The school looked more like a castle than a campus, all grey stone walls and arched windows that loomed down at her like cold, judging eyes. The air smelled like pine and frost, and the silence was loud, broken only by the steady crunch of her boots on the gravel path.
Elizabeth stood in front of the main building, suitcase at her side, arms folded tightly across her chest.
So this was it.
Her new prison.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She pulled it out.
Brittany [8:43 AM]:
Text me the second you get there. I want all the deets. If you meet someone cute, or punch some rich, snobby kid, I support you either way.
Elizabeth let out the smallest smirk.
She didn't even have time to type a reply before a voice, way too peppy for the weather or her mood, rang out behind her.
"Hey!! You must be Elizabeth Whitmore!"
She turned to see a blonde girl in a pristine uniform and a smile so wide it looked like it physically hurt to maintain.
"I'm Kimberly Smalls, your official student tour guide and resident welcome ambassador!" the girl announced with the enthusiasm of someone auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. "I'll be showing you to your dormitory."
Elizabeth arched a brow. "Lucky me."
If Kimberly picked up on the sarcasm, she didn't show it. She simply turned on her heel with a chipper, "Follow me!" and began walking toward one of the side buildings.
Dragging her suitcase behind her, Elizabeth exhaled through her nose and followed.
The walk to the dorms felt endless, not because of the distance, but because Kimberly wouldn't stop talking.
"…and that's the east library, but no one really studies there, it's more of an Instagram vibe. Oh, and that's where the fencing team practices, you should totally try out if you're, like, sporty but elegant. Our team is amazing."
Elizabeth gave a noncommittal hum, eyes scanning the grounds. Everything was pristine. Manicured hedges. Perfect stonework. It was like the set of some elite prep school drama, only this wasn't fiction, and she wasn't here by choice.
Finally, they reached a tall, ivy-covered dormitory building.
Kimberly led her through double oak doors and down a quiet hallway. "You're in North Hall, junior and senior girls only. It's quieter, a little more… refined." She gave Elizabeth a once-over, as if trying to decide whether she belonged there or not. "Your roommate's already here."
Great.
Kimberly stopped in front of a polished door and knocked twice before pushing it open.
The room was surprisingly spacious, two beds, two desks, built-in wardrobes, a large arched window letting in pale morning light. One side was already unpacked and impeccably arranged, complete with throw pillows, color-coordinated notebooks, and a lit scented diffuser.
Sitting on the edge of that bed was a girl with rich brown skin, thick curls in a perfect high puff, and gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She looked up from her book, eyes narrowing slightly before shifting into polite curiosity.
"Elizabeth, this is your roommate, Amara Bennett," Kimberly chirped. "She's head of the debate team and our top English lit student. You're in very accomplished company!"
Amara gave a slow blink and offered a small nod. "Hey."
"Hey," Elizabeth replied, dragging her suitcase to the other bed, the one still untouched.
Kimberly clapped her hands together once. "Well! I'll leave you girls to get settled. Orientation starts at noon in the auditorium. Don't be late!" She disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived, her heels clicking away like a ticking clock.
Elizabeth let out a slow breath, dropping onto the mattress.
Amara turned a page in her book without looking up. "Just a heads-up," she said casually, "the bathrooms are shared. But if you ever use my stuff without asking, I will know."
Elizabeth smirked faintly. "Duly noted."
Another pause. Then Amara looked up, eyes sharper this time. "Is that a British accent I hear?"
Elizabeth arched a brow. "What gave it away? The accent, or the resting bitch face?"
Amara let out a soft snort, clearly amused. "Both. But mostly the accent. You sound like someone who judges people for putting milk in their tea first."
Elizabeth shrugged. "Only when they deserve it."
"Right." Amara set her book aside and stretched out on her bed, one arm tucked behind her head. "Well, welcome to Bridgerton. Land of old money, emotionally unavailable parents, and legacy admissions."
"Sounds delightful," Elizabeth said dryly.
"Oh, it is. You'll either love it or burn it to the ground."
Elizabeth let her gaze drift to the arched window. The trees outside swayed gently in the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed.
She unpacked slowly, lining up her books, tucking away her clothes, pinning a photo of her and Brittany onto the corkboard above her desk. Something to make the sterile room feel a little more like home.
By the time she was done, sunlight was pouring in through the arched window in soft golden streams. A bell chimed somewhere in the distance.
Noon.
"C'mon," Amara said, slipping on a navy blazer with the Bridgerton Academy crest embroidered on the breast pocket. "Time for Orientation."
They stepped out of the dormitory into the main hallways, echoey and wide with marble floors that clicked under their shoes. Elizabeth could feel it, the eyes, the whispers. Curious, calculating. All the reasons she hated being the new girl.
Thanks, Dad.
"Don't worry," Amara said, barely glancing at the gawking students as she led the way. "They're just trying to figure out if you're worth the gossip or if you're going to flake out and cry by week two."
"Oh, how comforting," Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
The auditorium was packed.
Students in polished uniforms filed in, laughter and chatter bouncing off high arched ceilings and polished floors. Everything smelled like old money and fresh wax. Elizabeth sat near the back, arms crossed, legs stretched out. She was already regretting the stiff pleated skirt and knee-high socks.
Next to her, Amara leaned over. "That guy in the third row? Legacy. His dad owns half of New York. That girl by the aisle? Her mom's an actress. Has a skincare line too."
Elizabeth gave her a bored glance. "Is there a handbook or do you just stalk everyone?"
Amara smirked. "Oh no, sweetheart. I study them."
Before Elizabeth could reply, the low hum of conversation was sliced clean by the sound of a microphone coming to life.
A tall man stepped onto the stage.
He didn't speak right away. Just stood there, surveying the room like he owned it. The room fell quiet, students straightening in their seats without even realizing it.
He wore black slacks and a dark button-down rolled at the sleeves, veins visible beneath his forearms as he gripped the podium.
His presence was… electric.
And then he spoke.
"Welcome to Bridgerton Academy," he said, voice deep, controlled, with just a hint of something sharp underneath. "Some of you are here because you earned it. Others because of your last name. Either way, none of that matters now."
Elizabeth tilted her head.
There was something about him. The way he didn't smile. The way his words didn't pander. And the way his eyes, cool, grey, and razor sharp, scanned the room like he could see through skin and bone.
And then… they landed on her.
For a moment too long.
His gaze lingered, unreadable, before sliding away just as smoothly.
Elizabeth's pulse jumped.
"I'm Professor Stone," he continued, "Head of Philosophy and Ethics. And for some of you—" his gaze flicked around the room again, "—I'll be the one determining if you're ready to graduate, or ready to go home."
Amara whispered, "That's Professor Aiden Stone. Legend. Brilliant. Brutal. Never seen with anyone. And rumor has it, completely immune to female charm."
Elizabeth didn't say anything. She just kept her eyes on the man on stage.
Maybe Boarding school wasn't so bad after all.