Celeste Marrow lived like the world owed her something.
The queen of Blackthorn Academy. Designer heels, lip-glossed smirk, and a phone full of dirt that could bury half most inhabitors of this school alive.
She did use some of it to take people down, like when Principal James crossed her path [he was gone in a day]. She didn't do it alone, she couldn't. She couldn't let her perfect image become tainted with dirt, but everyone knew she had a hand in his disappearance and so many more people's disappearances.
Someone did it for her, they always did, and it was the same person, not an outsider but a student, her helper. Celeste didn't believe in friends—she believed in leverage.
And I was shocked I wasn't gone by now because I certainly wasn't her friend. And I knew Celeste hated me with her guts, and she knew I knew.
The night of Homecoming, she thought she was untouchable.
Her red silk dress hugged every curve as she slipped out of the gym, sequins catching the dull glow of the hallway lights. Music thumped behind her, bass rattling the doors, while she scrolled through her phone with a glassy smile. Another set of screenshots. Another secret. Another weapon.
She didn't even hear the footsteps.
The shove slammed her into the wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of her lungs. Her phone hit the concrete with a crack.
"The fuck?" she snapped, eyes darting into the dark. "Do you know who I am?"
The answer came in silence. A hand clamped around her wrist, nails digging into her skin. The crown slipped from her head, rolling across the floor with a hollow *clink*.
"Wait—" her voice broke. Not a scream. A plea.
The music swallowed it whole.
When her body stilled, blood soaked into the silk, staining it darker than pink. And her crown lay in the shadows, forgotten.
The queen was dead.
---
### One Day Later
Blackthorn Academy didn't mourn. It gossiped.
Celeste's face was on every phone screen, every hallway whisper. Murder. Overdose. Suicide. The theories stacked higher than the cafeteria trays. But one thing was clear—nobody felt safe, not anymore.
And somehow, all those whispers circled back to me.
I slammed my locker shut, teeth clenched.
*She hated Celeste.*
*Maybe she finally snapped.*
*I heard the cops questioned her.*
Jesus fucking Christ. I'd barely talked to Celeste. She probably didn't even know my last name. But facts didn't matter at Blackthorn. Rumors were law.
"You look guilty, Vale."
My stomach dropped. That voice was poison.
Lucian Draven.
I turned, and there he was—leaning against the locker like he owned the whole goddamn hallway. His tie was loose, his shirt collar open, his smirk a blade he wielded too well.
Lucian was beautiful in the worst way—dangerous, magnetic, and the kind of boy mothers warned their daughters about. And he knew it.
"Fuck off," I snapped, shoving past him.
But he didn't move. He pushed off the locker and stepped in front of me, blocking my path with his broad shoulders and smug expression.
"Funny thing," he drawled, lowering his voice. "Celeste spent the night she died texting someone. Guess whose name showed up on her phone records?"
I froze. "You're lying."
"Am I?" His smirk widened. "You're either a terrible liar, Vale, or you've got a death wish. Which one is it?"
My hands curled into fists. "I'm not scared of you."
"Cute," he said, leaning closer until his breath brushed my cheek. "But you should be."
For a second, the hallway went silent, just the two of us locked in a standoff. My pulse thundered in my throat, and I hated the way he made me feel—cornered, furious, alive.
"You think you're a king," I spat. "But really, you're just a spoiled asshole with a God complex."
His eyes glittered, dark and sharp. "And you're a nobody who just became very…interesting."
The bell rang, shrill and jarring. He stepped back, casual, like he hadn't just threatened me.
"See you around, Vale," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Don't get yourself killed."
I stood frozen, fists trembling, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
I hated him. God, I hated him.
And yet, the worst part? A tiny, fucked-up part of me wasn't sure if I wanted him gone… or closer.