Hated By The Bully King

“You don't belong here, pest,” Alessandro spits, his grip on my hand tightening. I bit my bottom lip, trying not to wince. Trying to suppress the pain shooting up my arm and spreading to the rest of my body.

Tears prickled my eyes, but I'll rather eat mud than let them fall.

“You're a poor, stinky menace! And I will make life a living hell for you, so long as you still show your face around!”

—

When eighteen-year-old Cora Williams saves spoilt, rich, arrogant, and bratty Alessandro Beckham's life, she doesn't count on getting rewarded for her heroics.

To show his gratitude to her for saving his son's life, Alessandro's father enrolls her in the notorious Royal Elite Academy, the top high school in the country, exclusive to the wealthy and snobby kids of the elite.

Although Cora is sad to let go of her old life, and friends, she's coerced by her parents to accept the offer. She knows the rich and the poor don't mix, and intends to lay low until she scales through senior year.

But Alessandro Beckham is the king of Royal Elite Academy, and he's made it his personal mission to make her life a living hell for reasons best known to him.

Cora has never been a pushover. And she won't start now.

She wouldn't let Alessandro belittle her whichever way he pleases. She would fight.

But fighting Alessandro might cost her something.

Her heart.

one.

Cora

This isn’t a house. It’s a palace.

As I weave through the plethora of guests, balancing a tray on my palm and offering hors d’oeuvres I can’t even pronounce, my gaze roams around the ballroom. My mouth practically reaches the floor, my brain trying to comprehend that people actually live this way.

Chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling, their crystals sparkling across the walls and bouncing off the expensive jewelry on the guests. The marble floor is so polished I can practically see my reflection. The tables are set with crisp white, elegant tablecloths, the dishes and utensils glittering, and the guests are dressed in their finest.

We’ve catered to the wealthy before, but this is a whole other ball game.

And the guest of honor? None other than sixteen-year-old Alessandro Beckham, the sole heir to the Beckham Empire. His dad is Asher Beckham, the richest man alive. He owns practically the whole world, no joke. From hotel chains to tech companies, sports teams, international enterprises, you name it.

It seems he couldn’t make it to his only son’s birthday party, hence the new entertainment system at the corner of the room, still wrapped in its blue bow.

Alessandro Beckham is at the center of the ballroom, chatting to a man three times his age. His hands are stuffed into his expensive black slacks, his head twisted to the side like he’d rather run himself over ten times than listen to the older man. His russet-colored hair falls over his face in the perfect bad boy fashion.

“Cora,” a voice hisses from behind me. When I turn around, I spot Andy, my boss and owner of Loew’s Catering, tilting his head toward Alessandro. “Offer him some food. You’re here to work, not ogle the main attraction.”

Trying not to roll my eyes, I salute before making my way over to Alessandro and the older man. I hold out the tray, plastering on a smile equal to the value of this palace.

Alessandro hardly looks my way, choosing to focus on the man standing before him as though he’s the most important person in the world. It’s almost like I’m not worthy enough to be acknowledged, like I’m the scum beneath his expensive shoes. All because I’m part of the working class.

“Something to eat?” I say, sliding the tray a bit closer to him and widening my million-watt smile. Flicking his hair from his face, the guy still doesn’t look my way. I might as well be wallpaper, except my plain pale yellow server uniform would totally ruin the elegant design.

I shift the tray toward the older man. “Sir?”

He offers me a thankful smile, says, “Oh, no thank you, dear,” before turning back to Alessandro, who’s now wearing an irritated expression on his face.

“What your father and I discussed…” the older man continues.

His words fly over my head, my focus on the rich guy standing only inches from me. I’ve never really gotten a good look at him, since my nose isn’t buried in the magazines kids at school obsess over. But damn, he’s hot. A thousand degrees. Seriously, you can probably boil an egg on his face—and get some yummy flavor, too. The guy’s got it all: looks, money, and a shit-tone of charisma. It oozes out of him just by standing there and rolling his eyes at the older man. And his tall body dressed in that pressed black suit and slacks only add points in his favor.

