Kingsley Academy

Chapter 2

The next morning, I wake up to soft light streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling window, the view outside almost too picturesque for what I'm feeling inside. Snow-dusted peaks, rolling green hills—it's the kind of place people write poems about. Too bad I'm not here for that.

I drag myself out of bed, the silk sheets clinging to me for a moment, and head to the ensuite bathroom. The marble floors are ice cold beneath my feet as I step in front of the massive mirror. My reflection stares back, flawless as always. I reach for the makeup bag on the counter, deciding to skip the full routine. Today calls for effortless beauty—just enough to make them stare but not so much that they think I'm trying too hard. It's an art, really.

After slipping into the tailored uniform, which I've already made adjustments to—shortened skirt, fitted blazer, and swapping the flat shoes for a pair of Louboutin heels—I glance at myself one last time. Perfect.

The second I step out of my room, I can feel it: the eyes. It's subtle at first, a glance here, a whisper there, but as I make my way down the hall, it's clear everyone is already talking. Good. Let them. It's better to be the one they whisper about than the one they forget.

I pass a group of girls by the fountain, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt as I approach. They don't even try to hide the way they look at me—envy mixed with awe. It's the same old story, just with a different backdrop. I meet their stares with a cold smile, the kind that makes them look away instantly. Perfect.

Kingsley Academy may be some elite reform school for the rich and screwed up, but I know how these places work. Power is the only currency that matters here, and I intend to have plenty of it.

By the end of my second day, rumors are already swirling. Apparently, I've been sent here because I burned down my father's mansion, got kicked out of three boarding schools, and once dated a European prince who mysteriously vanished. Ridiculous. But I let them talk. The more outrageous the stories, the better. Let them think what they want.

What they should be thinking about is what I'm going to do next.

It doesn't take long to find the right targets.

Olivia and Harper are standing by their lockers, flipping their hair and laughing about something stupid. They look like the carbon copies of every girl I've ever manipulated—blonde, tall, and desperate to be liked. I stride toward them, knowing full well they've been watching me since the moment I walked in yesterday.

"Hey," I say, tossing my hair back like I don't have a care in the world. Both girls straighten up immediately, eyes wide with recognition. "You two have a minute?"

Olivia—tall, leggy, with that annoyingly perfect smile—opens her mouth first. "Uh, sure. I'm Olivia."

"I know." I glance at Harper, the quieter one of the two, then back at Olivia. "I need people. People who know how to stand out. Look good. Turn heads." I give them a once-over. "You two could work."

Harper stammers, "Work for what?"

I smile, but there's no warmth in it. "You'll find out soon enough. Think of it as an audition."

They exchange a look, and I can practically see the wheels turning in their heads. Of course, they want to be part of whatever I'm planning. They want to be on the inside, with the girl everyone's already talking about.

"Are you in?" I ask, my voice casual but commanding.

Olivia doesn't hesitate. "We're in."

"Good." I step closer, lowering my voice just enough to make sure they know this is serious. "We're going to make sure everyone here knows who's in charge. You do what I say, and you'll be on top. Mess it up, and you're done."