Chapter 10
Andrea’s scream tore through the quiet halls of Blackthorn Academy, sharp and raw as it echoed into the night. Her knees hit the cold floor of the dorm room as she skidded to Sophie’s side. Sophie’s body lay convulsing, her breaths shallow and strained, her lips tinged a sickly blue. Andrea’s trembling hands hovered over her friend, panic gripping her like a vice.
“Sophie, no, no, no,” Andrea whispered, her voice cracking as she pressed her fingers to Sophie’s pulse, desperate for reassurance. A half-finished note lay discarded nearby, its cryptic warning now overshadowed by the unfolding nightmare.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway, loud and urgent. Victoria burst into the room first, her ever-present smirk wiped clean, replaced by an expression of genuine shock. Moments later, Damien appeared, his usual calm giving way to a grim determination.
“Move,” Damien ordered, his voice clipped as he crouched beside Sophie. He checked her pulse with practiced efficiency. “Someone call the infirmary. Now!”
Victoria stumbled back, fumbling for her phone, but Damien barely spared her a glance. Within minutes, a medical team—private, professional, summoned by forces Andrea couldn’t comprehend—swept into the room.
Sophie was lifted onto a stretcher, her fragile frame disappearing behind a wall of white coats. Andrea tried to follow, her heart hammering, but a hand caught her arm.
“Stay here,” Nathaniel’s voice cut through the chaos. His usual icy control cracked, revealing a flicker of something close to fear. His grip was firm, unyielding. “Whoever did this is watching. Don’t let them see your weakness.”
Andrea’s chest heaved as she struggled to hold herself together, but the cold weight of Sophie’s body lingered on her palms. The room spun, the air too thick, too heavy. Tears pricked her eyes, hot and relentless, threatening to spill over.
Damien stepped forward, his gaze softer now, though his jaw remained tight with tension. Without a word, he knelt beside her, his hands gentle but insistent as he guided her to the nearest bed. When she tried to protest, he silenced her with a look that was both commanding and protective.
“Sit,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender.
Andrea let him pull her down, and before she could register what was happening, she found herself on his lap. His arms wrapped around her, strong and steady, holding her as though he could shield her from the world itself. She stiffened at first, unaccustomed to such closeness from Damien, the cold and calculated person. But as his grip tightened, she felt his tension, his anger—his regret.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” Damien murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “Not to someone under your protection. Not to someone under ours.”
Andrea blinked back tears, her heart still racing, but the chaos of the moment ebbed slightly in his embrace. She hadn’t expected this from Damien, but she didn’t resist. In his arms, amid the storm that threatened to consume her, she found a moment of solace, a fleeting sense of safety she hadn’t felt in weeks.
Initial toxicology reports confirmed everyone’s worst fears: Sophie’s evening tea had been laced with a sophisticated cocktail of drugs. Not the kind of thing students typically had access to.
“The combination was specifically chosen,” Damien explained later, poring over medical charts he shouldn’t have had access to. “Designed to incapacitate without killing – probably intended as a message.” His hands shook slightly as he spread out a timeline of every student’s whereabouts during the attack.
Andrea’s first suspect was obvious. She cornered Victoria between classes, backing the gossip queen against a wall. “Was this your idea of putting me in my place?”
But Victoria’s scoff held genuine indignation. “You think I’d be stupid enough to attack the Jack? Even I know that’s crossing a line in The Royal Draw.” Fear flickered across her face.
The Sinclair brothers took the attempt to harm the “queen” or her reputation very personally.
No one dares to encroach on what belongs to them.
Almost immediately after the accident, Damien starts analyzing security footage and student alibis with obsessive detail. The precise, logical mind that had first attracted Andrea now seemed almost manic in its pursuit of answers.
On other hand—Nathaniel practically moved into the common room near Andrea’s dorm, holding court from there as he managed some unseen network of informants.
Andrea found herself drawn to the room more often than she intended, her curiosity and unease warring within her. She stepped in one evening, her footsteps hesitant, only to find Nathaniel scanning a series of messages with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.
“You’re working hard,” she murmured, her voice breaking the silence.
His gaze lifted to hers, piercing and unreadable. “For you,” he replied, the simplicity of his words carrying a weight that made her pulse quicken. “Whoever did this needs to understand one thing: harming what’s mine has consequences.”
Andrea’s breath caught, the deliberate possessiveness in his tone stirring something unfamiliar within her. She couldn’t decide if it was comforting or terrifying—perhaps both. As his eyes lingered on hers, she felt the unspoken promise in his words, a mix of protection and power that made it impossible to look away.
Aiden’s transformation was undeniable, his usual rebellious energy distilled into something sharper, more deliberate. He had become her shadow, trailing her between classes with a vigilance that was impossible to ignore. Gone were the casual slouches and half-hearted smirks; his movements were now precise, each step calculated, his combat training evident in the way he scanned their surroundings with an intensity that set her nerves on edge.