Why are rich people always good-looking? So unfair.

Alessandro’s head suddenly snaps to mine. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

I catch my boss Andy eye-signaling me to get my ass away from there. As a server, my job is to serve. Not to stare at the heir to the Beckham Empire.

Tossing Alessandro and the older man another million-watt smile, I scurry away, careful not to lose hold of the tray, which, by the way, is still full of hors d’oeuvres.

“What was that?” Andy hisses, catching the tray before it splatters to the floor. His eyes flick behind me, and when I spin around I catch Alessandro’s striking blue eyes on mine. For a second only. I bet he thought I’d trip and fall, providing entertainment for this bummer of a party. Sure the people are eating and dancing, but no one really seems to want to be here.

“Nothing.” I shrug. “I’m here to work.”

“You bet you are. Get back out there.”

I do my rounds, steering clear of the guy of the hour and exchanging smiles with the other servers, whom haven’t either worked in such a setting. Some of the guests are thankful for the food so they don’t have to stand there bored out of their minds. A part of me feels a little sorry for the guy. Are all his birthday parties like this? Where are his friends?

After an hour, a man with graying hair who looks like he’s in his mid-forties raises a glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Finally, I get a break. But Andy keeps me busy preparing more hors d’oeuvres, so I only catch bits and pieces of the toast, and then his speech. From what I gather, the man works for Asher Beckham and is speaking on his behalf. Craning my neck, I manage a glimpse at Alessandro, who stands straight with his hands to his sides, not a crease in his suit, his russet hair still falling over his eyes in that perfect bad-boy manner, looking ever so composed. That’s got to be an act. What kid isn’t hurt by his father’s absence on his own birthday?

“Cora!” Andy scolds.

I snap back in and gather the newly-loaded tray. The man is still droning on about Alessandro’s accomplishments as I strut back into the ballroom. I steal another glance at him—no emotion in his eyes. He might as well be watching a mouse chasing a piece of cheese. No, even that would be more interesting than that dry speech.

Most of the guests aren’t interested in more food, and my feet are on fire from all this parading around. The trays of the other servers are full, too. I’m about to return to the kitchen and tell Andy not to bother preparing any more food, when I catch sight of a man dressed in black from head to toe standing at the far left of the massive ballroom. I don’t know why he caught my attention, maybe because of the way he’s lurking in the shadows all alone or the way he’s stealthily reaching into his pocket and producing a—

Holy shit. A gun.

And it’s pointed directly at Alessandro Beckham.

I push through the throngs of people. “Look out!” Launching myself at Alessandro, I shove him and myself to the ground as the gunshot echoes in my ears. I hit the floor with such a blow that the wind gets knocked out of me. The left side of my body throbs.

Guests gasp, yell, and flee. It’s total chaos. Amidst people nearly trampling me to death, I catch four men tackling the shooter to the floor. The bullet is lodged in the wall behind us.

Alessandro shifts from underneath me. My eyes snap to him, finding his mesmerizing blue ones locked on mine. I finally see an emotion peeking out from his hard eyes: fear.

The shooter yells over the panicked crowd as the four security guards drag him away. I can’t make out the words, but it’s definitely a threat. Staff members usher the guests out of the house. Andy and my coworkers escape, not giving me a second glance.

The party has officially ended.

“Mr. Beckham.” A hand extends toward Alessandro. “Are you all right?” It’s the guy who made the speech, eyes bulging with worry. A handful of security guards surround us.

I look at the young master crushed beneath me. The fear is still there, though it’s nearly masked now.

“Sir?”

Alessandro blinks, the fear completely vanishing from his eyes. He shoves me aside and stands, slapping the dirt off his pants.

“Get her out of here.”

“Sir?”

“Get her out of here.”

Gray Hair gives me an apologetic look as he holds out his arm. “Miss, may I escort you out?”

I let him lead me out of the room, but not before catching one more look at Alessandro. His hard gaze is dead-set on mine.

two.

Cora

Ugh, why do I feel like I was run over by a train? The whole left side of my body throbs.

