Morning sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows of Adriana Cole's villa, casting golden rays across her desk. Her uniform hung neatly on the chair, but Adriana wasn't getting dressed yet. She sat on her bed, holding a small silver-framed picture of her mother, Victoria Cole.
Her mother's smile in the photo was soft, almost fragile. Adriana traced the edge of the frame with her thumb, her jaw tight. If only he had cared more. If only he had listened instead of burying himself in business deals and boardrooms.
Her father had ignored her mother's pain until it was too late. And now, whenever Adriana looked at him, all she saw was a man who had chosen empire over love. A man who had failed them both.
She slipped the picture into her drawer, stood, and fixed her uniform. Her mask was ready again—the flawless heiress, sharp and untouchable. No one would see the cracks beneath.
The Academy buzzed that morning with the usual storm of voices. Students spilled into the halls after breakfast, some discussing assignments, others bragging about their weekend trips or the new cars their parents had gifted them. In Crown Heights, even casual talk sounded like negotiations.
At the lockers, Serena and Selena King were already surrounded by admirers, showing off matching diamond bracelets. Bianca Cole leaned against the wall, scrolling through her phone while occasionally smirking at passing students. Damian Royce, as usual, was holding court on the steps outside, a group of boys listening to one of his outrageous stories.
But not everyone moved in golden circles. Across the courtyard, Michael Adeyemi and Grace Okafor studied their timetables, trying to make sense of the Academy's labyrinth of classes and training programs. Tari Johnson was laughing at something ridiculous, drawing a few irritated looks from the wealthier students nearby.
The divide was there—visible in the glances, in the way some doors seemed open for a few and shut tight for others. But school life went on.
In the Leadership and Strategy class, Dr. Wells stood at the front with his calm authority. "Being an heir or an heiress gives you privilege," he said, pacing slowly, "but privilege without discipline is nothing. Every empire built without foundation collapses. That is why Crown Heights will test you in every aspect: academics, leadership, endurance, and—most importantly—character."
Pens scratched notebooks, though some students were only half-listening. Isabella Montgomery had her chin propped on her palm, clearly bored. Leonardo Romano, seated near her, whispered something under his breath that made her roll her eyes so dramatically the entire row snickered.
Adriana, however, sat upright, taking notes with precision. Every word mattered. She wasn't going to be like her father—untouchable but cold. She would build her own legacy, one her mother would have been proud of.
Damian Royce leaned back in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers. He looked lazy, uninterested. But his dark eyes followed every move, as if calculating ten steps ahead of everyone else.
Even the scholarship students weren't left behind. Grace scribbled furiously, determined not to fall short. Michael read the handout twice over, methodical and calm. Tari doodled in the margins but looked up whenever Dr. Wells said something sharp.
For once, everyone—heir, heiress, or scholarship student—was under the same roof, hearing the same truth: here, wealth could open doors, but only ability would keep them standing.
Later that day, the dining hall was alive with clinking silverware and laughter. Adriana sat with Bianca and the Kings, but her thoughts kept drifting back to her mother's picture hidden in the drawer. Across the room, she noticed Damian laughing at something one of his friends said, his voice rich and careless. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward her. A brief exchange, unreadable, before he turned away.
Nearby, Michael and Grace sat at the end of a long table, quietly eating. A group of wealthy students passed by, making snide remarks about "Oak Hall charity cases," but Michael ignored them, his calm silence louder than any insult.
Crown Heights was a school of polished surfaces, but beneath the shine, shadows stirred—grief, ambition, rivalries, secrets.
And as Adriana tightened her grip on her glass, she thought, One day, I'll prove I am more than his daughter. More than his mistake.
The halls buzzed with life, but under it all, something was shifting. Small sparks were beginning to catch, and soon, Crown Heights would burn with legacies in the making.