I didn't belong here.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind as the gates of Royal Crest High opened slowly in front of me, as if they were deciding whether I was worthy enough to pass through. The driver cleared his throat softly, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
"We're here, Miss Braxton."
Miss Braxton.
The name sounded too formal, too polished—too different from the life I was used to. Back home, I was just Allison. Just a girl who studied too hard, dreamed too big, and never expected any of those dreams to actually come true.
"Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
I stepped out of the car, my shoes touching the smooth pavement like I was stepping into another world. Maybe I was.
Royal Crest High wasn't just a school. It was a statement.
Tall stone buildings stretched toward the sky, their windows gleaming under the morning sun. Students walked in clusters, laughing, talking, dressed in perfectly tailored uniforms that somehow looked more like fashion statements than school attire. Everything was flawless—too flawless.
And then there was me.
I adjusted my blazer, suddenly aware of every small detail—how stiff it felt, how new it looked, how it didn't quite fit into the effortless perfection around me. My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
Scholarship student.
The words echoed in my head like a warning.
"Okay, Allison," I whispered to myself. "You earned this."
But earning something didn't always mean you belonged.
I started walking toward the entrance, trying to keep my posture straight, my expression calm. Confidence. That's what I needed. Even if it had to be fake.
As I climbed the steps, I could feel eyes on me.
Not all of them—but enough.
A group of girls paused mid-conversation, their gazes flicking over me in a way that made my skin prickle. One of them leaned in to whisper something to another, and they both smiled—tight, polite, and not at all kind.
I looked away quickly, focusing on the large doors ahead.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
Inside, the school was even more intimidating. Marble floors, high ceilings, portraits lining the walls—generations of students who probably had last names that meant something.
Braxton didn't mean anything here.
I moved carefully through the hallway, clutching the map I'd been given. Room numbers, wings, staircases—it all blurred together. I hated feeling lost. I hated looking like I didn't know what I was doing.
"First day?"
The voice startled me.
I turned to see a girl about my age leaning against a locker, watching me with a curious smile. Her hair was styled perfectly, her uniform slightly altered in a way that made it look effortlessly cool.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked, trying to smile back.
"A little," she said, pushing off the locker. "You've got the map grip."
"The map grip?"
She mimed clutching something tightly to her chest, eyes wide. "Classic."
I let out a small laugh despite myself. "Guess I need to work on that."
"Or just get a guide," she said, extending her hand. "Lila Monroe."
"Allison Braxton."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly—not in judgment, but in interest.
"Braxton," she repeated. "You're the scholarship girl, aren't you?"
There it was.
I hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Yeah."
Lila tilted her head, studying me for a moment that felt longer than it should have. Then she smiled—genuine this time.
"Good. Royal Crest needs someone to shake things up."
That wasn't the reaction I expected.
"Is that… a good thing?" I asked.
"Oh, absolutely," she said. "This place runs on tradition and ego. It gets boring."
I relaxed a little, the tightness in my chest easing just enough to breathe properly again.
"Come on," Lila continued. "What's your first class?"
I showed her my schedule, and she nodded. "Perfect. I'm headed that way anyway."
As we walked down the hallway together, I started to feel less like I was drowning.
"Quick warning," Lila said casually. "This school has its own… hierarchy."
"I figured," I muttered.
"At the top," she continued, "is Felix Garfield."
The name carried weight, even the way she said it.
"Who is he?" I asked.
Lila shot me a look. "You'll see."
That didn't help.
We turned a corner—and suddenly, the hallway shifted.
It wasn't something you could see at first. It was something you felt.
Conversations softened. People moved slightly aside. Attention focused in one direction.
I followed Lila's gaze.
And then I saw him.
Felix Garfield stood in the center of a group, like he naturally belonged there. Like the space had been designed around him. He was tall, effortlessly put together, his uniform somehow looking better than everyone else's without trying.
But it wasn't just how he looked.
It was how he carried himself.
Confident. Calm. Untouchable.
He said something, and the people around him laughed immediately—not forced, not exaggerated. Just… automatic.
Like his words mattered more.
"Wow," I breathed before I could stop myself.
Lila smirked. "Told you."
I tried to look away, but something about him made it difficult. Like watching a scene you weren't supposed to be part of, but couldn't ignore.
And then—
He looked up.
Our eyes met.
For a second—just one second—the noise of the hallway faded. Everything else disappeared.
His gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to figure me out in that single glance.
My heart skipped.
Then he smiled.
Not a big smile. Not exaggerated.
Just enough to make my stomach flip.
I quickly looked away, heat rushing to my face.
"Careful," Lila said under her breath. "That's how it starts."
"How what starts?" I asked, my voice slightly unsteady.
"Getting noticed."
I swallowed, glancing back once more.
Felix was still looking.
And somehow, I had the strange, unsettling feeling that walking through those gates wasn't the moment everything changed.
Meeting him was.
And I wasn't sure if that was a good thing—or the beginning of something I wouldn't be able to control.