My eyes flash open when it hits me. Alessandro Beckham’s party last night. The shooter. Alessandro nearly getting killed. My tackling him to the floor. His ungrateful behavior toward me.

It’s not like I saved his life or anything. Whatever.

Groaning through the pain, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stuff my feet into my slippers. Voices from outside carry into my open window, and when I wobble over and pull the curtain aside, I see a crowd gathered around my house. Cameramen and reporters.

“What…the hell?”

I rub my eyes. Nope, they’re still there.

My door bursts open and Mom rushes inside. “Cora, get dressed and come to the living room. Quickly.”

“What’s going on?”

“Get dressed. Now.”

“Why—”

She slams the door after her.

“Seriously, what on Earth?” I open the door and peek out, straining my ears. There’s a strange voice in the living room. Another reporter? Does this have anything to do with my saving Alessandro Beckham’s life?

“She’ll be here in a minute,” Mom says with a nervous laugh.

I shut the door and stare blankly at the spot in front of me. I’m in too much pain to sort any of this out. Dragging myself to my closet, I choose an outfit—jeans and a light purple top—and get dressed, make my hair decent and then open the door again. It’s strangely quiet now, as though the visitor isn’t doing anything but waiting for my arrival. I stop by the bathroom to pop two pills before making my way to the living room. And I freeze in place. Gray Hair is sitting there.

I step inside. Mom and Dad stand. “Cora.” Mom gestures to Gray Hair, who also gets to his feet. “This is Henry Miles. He works for Mr. Asher Beckham.”

“Yeah, we sort of met yesterday at the party. Hi.”

He shakes my hand. “Pleasure to see you again, Miss Williams.”

“Honey, please sit down,” Dad says.

“Okay,” I say unsurely as I lower myself on the sofa near Mom. “Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not, sweetie.” Mom motions toward Gray Hair. “Mr. Miles is here to talk to you.”

“Is Alessandro okay? I hope I didn’t hurt him.”

“Mr. Beckham is fine,” he assures me. “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Asher Beckham.”

“His father?”

“Yes. He’s very appreciative of your heroics last night and wishes to offer you his gratitude.” He reaches for a dark brown leather briefcase on the coffee table and flicks it open.

My eyes bug out and my chest tightens. I’ve never had so many one-hundred dollar bills shoved in my face before.

I tear my eyes away. “I didn’t save his life for money.”

“Of course not. But Mr. Beckham would like to compensate you nonetheless.”

My gaze slips to Mom and Dad, who desperately clutch each other’s hands. Money’s been very tight the past year, with Dad losing his job and Mom’s hours getting cut. We could really use…

I press my lips together and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept his money. It wouldn’t feel right.”

With a nod, Mr. Miles snaps the briefcase shut. “He thought you might react this way, which is why there’s another offer.”

I raise a brow.

“He would like to offer you admission to Royal Elite Academy this September.”

My jaw nearly sweeps the floor. “Qu…Royal Elite Academy?”

“He’s offering a full scholarship, including room and board, all expenses paid. Royal Elite Academy is ranked number one in the country…”

He continues praising the school, but all I hear is the blood rushing to my head. With an education at Royal Elite Academy, my future could be set. My life could change forever. College has always been an unattainable dream, since I figured I’d have to stay here and help keep my family afloat. But with this scholarship…

“Mr. Beckham would be very pleased if you were to accept his offer,” Mr. Miles concludes, a smile standing strong on his lips.

Mom squeals, grabbing my hands. “Cora. Cora. Cora!” She flings her arms around me, smashing my face to her chest. “This September. That’s only a few weeks away. We’ll need to buy uniforms, school supplies…”

“Mom, I haven’t even accepted yet.”

Mr. Miles nods kindly. “Your uniforms and school supplies and everything else you’ll need will be covered by Mr. Beckham as well.”

“Cora,” Mom hisses. “What are you waiting for? Accept the offer.”

My cheeks hurting from the large smile conquering my face, I say, “I accept!”

------------

The boxes arrive within hours.

