Prologue – The Mask of Brighton Wisdom
The fountain outside Brighton Wisdom Business School glittered in the morning sun, its marble lions spitting water like they owned the world. Behind the grand gates stood a fortress of privilege—where luxury cars gleamed and laughter echoed from students who had never known hunger, humiliation, or fear.
But beneath the polished marble and golden chandeliers, this school wasn't built on wisdom.
It was built on money, corruption, and masks.
For some, it was a place to inherit power.
For Andria, it would become the place where her heart broke—and where her vengeance was born.
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In the Principal's Office
The nib of a golden pen scratched across the last page of a scholarship form. Principal John leaned back in his leather chair, his jaw tightening with each signature.His hand moved quickly, but his lips twisted in irritation.
"Scholarships," he muttered, flipping another page. "If it weren't for these useless government rules, I'd throw this pile in the trash. Seats wasted on beggars, when children of billionaires are lining up. Those students bring us power. Money. Influence. Not these…" He exhaled, annoyed, but forced his signature anyway.
He sighed heavily, tapping the pen against the desk. "Still… I have to maintain my image. In public, reputation is everything."
The door opened. His assistant stepped inside. "Sir, Royal Group's chairman has fixed the appointment to meet you."
John straightened at once, panic flashing across his face. "What? Did he come early?"
"No, sir. He is right on time," the assistant replied carefully.
John glanced at his smart watch and muttered, "I can't let him wait. He's our biggest sponsor." He waved his hand at the pile of forms. "Shall I sign the rest tomorrow?"
The assistant shook his head quickly. "No, sir. Today is the deadline. We're already late to allot seats for the scholarship students."
John's lips curled in disdain. "Hmph. Who cares about them? But fine—" He scribbled his final signature. "Send this form to the students."
The assistant gathered the papers, while John adjusted his suit and rushed out. Sponsors first, he thought. Always.
---
At Andria's Home
"Hold still, sweetheart," Roselette murmured, carefully tying the necktie around Andria's crisp uniform collar. Her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes shone with pride.
"Finally, you've gotten into your dream school," Roselette said warmly. "It's the result of your hard work."
Andria smiled, tilting her head to look at her mother. "Thank you, Mom."
Before leaving, she grabbed her bag. "But Mom, don't wait for me after school. I'll come home myself."
Roselette chuckled.
Andria Whishered "Mm. You say yes, but I know you. Just like at my old school, you will probably end up waiting."
Roselette raised her eye brows...
Andria groaned, pouting. "Mom, I'm not a kid anymore. I'm eighteen now."
Roselette touched her cheek softly. "You'll always be a child to me."
Andria rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm going. Bye!"
"Wait—did you take your bus pass?" Roselette called after her.
Andria waved her hand, nodding, before stepping out the door. Roselette stood there for a long moment, watching her daughter's back with a quiet smile.
---
Brighton Wisdom Business School
Andria stopped at the towering gates, her breath catching. The school looked less like a campus and more like a fortress of wealth. The grand entrance hall soared above her, chandeliers glittering like crystal stars.
Her eyes widened. "This… this is five times bigger than my old school," she whispered.
Luxury cars lined the drive. Some students stepped out with chauffeurs opening the doors, while others, no older than her, drove sleek, expensive vehicles themselves. Their laughter carried easily in the air, light and careless.
Inside, the campus left her stunned—the vast library with shelves stretching to the ceiling, the shimmering swimming pool, the polished dance studio, the grand auditorium, the massive gymnasium, the endless playground.
"Is this really a school?" she whispered. "Or… something else?"
Finally, she reached her classroom.
---
The Classroom
As she stepped in, dozens of heads turned. Eyes scanned her from head to toe. She walked quietly to a seat, sitting down with careful composure.
Almost at once, a group of girls gathered around her.
A straight-haired girl smiled brightly. "Hello. Are you the new student? My name is Erica. What's yours?"
Andria smiled back. "I'm Andria. Nice to meet you."
Another girl with dyed highlights leaned closer. "I'm Anitta. Hey—our names both start with 'An'! Isn't that fun?" She giggled. "Oh, and your hair tie—it's cute. Where'd you buy it?"
Andria shrugged lightly. "My mother bought it. I don't know where."
One of the girls raised an eyebrow. "Oh. So… it's not branded?"
Andria blinked. "Um… I don't think so."
The girls exchanged smirks. "So, cheap then."
Andria's chest tightened. She stayed quiet.
Anitta gave a half-hearted smile. "Sorry, Andria. Just joking."
But another girl stepped forward—Miya, her nails painted silver. She lifted her leg, showing off pristine white sneakers. "Look at these. How do they look?"
Erica ignored first, then said it's suits you Miya.Erica facial expression like disgusting.
Other girls also laughed.
Andria hesitated, sensing the trap. "…Not bad."
The room froze. Miya's eyes narrowed. "Not bad? Do you know what these are? My dad bought this model before they even came out in stores!"
Andria stammered, "I didn't mean—"
But Erica cut her off, her voice sharp. "Not bad means bad. Right, Andria?"
Andria froze. Her heart sank. Erica had turned against her.
Whispers began to hiss around the room:
"She's the scholarship student."
"She's poor."
"She doesn't even have a father."
"Maybe he didn't die. Maybe he just ran away."
Laughter erupted, cruel and merciless.
Andria clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She felt her cheeks burn, her eyes sting.
"Enough!" she shouted, her voice ringing out.
For a moment, silence fell. But then the laughter started again, louder than before.
She couldn't take it. She stood, grabbed her bag, and stormed out. Behind her, the girls snickered, while in the corner, a boy leaned lazily on his desk, pretending to sleep. His lips curved in a strange, secret smile.
---
The Washroom
Andria stood at the sink, splashing water on her face. Her chest rose and fell, her reflection blurred by tears she refused to let fall.
Don't cry. Don't cry here. Don't let them see.
Suddenly, a hand tugged her coat.
Her instincts flared. She seized the wrist tightly. "Who are you? What are you doing?"
All she saw was a flash of long ponytail hair. The girl yanked free and darted out of the washroom without a word.
Andria's pulse thundered as she checked her pocket.
There—a folded note.
Her fingers shook as she opened it.
This is not the place for us. Don't trust anyone here.
Her eyes widened.
She wasn't alone.
But was that a promise—or a threat?
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