victoria’s lip curled in a sneer, but the anger in her eyes betrayed her composure.
“This isn’t over,” she snapped, her voice louder now, for the crowd. With a dramatic flick of her hair, she turned on her heel, her entourage falling into step behind her like a line of soldiers.
Andrea waited until they were gone before letting her shoulders slump. The coffee had soaked through to her skin, and she had no spare shirt.
As Andrea hurried through the labyrinthine hallways of Blackthorn Academy, her thoughts churned with unease. She had arrived at this prestigious school with a crystal-clear plan: maintain her scholarship, graduate with honors, and use this place as a launchpad to Harvard Law. It was supposed to be her ticket to a better future—a future where her mother wouldn’t have to endure back-to-back double shifts, where the shadow of her father’s abandonment could finally be left behind.
But already, her plan felt like it was unraveling. Her white tie felt even heavier, no longer just a mark of her scholarship status but a glaring signal that she had dared to challenge the hierarchy on her very first day.
She clutched at her stained shirt, futilely dabbing at the coffee blotch with a tissue. The reminder of her confrontation with Victoria Sterling lingered, as sharp and cutting as the blonde’s words had been. Andrea wasn’t sure if she’d made an impression or a target of herself—or both.
“That was either the bravest or the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen,” a quiet voice said from beside her.
Startled, Andrea turned to see a petite girl walking in stride with her. She wore a white tie as well, her dark almond-shaped eyes full of cautious admiration.
“I’m Sophie Chen,” the girl said, her voice soft but deliberate. “Your roommate, I think.”
Andrea managed a faint smile, still clutching the damp tissue. “Andrea Riley. And honestly, I’m starting to think it might’ve been both.”
Sophie gave a small laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced around, her gaze flitting nervously over their surroundings. Andrea noticed the way Sophie’s hands fidgeted at her sides, an almost imperceptible tremor betraying her unease.
“You need to be careful here,” Sophie said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Victoria Sterling isn’t just another mean girl. And Blackthorn isn’t just another school.”
Andrea frowned, her curiosity piqued despite the chill Sophie’s tone sent down her spine. “What do you mean?”
Sophie hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looked over her shoulder, scanning the hallway as though she expected someone to emerge from the shadows.
“There’s… a game, even some kind of tradition, perhaps,” she said at last. “It’s something all the students here are forced to play. And it’s not a game you can win just by being smart or strong. It’s pretty dangerous.”
Andrea’s pulse quickened. “What kind of game?”
“I can’t explain,” Sophie said quickly, her voice tightening with panic. “Not yet. Just trust me—you’ll see soon enough. And one more thing.” She stopped, meeting Andrea’s gaze. “Keep a spare shirt in your locker. You’re going to need it.”
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