Six pairs of uniforms. Six. What do I need so many for? And every single school supply I can think of, even ones I know I’ll never use (what teenager uses a glue stick?). I have to admit I’m a mix of emotions. First, I’m not even sure my mind has actually grasped the reality. And then I feel excited, because I’ll be going to a prestigious school with the best of the best. I could have any future I want, any dream I want.

And then I feel like a charity case.

Mom tells me I shouldn’t feel this way, that opportunities like this come once in a lifetime—if ever at all. It’s not the time to be prideful. I’d be nuts to back out.

“How did they even know my measurements?” I ask as I lay the uniform on the table. It’s actually pretty decent, as far as academy uniforms go. A light blue shirt and dark blue tie, a plaid blue skirt, and a dark blue blazer. Blue is my favorite color, so I’m not complaining. Plus, gazing down at the uniform kind of makes me feel important.

“Someone from Mr. Beckham’s office called during your interview for the article and asked for your measurements,” Mom says. “See if it fits.”

It’s like I’m carrying porcelain. I’m worried any wrong move might damage the thing. It probably costs more than my whole wardrobe.

And oh wow, it fits perfectly. I turn from one side to the other as I study myself in the full-length mirror in my room. I look…I look like a million bucks. All my doubts about accepting the offer fly out the window and I’m overcome with anticipation. I can’t wait to start at my new school.

Mom and Dad are over the moon when they see me. Dad actually has tears in his eyes. I guess he’s been worrying about my future ever since he had to dip into my college fund to pay for expenses. I assured him many times that it was okay, that I didn’t need to go to college. But now I’ll be given opportunities he’s always dreamed of giving me. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

I let them take a few pictures before shedding off the uniform so I don’t wreck it. Then we put the boxes aside. Preparing my backpack will be quite an experience.

I head to my room and flop down on the bed, my head still reeling from all of this. I’m still not sure if it’s fully settled in my mind. Maybe when I stand outside the academy gates?

three.

Cora

Those academy gates I’ve been looking forward to meeting smile at me from a distance, the words “Royal Elite Academy” glimmering in golden letters. Mr. Beckham sent a limo to fetch me, and even after riding in it for over two hours, I still can’t get over it. We passed through some of the richest towns in Georgia, and as we draw closer to the building, I notice a massive forest behind it. It makes the school look even more beautiful. I’m practically bouncing in my seat as the driver pulls up to the gate and stops before the security booth.

The driver rolls down the windows. “Miss Cora Williams.” He gestures to me.

The guard walks around to the back of the limo and peeks at me. He stretches his hand. “Your identification card, miss?”

Identification card? Oh, right. I rummage in my jacket pocket and retrieve the school ID that arrived via mail several days ago. I hand it to the guy, who scans it, then me, and the card again. After giving me a slight nod, he passes it to me. “You may enter,” he tells the driver.

The large golden gates part, allowing the limo entrance into the school courtyard. My head spins as I take it all in. From the large water fountain in front of the massive school building, to the trees and grass surrounding the area, to the many students dressed in blue uniforms prancing about.

“Wow,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m actually here.”

The driver stops the limo and climbs out. He makes his way to the back and opens the door, holding out a hand to me. “Royal Elite Academy, miss.”

I accept his hand, letting him help me out of the limo. My jaw practically drops to the ground as I get a better look at the building. The place is a mansion, Victorian style even though it doesn’t look very old. Just by looking at it, you can tell only the exclusive of the exclusive attend.

The driver gathers my bags from the trunk and helps me carry them to the building. I catch sight of the many guys and girls milling about, some laughing, many chatting, most definitely about their summer vacation.

As I pass a group of blonde-haired girls, their plaid blue uniform skirts rolled just a bit too high, they stop talking and pin their gazes on me. The girl in the center’s hazel eyes scan me from top to bottom and her lips curl into a snarl. I follow her gaze, but I don’t understand how her uniform is different from mine, aside from the fact that mine reaches just above my knees while hers barely covers the tops of her thighs.

