𝑰 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼

𝐎𝐍𝐄 | 𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐈𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐬

The shoes.

The first thing people notice. It's always the shoes. I stand there in the grand entrance hall, my heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor. Louboutins—because nothing else will do when you're making an entrance. When you're about to make a statement. The red soles are as much a part of my identity as the name I was born with.

Vivienne Astor—rich, poised, and untouchable.

My parents sit beside me, their stiff postures radiating wealth and expectation. They're talking to the headmistress, Miss Hawthorne, with the kind of hollow charm only they can muster. The words are polished, rehearsed. How impressed they are with the school's reputation. How they value tradition, excellence, all the right things.

I want to roll my eyes.

I've been here before—sat through countless interviews at elite institutions. It's the same damn thing every time. They think they can sell me with their pedigrees and their hollow promises, but they don't know me. Not really.

Miss Hawthorne smiles at them with that practiced politeness, the kind that comes with decades of running this type of show. "Vivienne, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you. Your parents have shared so much about you."

I give her a smile—one of my best. The kind that's warm but not too warm. Inviting, but distant. It's the perfect mix of charming and untouchable, just like me.

"Thank you, Miss Hawthorne," I say, keeping my voice smooth, controlled. "It's an honor to be considered for such an esteemed institution."

My mother nods approvingly, but I can tell she's more interested in how my father is handling the conversation than in anything I say. My father is deep in a discussion about the school's legacy—about how his money will ensure I get everything I need here, of course.

Always trying to buy favor. Always trying to buy me an easy path.

I keep my eyes on Miss Hawthorne, her every word falling like a careful note in a symphony. She's impressed with my parents. She thinks I'm here to be another perfect little student, another shining jewel in their collection of "the best." They think they've already won her over with their wealth and influence. But they don't know that this is just a game to me.

When the conversation begins to wane, I see an opportunity. "What do you think makes this school so unique?" I ask, my tone light but insistent. I know how to ask the right question to guide the conversation, to lead it where I want it to go.

Miss Hawthorne's smile shifts, deepening as she thinks for a moment. "It's the atmosphere," she says, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering as if to share a secret. "It's about cultivating the very best—leaders, innovators, students who know their own worth."