Heir Born

1 | Summer

Normally, I'd be over the moon to be getting back to school. But not today.

Not Chaucer House.

Nestled atop a hill overlooking the city, you can see it. The old, massive Victorian building stands as a beacon of privilege and prestige, its ivy-covered walls steeped in tradition and elitism.

Yep. Your typical elite private school for the nauseatingly rich. Like, the really, really rich. Think the descendants of the wealthiest and most powerful families in history... including yours truly.

It is here where the real value of power is discovered, because when we're all as rich and powerful, only those among us stand a cut above the rest. Those who can kick it upper echelon style. It is here where power, money, influence and your name can only get you as far as what they can bring to someone else.

Okay. So I'm a little generous with my words. But, in my defence, I'm practising for when I get that Journalism degree at Cambridge. That's why I thrive at Chaucer House. I've never been so set on anything like I am with Cambridge.

I try to walk briskly, as I make my way across the courtyard toward the grand oak tree — an ancient sentinel that had witnessed generations of Chaucer House's elite come and go. I want to say it's witnessed some indiscretions, too. But that's kind of obvious with an elite private school like Chaucer.

And then, I see him. Nathaniel Vanderbilt. Probably the hottest boy at Chaucer House. And definitely my mortal enemy.

"Gross. Vanderbilt trouble." Panic sets in. I can't stop moving. He'll know I'm running. And I don't run from anyone. Least of all a Vanderbilt.

Just keep going. One foot in front of the other. Like Drew always says.

Just my luck. Before the first period. Before the damn day has even begun. It had to be Vanderbilt. The only son and sole heir to the Vanderbilt media empire. Vanderbilt Media has been synonymous with power, wealth, success and influence. And trouble. Endless trouble. I know I'm choosing a mild word to describe the whole lot of them, but that's all my thoughts can grab onto right now.

Trouble.

The way Nate just waltzes onto the courtyard as though he's just walked into a room full of adoring fans is sickening. I'm so sick I feel hollowness in the pit of my stomach.

Nate, on the surface, is the picture of charm and charisma, but beneath that charismatic persona lies a "take no prisoners" type of guy. Of course, he has to have chiselled features, that slightly messy dirty blonde hair, a disturbingly disarming smile and those piercing blue eyes that seem to penetrate even the steeliest of gazes.

Okay, so I know a lot of Nate's attractive features. He's my classmate.

I watch him, as he effortlessly breezes through the small groups of girls who just so happen to be standing in his way. Batting their lashes in awe and wonder. Blurgh. Gross.

He's not even that hot. Only just like a tiny bit.

I don't believe a single word of the thought I've just conjured up in my head. But I won't ever let him know that. Or anyone else, for that matter.

I turn back just long enough to see that my best friend, Harper, who's now trailed too far behind me to notice this oncoming collision, is doing a shit job of keeping pace.

Harper Pearson is the one who comes at you with an air of quiet confidence, and her usually keen eyes are always scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. But right now, those eyes are fully glued to the phone in her hand.

Feeling a little exposed all by myself, I pick up my pace, barely maintaining my poise and composure.

Lennoxes had to draw the short straw on the feet. Honestly. I feel like I have two left feet.