“Hi,” she says, loud enough to hear her on Mars. “I’m Heather McLauren. You must be the peasant.”

“The peasant?”

Her friends burst into giggles. She turns up her nose like she smells something foul. “What else do you call a poor girl attending on scholarship?”

What in the world?

“Excuse me, miss,” the driver says. For a second, I forgot he’s still here. “May I escort you inside?”

The girls continue to snicker and giggle as I follow the man into the school building. He lays all my bags on the floor before the front desk, wishes me a good day with a tip of his cap, and walks out of the building. I nearly gasp in wonder as my head once again spins around in all different directions. This room is huge. Many different portraits adorn the walls, the floor is polished so hard it sparkles. Two sets of wooden spiral staircases lead to the upper floors, and there’s a lounge area with a beautiful fireplace.

“Hi,” a voice says from behind me. “You must be Cora.”

Spinning around, I spot a girl with brown hair and glasses standing before me. Her skirt isn’t lifted like the other girls I encountered. She holds out her hand. “I’m Samantha—Sam—your student guide.”

I blink at her. “Student guide?”

“All new students receive a guide. Follow me and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

I reach for my bags, but she waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry about them. The staff will bring them to your room.”

“Staff? My room? As in, I get my own room?”

She chuckles. “Well, yeah. You don’t expect to share a room, do you?”

Uh, I heard that’s pretty standard for most schools. Sam gives me a bright smile before starting the tour.

She begins talking about the history of the school. “In the early 1900s, three men had a dream to start a boarding school for boys. Their names were Albert Aldridge, Francis Montgomery, and Asher Beckham.” She beams at me. “Yep, you guessed it. The founders of the school are none other than the great grandfathers of the Royal Elite Princes.”

I gape at her. “The what?”

Her brown eyes widen. “You’ve never heard of the Royal Elite Princes?”

“Should I?”

She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Have you been living under a rock?” Then her gaze sweeps over me, taking me in from top to bottom. “Oh yeah, I guess you have.”

What the heck does she and the other girls see that I don’t? Our uniforms are identical.

She motions for me to follow her as we continue on with the tour. “If you’re planning to spend the next three years here, you should learn how things run. The Princes own Royal Elite, literally and figuratively, though the school is mostly funded by the Beckham family. The guys are the princes, but really, Alessandro is the king.”

“So who are the other princes?” I ask.

“Ethan Aldridge and Colt Montgomery.” She sighs wistfully. I get the impression that these Princes are the most popular guys at school, worshiped by all, and that half the girls at school are madly in love with them.

Sam continues with the tour, and my mind is boggled. There are so many rooms here, and that doesn’t even include the classrooms. I mean, they have a bowling alley in the recreation building. Building, not room. They have a whole building just for down time. Every bone in my body is already itching to tackle the arcade games and virtual reality. But I doubt I’ll have time to indulge—I’ll most likely be holed up in my room trying to catch up with schoolwork. I’m not the best student and this curriculum is tough.

The tour ends with Sam dropping me off at the girls’ dorm. I’m on the top floor, in a room all the way in the back that’s a little isolated from the rest of the rooms. Almost like it’s hardly ever used, and it doesn’t take long for me to understand why. It’s much smaller than the others, and I know this because I passed by a few rooms with open doors. But I’m not complaining. The fact that I’m able to attend this school with free room and board means the world to me.

“Thanks for the tour,” I tell Sam. “It’ll take forever until I know the place by heart. I’ll probably get lost a lot.”

“No prob. Don’t forget, orientation starts in an hour.”

My bags have already been brought up, stacked neatly near my bed. I start unpacking and by the time I’m done, I hear the corridor echoing with voices. Girls probably headed to orientation. Considering I have no idea where the auditorium is, I hurry out of my room and follow closely behind.

four.

Cora

A few girls turn their heads in my direction and get that disgusted face that girl Heather showered me with only an hour ago. But most of them pretend I don’t exist. They all file into the auditorium and choose seats toward the back, leaving a few free seats sprinkled around. I choose one toward the middle of the back, having no choice but to squeeze past other students’ feet, eliciting frustrated groans.

