There she was—a fish out of water, standing in the middle of the classroom. A new country, new faces, the room glittering with expensive perfume and audacity.
Most of them stared as she walked in. She was used to it. They didn't make her uneasy, it was the eyes.
An anomaly. Deep sun-kissed skin. Golden-brown eyes that even her parents couldn't explain.
She walked to the back and dropped into her favorite spot at the end of the row. Perfect view, perfect escape. First time at Paragon University, heart of Cape Town. A dream turned real.
"Trust me, you don't want to sit there."
She looked up. A girl, Asian-African, mid-twenties maybe, eyes sharp. She studied me like she'd just found something rare.
"What's your name?" she asked, brow furrowed.
Ember," I said.
Ember who?"
"Just Ember."
"Interesting…" she said, leaning closer. "I'm Lily Wong. And trust me, I'm trying to help you. That seat? Reserved. Jasmine. Super hot. Super weird. Rumor is… she's probably not human."
Her words made Ember's gut tingle. Weird? Maybe. Dangerous? Definitely. I slid closer to her instead.
The lecturer entered, a mid-40s woman in a grey suit, glasses perched at the tip of her nose. On the board: Leadership 301.
"Most of us aren't in school yet, but we'll begin anyway. Who can define the term leadership for us?"
Two boys strode in. One with long, curly hair, deep Ethiopian features, flanked by two others.
"That's Amal—the Knight, and the rook beside him," whispered Lily. "His father's a general. Oil, money, power. Don't cross him. He does what he wants."
Amal moved to his seat. The teacher didn't even flinch. Paragon had seen worse.
A girl entered the classroom with two others following closely behind her.
The shift in the room was immediate.
She wore a tailored yellow suit threaded with gold, sharp and deliberate, every seam precise. Her blouse sat perfectly against her frame, her heels expensive enough to glitter under the classroom lights. She was beautiful in a way that felt intentional—voluptuous, polished, unmistakably South African. The air filled with her perfume, a warm, luxurious vanilla that announced money before she ever spoke.
Students straightened in their seats. Some looked away. Others lowered their eyes entirely, as though eye contact alone might be taken as a challenge.
"That's Liora," Lily whispered. "The Queen of Paragon. Her father owns half of Cape Town. Some say she's actual royalty."
Ember watched her with quiet interest, untouched by the tension rippling through the room.
"Why all the chess names?" she asked calmly.
Lily turned to her slowly, eyes wide, as if Ember had just flirted with death.
"Don't ever say that out loud again," she murmured. "You never know who's listening. Or who's waiting for an excuse."
Then she exhaled, lowering her voice.
"This school runs on hierarchy. It's not a rumor or a game—it's law. Especially in the Faculty of Strategic Leadership and Innovation. Everyone has a place, even if no one explains it to you."
She paused, then held out her hand. "Your school tag."
Ember retrieved it from her old Chanel bag and passed it over.
"Maroon," Lily said, handing it back. "Subordinate. Same as me."
"What does that mean?" Ember asked.
"You haven't checked in yet," Lily replied, mildly irritated. "Paragon ranks everyone. Subs. Elites. Even the dorms follow it. There are special classifications—the Golden—but mostly, people fall in line on instinct."
She leaned closer. "The rule is simple. Obey… or disappear."
Ember's lips curved slightly.
"Interesting."
The door opened again.
This time, the room didn't just shift—it bent.
A boy walked in, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding before he ever reached the aisle. Dreadlocks framed his face, and his light brown eyes carried a weight that made people look twice—and then look away. His suit was immaculate but worn carelessly, buttons undone, shirt open just enough to suggest he didn't answer to rules. Expensive cologne followed him like a signature. His entourage moved behind him, not beside him.
Every head turned.
"That's Daniel," Lily said, her voice softer now. "The King."
Ember stared, momentarily caught off guard—not by his beauty, but by the way the room reacted to him. Power like that wasn't taught. It was inherited. Or taken.
"You keep asking about the names," Lily added. "No one gets called anything here by accident."
Behind him walked a girl, a half-step back, deliberate in her distance. She moved like a secret—soft, alluring, dangerous. Her presence shimmered, subtle but impossible to ignore.
"That's the newest golden, Jasmine." Lily continued. "Heir to a beauty empire. She arrived last year and everything changed. They call her the Siren."
Her voice dropped. "She's lethal. Even the King doesn't hide his obsession with her. Not even in front of his betrothed."
The King and the Siren took their seats as though the space had always belonged to them.
"And who's the betrothed?" Ember asked.
Lily didn't answer.
Instead, she nodded toward the front.
Liora stood.
The movement alone commanded silence.
Without looking at the lecturer—who had long since given up on control—she crossed the room with measured steps. Her heels struck the floor with quiet authority as she stopped directly in front of Daniel.
She folded her arms, eyes cold, unreadable.
"Outside," she said. "Now."
