Isabella had barely escaped the chaos of the grand parking lot, her heart hammering so fast she could feel it in her throat. She pushed her battered bicycle faster than she ever had, her legs trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline, as she tried to put as much distance as possible between herself and the sleek red-and-black sports car she'd just mangled.
Every pedal stroke felt like a race against fate. The scratch along the car's wing burned in her mind worse than any physical pain, and the image of her hand smashing the side mirror replayed on loop, sending waves of panic through her chest. Why did this have to happen? Why me? she thought, biting back a whimper.
The wide school grounds blurred around her as she zigzagged past the manicured lawns, fountains, and the imposing architecture of Royalty Academy. The school loomed like a fortress ahead, all polished stone, vast glass windows, and iron gates with ornate carvings of lions and crowns. Towering spires reached skyward, catching the morning light, while perfectly aligned hedges and manicured flowerbeds whispered of money, influence, and untouchable privilege.
This was not a school; it was a kingdom, and Isabella was painfully aware she had just trampled in the kingdom's throne room—barefoot, metaphorically.
By the time she reached the classrooms, she was shaking, lungs burning, and hair plastered to her sweat-dampened forehead. Slowly, she lifted her head and dared to glance around. Camila Kingston's eyes were already locked on hers, sharp and glittering with that familiar venom. Surrounding her were her loyal minions, all smirking in anticipation, as if the universe had conspired for this moment.
Isabella froze. She reflected, almost desperately, trying to trace any reason she might have given Camila cause for such hatred. What did I ever do to her? she thought, jaw tight. The intensity of Camila's stare made her feel like an exposed nerve, raw and trembling. Her chest tightened. She knew she had to tread carefully—one wrong move and she would be the target again, caught in the same vicious cycle she had tried to escape..
Regret washed over her. She wished she had arrived later, entered the classroom unnoticed, perhaps remaining invisible. But no—she had come too early, drawn attention like a moth to a flame, and now Camila had a reason to be irritable, even more than usual. Isabella pressed her hands into her desk, willing herself to shrink into the shadows, to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Camila Kingston—the fourth richest student, the second wealthiest girl, assistant cheerleading captain, and the self-proclaimed queen bee—was the kind of person who could make an entire classroom bend to her whims. To the world, she was sweet, kind, and flawless—a perfect veneer that had every student in awe. But Isabella knew better. Beneath that flawless façade was a serpent, cunning and cruel. And for reasons Isabella could not fathom, she had chosen her to be the target of her wrath.
Isabella exhaled slowly and pulled a book from her backpack, hoping to vanish into its pages. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, pretending to read, her eyes flicking occasionally toward Camila and her clique, who remained poised like predators.
Then, a sudden murmur rippled through the classroom. Whispers, gasps, and giggles rose in intensity until they were impossible to ignore. Isabella's gaze lifted from her book, scanning the room. Her eyes fell on him.
The boy who had every girl in the country sighing, blushing, and chasing shadows of his attention was standing at the doorway. She didn't know his name—didn't care to—but his presence sucked the air from the room. A six-foot frame, dark curly hair glinting in the light, silver-blue eyes that seemed almost alive, and a lean, sculpted physique. Most strikingly, those cherry-red lips that could have launched a thousand hearts into orbit.
Isabella froze, mesmerized, even though she wasn't one to fall for appearances. There was something magnetic about him, a quiet power that seemed to demand attention without trying. She felt herself caught under his gaze before she even realized he was walking toward a desk near her.
Then, impossibly, he sat behind her. Of all the seats in the classroom—empty ones near Camila, near the front, anywhere—he chose the one directly behind her. Isabella's stomach knotted, and she bowed her head slightly, wondering why fate—or whatever cruel joke the universe played—had put her directly in his path.
Her fingers flexed on the edge of her desk. She was acutely aware of his presence, every subtle movement, the faint scent that wafted from him, the soft brush of air whenever he shifted. She felt exposed, yet for reasons she didn't understand, not entirely uncomfortable.
Just as she was debating whether to make a run for it again, the classroom door opened and Mr. Bennett, the Geography teacher, stepped in. With a brisk authority, he instructed everyone to sit. Isabella sank back into her chair, the chance to reposition gone, her eyes still involuntarily flicking to the boy behind her.
The day had just begun. And already, Isabella knew Royalty Academy wasn't going to let her breathe easy.