A/N: New book incoming. Please I'd be dropping a new book titled 'The Billionaire's Ploy' very soon. I'll let you know when it's out on this platform so please show your love and support for my new book like you always do.💜
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The Monday morning air at Eastwood Academy was thick with the scent of wet slate and expensive espresso. Usually, the first day back after a Social Leave was a quiet affair, a slow transition from the high-stakes world of our parents back to the rigorous demands of our tutors. But today, the atmosphere was electric. The gossip from the Sinclair Gala had traveled faster than the private cars that ferried us back to campus. People were not just talking about Carl's victory anymore, they were talking about the dance. They were talking about the maroon silk.
I walked through the stone arches of the main quad, my head held high, though every muscle in my body felt like a guitar string stretched to the point of snapping. I could feel the eyes of the underclassmen tracking my movement, their whispers echoing off the ivy-covered walls.
"Did you see the way they looked at each other?"
"I heard her father was furious about the dress."
"Sinclair did not look like he was mocking her. He looked like he was claiming her."
I ignored them all, heading straight for the Senior Council chamber. It was a room of dark oak and velvet, where the top ten students were meant to coordinate the academy's spring calendar. As the runner-up, I was the permanent Secretary of the Council. Carl, as the victor, was the Chair. It was a cruel irony of the Eastwood system that the two people who were supposed to be rivals were forced to sit at the same table for three hours a week.
When I entered, Carl was already there. He was leaning back in the heavy leather chair at the head of the table, a tablet in his hand and a look of bored indifference on his face. He did not look up when I walked in. He did not acknowledge the way my heart skipped a beat at the sight of his sharp profile against the morning light. To the rest of the Council members already seated, he was the Shark in his element.
"You are late, Sterling," he said, his voice a low, rhythmic drawl that carried a hint of a bite. "I assume the second-place ranking has made you lose track of the clock."
"I was busy ensuring the files for the spring showcase were submitted correctly, Sinclair," I snapped back, taking my seat at his right hand. "Some of us still value precision over trophies."
A few of the other council members exchanged looks. The rivalry was performing exactly as it should. But as I opened my laptop, I realized there was an extra chair at the end of the long oak table. A chair that did not belong to the Senior Top Ten.
The heavy oak doors creaked open, and the room went silent.
Luke walked in, carrying a stack of leather-bound folders. He was not wearing the humble, boyish look from the courtyard. He was wearing the same charcoal blazer he had worn to the gala, his expression one of focused, professional humility. He looked like a Junior who had suddenly realized he belonged in a room full of giants.
"I apologize for the interruption, Chair Sinclair,"
Luke said, his voice steady and respectful. "Headmaster Thorne asked me to hand-deliver the Junior Liaison reports. Given my ranking and my... recent conversations with your father at the gala, the administration felt it was time to bridge the gap between the years for the spring fundraiser."
Carl's eyes narrowed, a flash of something cold and dangerous flickering in the blue depths. He looked at the folders, then back at Luke. The "Strategic Truce" was being tested much sooner than we had anticipated.
"A Junior Liaison," Carl repeated, the words tasting like ash. "I do not recall the Council requesting a bridge, Luke. We have managed the hierarchy perfectly fine without a Junior in the room."
"It was actually your father's suggestion, Carl,"
Luke said, his smile widening just enough to show a hint of teeth. "He mentioned that the Sinclair empire was built on recognizing talent early. He thought my perspective on the music department's gala contributions would be... invaluable."
The silence in the room was deafening. Luke was not just here as a student; he was here as a shadow of the Sinclair Patriarch's influence. By invoking Carl's father, he had effectively silenced any protest. Carl could not kick him out without insulting the very man he spent every waking hour trying to appease.
"Sit," Carl said, the word sounding like a death sentence.
Luke took the seat at the end of the table, directly in my line of sight. For the next hour, the meeting was a masterclass in psychological warfare. Luke was perfect. He offered brilliant suggestions for the fundraiser, he deferred to the Seniors with just the right amount of respect, and he never once looked at me with anything other than professional distance.
But I could feel him. Every time I reached for my water, every time I spoke to Carl about the budget, I could feel Luke's gaze. It was a weight on my skin, a cold pressure that made me want to scream.
When the meeting finally adjourned, the other members filed out quickly, sensing the drop in temperature. I lingered, pretending to organize my notes, waiting for the doors to click shut. Carl remained in his chair, his eyes fixed on the empty seat where Luke had been sitting.
"He is inside, Carl," I whispered, the moment the room was empty. "He used your father to get a seat at this table. This is what I was afraid of. He is not hiding in the grass anymore; he is sitting in the counting house."
Carl stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked around the table until he was standing directly behind me, his shadow falling over my notes. He did not touch me, but I could feel the heat radiating from him, the sheer force of his frustration barely contained.
"My father is impressed by him," Carl
muttered, his voice a low, jagged rasp. "He sees a boy who knows how to play the game without the Sinclair baggage. Luke is a mirror, Sadie. He is showing my father exactly what he wants to see, a loyal, brilliant successor who does not have a mind of his own."
"But he does have a mind of his own," I said, turning in my chair to face him. "And it is a mind that wants to see us fall. He was watching us, Carl. Every time you spoke to me, he was measuring the air between us. He knows there is a glitch in the rivalry."
"Then we make the rivalry louder," Carl said, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, desperate intensity. He reached out, his hand finally closing over mine, his grip almost bruising. "If he is going to be in this room, then we give him exactly what he expects to see. I am going to be the most ruthless, arrogant version of myself. And you, Sterling, are going to hate me with everything you have."
"I do not know if I can keep up the act," I admitted, my voice trembling. "Seeing him smile at your father... seeing him sit here like he belongs... it is rotting the architecture, Carl. I can feel the foundations shifting."
"Then we build a new one," he promised, his thumb grazing the back of my hand. "A hidden one. But for now, you need to leave. He is waiting in the hallway. I can feel him."
I stood up, pulling my hand away and smoothing my skirt. I took a deep breath, pulling my mask of cold Sterling pride back into place. I walked to the door, my heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic warning against the oak floor.
When I stepped into the hallway, Luke was leaning against the stone pillar, a tablet in his hand. He looked up as I approached, his face splitting into that warm, boyish smile that did not reach his eyes.
"Great meeting, Sadie," he said, his tone casual and friendly. "I think we are going to do some great things this semester. It is good to finally be on the same team."
I did not stop. I did not smile. I did not give him the satisfaction of a response. But as I walked past him, I heard his voice drop, a low, melodic whisper that only I could hear.
"That maroon dress was a bold choice, Sadie. It is a shame it was meant for a Shark who does not know how to protect his own water."
I froze for a split second, the blood turning to ice in my veins. He did not wait for a reaction. He just pushed off the pillar and walked toward the music wing, humming a tune that sounded like a funeral march.
The glitch was not a mistake. It was a map. And Luke was the only one who knew where it led.