St. Augustine College.
St. Augustine's College, nestled in the heart of London, wasn't just known for its academic excellence and ancient marble halls—it was infamous for its politics. Not government politics. Social politics. The kind that turned hallways into runways, classrooms into battlegrounds, and reputations into currency.
At the center of it all was Poppy Thorne.
Poppy was everything most students wanted to be—or feared. With icy blue eyes, platinum blonde hair always styled to effortless perfection, and a smirk that could turn admiration into ash, she ruled the campus. She wasn't just famous for her looks. She was infamous for her cruelty.
She had a crew—three girls and two guys who followed her around like designer accessories. They called themselves "The Flame Circle." Everyone else called them "The Wolves." Poppy didn't just bully. She humiliated. If you were poor, quiet, or different, you were a target. And she didn't stop at words. More than one unlucky freshman had found themselves cornered in the girl's bathroom or pushed down a hallway "accidentally on purpose."
James Maddox, on the other hand, wasn't part of that world. Tall, bookish, and tragically kind, he was known more for his poetry blog than his presence at parties. Somehow, despite knowing exactly who she was, he liked Poppy. Genuinely. He saw something in her no one else did—or maybe he just wanted to believe she was more than what she showed.
Poppy didn't give a damn. Not about James, not about his poems, and certainly not about his quiet adoration. To her, he was just another name on the invisible list of people she didn't need.
But James had a brother. Jade Maddox. Sharp-tongued, stone-faced, and utterly uninterested in anything that involved emotions. After a long, messy past filled with betrayals and manipulation, Jade didn't trust girls—at all. Not even slightly. He saw through every fake smile and every flirtatious laugh.
Unfortunately for him, Nancy Jones—bright, bold, and fiercely loyal—liked him. Really liked him. She was relentless, in the nicest possible way. Meanwhile, her twin sister Sabrina had her own crush: on James.
Unlike Nancy, Sabrina kept it secret. James didn't know, and she wasn't ready to tell him. Not yet.
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Courtyard Clash
It was lunch break, and the courtyard buzzed with laughter, phone flashes, and gossip.
Poppy strolled through it like a queen, arm-in-arm with her current boy-toy: Milo Hart. A rugby player. Tall, broad, and unfortunately, dating someone else just last week. That's how Poppy liked it—if she couldn't have you, she'd make sure someone else lost you.
That's when Sabrina snapped.
"Poppy!" she called across the courtyard, voice slicing through the chatter like a blade.
Poppy turned, amused. "Oh look," she said to her crew, "a little Jones sister trying to be loud."
Sabrina marched up to her, fists clenched, dark curls bouncing. "Stay away from James."
That earned a genuine laugh. "James?" Poppy scoffed. "Sweetheart, your little crush doesn't even know you exist. And if I wanted him—" she leaned forward with a cruel grin, "—I'd have him."
"You're disgusting," Sabrina hissed. "You ruin people just because it makes you feel powerful."
Poppy's eyes glinted. "I don't ruin people. They were already ruined. I just remind them."
And then, like a match to gasoline, Sabrina swung first.
Gasps rippled through the courtyard as Poppy staggered back, mascara-perfect eyes wide with shock. But she recovered fast—lunging forward, nails bared. The two girls went down in a flurry of designer denim and flying hair, shrieks echoing off the old stone walls.
It took three teachers and a few brave bystanders to pull them apart.
Poppy's lip was bleeding. Sabrina's cheek was scratched. But neither girl looked sorry.
From the sidelines, James stared in disbelief. Jade watched too, arms crossed, unreadable.
For the first time, the queen of the college had been hit—and the school would be talking about it for weeks.
----
Some minutes later...
The bathroom on the east wing of St. Augustine's was quiet — too quiet. Its antique mirrors and marble sinks gave it the kind of cold, regal feel that matched the rest of the school. But today, it felt like a trap.
Leah Murray was touching up her lip gloss when the door slammed shut behind her.
She turned — and froze.
Poppy Thorne stood there, flanked by her loyal wolves: Ava, Sienna, and Lara. All of them had that same look in their eyes — bored, dangerous, ready.
Poppy's lip was still swollen from the fight. A butterfly bandage clung to it like a scarlet badge. Her expression was blank, which somehow made it worse.
"You," she said coldly, "were laughing during the fight."
Leah blinked. "What?"
Poppy took a step closer. "You laughed. I heard it."
"I—I didn't," Leah stammered. "I mean, maybe I smiled, but—"
Wrong answer.
In an instant, Ava had locked the door. Lara stepped in front of it. Sienna cracked her knuckles.
Leah backed against the sink. "I wasn't laughing at you, I swear—"
"But you thought it was funny," Poppy interrupted, voice low. "You thought seeing me on the ground was amusing."
"No, I didn't—"
Poppy slammed her bag onto the counter. "I don't care what you meant. What matters is you forgot your place."
Leah's voice trembled. "Please, I didn't mean anything."
Poppy leaned in close. "You're nobody. And nobodies don't get to laugh at queens."
Then it began.
They didn't hit her — not exactly. That would've left bruises, and bruises got people in trouble. Poppy was too smart for that. Instead, it was humiliation: lipstick smeared across Leah's face like war paint, her bag dumped and its contents flung into the toilet, her name written in eyeliner on the mirror with a word that couldn't be repeated in polite company.
As Leah sobbed, Poppy whispered, "Tell your friends what happens when you laugh at me. Let them know the queen doesn't fall without burning the ones who clap."
And just like that, they left — perfectly composed, perfectly cruel.