With a huff, I lower myself in my seat and lean back. The girl next to me, pretty, tall, with strawberry blond hair, twists her body to look at me.

“Hey,” I say, stretching out a hand. “I’m Cora Williams.”

Her gaze drops to my hand and her nose twists as though maggots are attached to my skin. She, too, gives me a quick sweep and doesn’t like what she finds. I’m about to pop a blood vessel, when I finally realize the difference between their uniforms and mine. Theirs is crisp, neatly pressed, and look like a million bucks. Mine? Well, it definitely doesn’t match up. I don’t understand why—I took such good care of it the past few weeks. Maybe it got wrinkled on the way over here. I was stuck in a limo for two hours.

There’s a sudden charge in the air. My whole body perks up, my eyes swiftly flicking around until I discover the source of that energy. Three guys stroll into the auditorium, one of them none other than Alessandro Beckham. A guy with raven black hair that reaches just blow his shoulders flanks him on the right, and on his left is a guy with short, curly light brown hair.

The Royal Elite Princes, I presume.

As they continue their leisure stroll into the auditorium, their shoulders raised high in importance, I swear their hair blows as though a soft breeze passes over them. Which is impossible because all the windows are closed and it’s a little stuffy. It’s almost like in those movies where soft music plays in the background as they march in slow-mo. Every single head is turned in their direction, utterly entrapped. Girls watch them with desperate longing in their eyes, guys stare at them with a mix of jealousy and respect.

The charge in the air intensifies the deeper they walk into the room. They stop by the middle row in the back section of the auditorium, and the kids sitting near the aisle quickly jump up to let them pass.

A collective sigh permeates through the room, all coming from the girls. I don’t blame them, the three of them are so damn good-looking it should be illegal. And I have to admit that Alessandro is the most good-looking of them all. I’m sure he’s the star of most of these girls’ fantasies.

The guy with the long raven hair, who gives off an aura of mystery, busies himself with his phone. Interesting, since we’re not allowed to use our phones during school hours. The one with the curly light brown hair starts flirting with the girls seated next to him, and Alessandro just sits there, staring ahead.

A few minutes later, he turns his head and studies the students surrounding him. His eyes sweep from right to left, back and forth, as though he’s looking for something. Or is it someone? As his beautiful piercing blue eyes survey the room, a satisfied smile teases the corner of his lips. He’s about to turn around, when his gaze lands on mine. His eyes narrow to slits, his lips pressed into a firm line, and he twists his head around. He leans to whisper to the raven-haired guy. He, too, turns around to look at me, pinning me with eyes the most beautiful shade of green. Like emeralds. He doesn’t glare at me, just watches me curiously. Then he turns around just as Principal Hipskind walks into the auditorium and marches up to the stage.

The next hour is full of speeches, welcoming the students to another year at the academy and how they expect great things from us this year. We are, as he puts it, the future. Then we’re hit with the school rules, which I pay very close attention to, but the others look bored to death. He also mentions that there will be security guards surveying the premises and that the students might not be able to leave campus as often as they used to, which gets him some groans and curses. I wonder if this has anything to do with the assassination attempt on Alessandro Beckham. Even though they caught the guy, he was just a hit man and he’s not talking. The guy pulling the strings is still out there.

Then we’re invited to the banquet in the cafeteria. A grand affair to welcome Royal Elite’s prized students back to school. Truth is, I’m starving. I couldn’t get anything down this morning because I was a bundle of nerves.

As I fall in line with the other students making their way out of the auditorium, each of them impeccably dressed in their uniforms, someone stretches out a leg. I trip and glide on the polished floor, my palms and knees skidding across the room, my head slamming into the wall.

With a groan, I rub my head. Laughter breaks out all around me.

“Watch it, Peasant Girl,” a guy says, lightly kicking my ribs with his expensive black loafer.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” that girl Heather says.

As she passes me, she steps on my hand. Actually steps on it. But she doesn’t put enough weight to break any fingers.