Andrea couldn’t decide whether to feel comforted or suffocated. She caught his gaze one afternoon, the weight of it like a tether pulling her closer. “You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
His jaw tightened, a flicker of something—fear, frustration, or both—crossing his face. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “They’re not going to stop. And I’m not letting them touch you.”
The air between them felt charged, and for a moment, Andrea saw something raw in his eyes, a vulnerability hidden beneath layers of anger and defiance. It left her breathless, her heart pounding with a mix of unease and something far more dangerous—an undeniable pull toward the boy who had become her fiercest protector.
Liam’s charming facade had completely crumbled, leaving behind an intensity that was as disarming as it was electrifying. Each night, he stationed himself outside Andrea’s door, his usual light-hearted banter replaced by a quiet, unshakable resolve.
Gone was the teasing glint in his golden eyes, replaced by a flickering storm of emotions that seemed to grow darker with each passing day. Under the cold fluorescent lights of the hallway, his golden hair seemed muted, his figure a shadow of the playful boy she’d known.
“No one else gets hurt,” he said firmly when Andrea tried to protest his nightly watch. His voice, usually soft with mischief, carried a rough edge that sent shivers down her spine. The finality in his words silenced her, though her heart ached at the burden he had placed on himself.
One restless night, Andrea couldn’t take it anymore. She opened the door to find him sitting against the wall, his knees drawn up and his head tilted back. The sight of him, so still yet so vigilant, tugged at something deep inside her.
“Liam,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her chest tighten. The hallway seemed smaller under the weight of his gaze, as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
“You can’t do this,” she whispered, stepping closer. “You can’t stay here every night.”
His lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And leave you unprotected? Not a chance.” He pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion, suddenly towering over her. The closeness was dizzying, and Andrea’s breath hitched as his presence seemed to envelop her.
“Liam…” she began, but he stepped closer, his hand brushing against her arm. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a spark racing through her veins.
“You don’t get it, Andrea,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “If something happened to you… I couldn’t live with myself. I wouldn’t.”
The raw vulnerability in his tone was a knife to her heart. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. His hand moved from her arm to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin with an aching gentleness.
Andrea’s heart thundered in her chest as the distance between them disappeared.
“Liam…” she whispered again, her voice barely audible.
“Let me protect you,” he said, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes searched hers, and for the first time, Andrea saw the depth of his fear—and his devotion. “Even if it kills me.”
Andrea’s breath caught, her hands trembling as they found his shoulders. She didn’t know who moved first, but the space between them vanished entirely. His lips brushed hers, tentative at first, then firm with a heat that left her dizzy. In that moment, the chaos of Blackthorn melted away, leaving only Liam’s steady presence and the promise that he’d stand between her and the darkness—no matter the cost.
The more Andrea investigated day by day, the more disturbing patterns emerged. Other high-ranking players had received warnings too – each marked with playing cards bearing cryptic messages. Ten of Diamonds found dead birds in her bed. Jack of Spades had his family’s financial secrets mysteriously leaked. But Sophie’s attack marked a deliberate escalation.
When Sophie finally woke, Andrea’s relief was short-lived. Something was wrong. Sophie’s eyes darted nervously around the room, never settling on Andrea for more than a second. The usual warmth in her gaze had been replaced with a hollow, mechanical coldness.
“I’m fine,” Sophie said, her voice wooden and distant. She repeated the phrase like a mantra, as if convincing herself more than Andrea. “Just need rest.”
But her hands told another story. They trembled uncontrollably as she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Andrea reached out, her voice soft but insistent.
“Sophie, talk to me. What happened?”
Sophie flinched at the question, shaking her head with an abruptness that felt like a door slamming shut.
“I can’t,” she murmured, her tone barely above a whisper. Andrea’s stomach twisted, the helplessness gnawing at her resolve.
Later that day, Victoria cornered Andrea in the bathroom, her usual entourage conspicuously absent. Without their presence to bolster her, the gossip queen seemed smaller, almost vulnerable. Her hands trembled as she pulled a playing card from her blazer. The edges were worn, but it was unmistakably the Queen of Spades.
“They’re blackmailing me,” Victoria whispered, her voice cracking. She held out a note scrawled in jagged handwriting.
Keep spreading rumors about the Queen, or your real secret goes public.
Andrea’s heart pounded as she read the words. Victoria’s hands shook as she continued, her bravado completely stripped away. “I never wanted…” She hesitated, her lips trembling.
“I mean, I’m a bitch, yes, but I’m not…”
Andrea’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of a puzzle she didn’t yet understand. Someone was orchestrating this—manipulating them like pawns on a chessboard.
But for what purpose?
The answer came that evening. When Andrea returned to her room, she stopped cold at the sight of her bed. A complete deck of cards lay arranged in a perfect circle atop the quilt.
At the center, her original Queen of Hearts card had been torn neatly in half, the jagged edges a cruel contrast to the precise arrangement.
Beside the cards lay a single note, written in elegant calligraphy that made the words even more chilling:
Long live the Queen… while she still can. The next Royal Draw will be your last.