A ripple of sound moved through the class—low whistles, murmurs, suppressed laughter. Daniel's friends exchanged knowing looks as he rose slowly, a lazy smile tugging at his lips, and followed her out.
Ember watched from the back of the room, expression unreadable.
The corridor swallowed them in silence the moment the door shut behind them.
———————————————————-
Daniel leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin already forming on his lips. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"Hey, wifey," he said lightly, stepping closer.
Liora stiffened and took a step back, fighting the familiar pull of him—the charm, the ease, the way he filled space like it belonged to him.
"It's twelve in the afternoon," she said coldly. "And you reek of Hennessy."
Her eyes glittered, sharp and accusing.
Daniel chuckled. "Every day's a party in my world."
Careless. Effortless. Exactly what infuriated her.
"And you think behaving like a fool in front of the entire school is acceptable?" she shot back.
"It's just Hennessy," he said, holding her gaze.
The words landed harder than he intended.
Because they both knew she wasn't talking about alcohol.
She was talking about Jasmine.
His new fixation. His indulgence. The thing he paraded without shame, even in front of her.
Liora's jaw tightened.
"You want to do whatever this is?" she said quietly. "Do it elsewhere. Not in school. Not in public. Try me one more time and I will call your father."
Something in Daniel's expression shifted.
The lazy smile vanished. His eyes sharpened, the boy replaced by the heir.
"Whoa," he muttered. "Liora."
"I'm serious."
The weight of her words settled between them—heavy, dangerous. He knew what that meant. He knew what his father meant.
"I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said after a moment, his voice lower now. Controlled. "It won't happen again."
She studied him, searching his face for something—remorse, truth, maybe even love.
She found none she could trust.
Without another word, Liora turned and walked back into the classroom, her spine straight, her crown invisible but firmly in place.
Daniel watched her go, jaw tight.
When he returned to his seat, the room buzzed quietly around him. He didn't look at Jasmine. Not once. Not until the lecture ended.
——————————————————-
Like he'd said—every day was a party in Daniel's world.
His dorm room was rarely dark. Lights stayed on through the night unless there were reasons for them not to be. Music pulsed through the walls at all hours, bass thudding like a second heartbeat. Paragon allowed it—for him. They always did.
The difference between ranks was impossible to miss.
Subordinate dorms were large but communal—long halls lined with bunks, five on each side, twenty girls breathing the same air, sharing the same limits. Privacy was a luxury they weren't meant to forget they didn't have.
The Golden, however, lived differently.
Their rooms were vast, indulgent, designed like private sanctuaries. High ceilings. Expensive furniture. Space enough to invite others in—or keep the world out entirely. To be summoned into one was to taste heaven and be reminded you didn't belong there.
Daniel's room was one of those.
That night, though, heaven felt suffocating.
The threat lingered in his chest, sharp and unwelcome—Liora. His father. The consequences he never joked about. Fear wasn't something Daniel acknowledged often, but it sat heavy now, crawling beneath his skin.
One part of him rebelled. Who cared?
He drank more. Let the music climb louder. Let the burn in his throat remind him he was still in control.
The other part of him—the smaller, quieter part—counted possibilities. Measured punishment. Remembered pain.
Eventually, alcohol won.
Sleep took him hard.
And then—
He was a child again.
The office loomed around him, too large, too familiar. His father's voice thundered somewhere above—gruesome, furious, endless. By the window stood the demon, its skin scaled and wrong, its mouth stretching into a grin as it called his name over and over again.
Daniel hid beneath the desk, knees drawn tight to his chest.
He'd been here before. Too many times.
If he counted long enough, he would wake up.
Before eight hundred, he always did.
One.
Two.
Three.
The air shifted.
A door opened where no door had ever existed—cut clean through the wall, glowing faintly. From it stepped a girl.
She looked like a traveler between worlds.
Her hair was white, untouched by shadow. Her eyes glowed a soft golden brown, ancient and gentle all at once. Deep and sun-kissed. She spoke in a language he couldn't understand—tongues that vibrated through the room rather than the air.
The demon screamed.
Not roared. Not growled.
It shrieked—high and terrified—before dissolving into nothing.
Silence followed.
The girl moved closer, her steps soundless, unhurried. She knelt and extended her hand beneath the desk.
"You can come out now," she said softly.
Her voice was calm. Certain.
Daniel hesitated, then placed his hand in hers.
The moment their fingers touched, the fear loosened its grip. She helped him stand, and he stared at her—dazed, breathless, awed by what she had just done.
She smiled at him, her eyes impossibly kind.
"Don't worry," she said. "It won't come back for a while."
She opened her mouth again.
"But before—"
Daniel jolted awake.
His room spun slightly. Empty bottles littered the floor of the massive space. Sweat soaked his skin, his heart hammering violently in his chest.
The music was off. The lights were still on.
He dragged a hand down his face, breath uneven.
"Who," he whispered to the empty room, "was that?"
He felt he had seen her face before.
And somehow, that disturbed him far more.