There’s a small group surrounding me, snickering and looking down at me like I’m lower than the ants on the floor. A few give me gentle kicks with their damn expensive shoes. But then I feel a pair of eyes burning into my skin, and when I raise my head, I find Alessandro Beckham standing a few feet away. Glaring at me like I’m even lower than the ants on the ground.

Flipping his russet hair with a flick of his head, he marches away.

five.

Cora

Lying in bed with my stuffed camel squeezed to my chest, I try not to let what happed in the cafeteria consume me. But of course it’s the only thing I can think about. Spoiled, rotten little bullies. Who the hell do they think they are? Just because they have money, they think they rule the world? That they can step on anyone they want and treat people like dirt?

I knew asshole Alessandro Beckham was behind it all. I freakin’ saved his life. And this is how he repays me?

It’s clear I won’t have any allies in this school. Even my guide Sam turned her back on me.

There’s supposed to be entertainment right now, a famous band and dancing. There’s no way I can bring myself over there. I don’t need to subject myself to any more humiliation. I don’t know how I’ll get through my days here.

Sweeping up my phone, I video chat my parents.

“Cora!” Mom’s bright face comes into view, and my whole body deflates with relief. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to see her. “Marcus!” she calls. “Marcus, Cora’s on the phone!”

It doesn’t take long before Dad’s beaming face joins my mother. “There’s our Royal Elite girl. Tell us, sweetheart, how was your first day? Was it as wonderful as you imagined?”

My heart leaps into my throat. They look so happy, so hopeful, so glad I’m living the life they wanted to provide for me. Dad worked hard his whole life to set up a college fund for me so I wouldn’t have to deal with loans. But it all went to hell when he lost his job. I caught him so many times alone in the kitchen late at night, just sitting there with troubled thoughts. Worrying about my future, wishing he could provide me with a better one than he had himself.

And Mom. She’s always wanted me to follow my dreams. Since I was a kid, I’ve yearned to be a lawyer. I put an end to that dream when Dad lost his job and Mom’s hours were cut, but I opened the box only a few weeks ago. How can I bear telling them I want to lock it again? Lock it up and throw away the key.

As I stare into the smiling and hopeful faces of my parents, I get a sudden epiphany. Those privileged kids have no idea what it means to lose everything you have, to yearn for something so hard that it stabs you to the core. They get everything handed to them on a silver platter. They don’t have to work hard for anything. No way am I going to let them push me around. Oh no. I’m going to continue attending school here and I am going to become a lawyer—a damn good one—and I’m going to make my parents the proudest and happiest parents in the entire world. I’m going to build a future for us.

I smile brightly. “The first day of school was perfect.”

----------------

A new day. Maybe a fresh start?

I make my way to the cafeteria for breakfast and sit down at a table at the back. There aren’t that many students here. I guess they sleep in and skip?

Once I give in my order to a waiter—strawberry French toast—I lean back in my seat and try to calm my racing heart. I hope he doesn’t plan on having another altercation with me. Not that I’m afraid of him or anything. Screw him.

When my food arrives, I force myself not to gobble it down and make a quick exit. Let him come. Let him taunt me.

Turns out, he doesn’t grace us with his presence after all. I guess he’s not much of a breakfast person.

After cleaning up after myself, I take out my schedule to see what class I have first: pre-calculus. It’s a requirement for all sophomores. I try not to groan as I make my way up the stairs in search for the classroom. Math has never been my strongest subject. I don’t know how I’ll survive this class. The place is pretty empty, too. I choose a seat in the back and reach for the novel I started last night.

As it draws nearer to the start of the period, more kids file into the classroom. Most, if not all of them, give me some sort of dirty look, even if it’s mild. I try to ignore them and focus on my book, but the truth is that it’s not so easy. I don’t know why it hurts so much, when these kids are stuck-up jerks. Do they really hate me because I don’t have a trust fund?

One of the Princes enters the room, his eyes glued to his phone. It’s the guy with the raven black hair. He’s followed by an entourage of girls, some of them trying to cling onto his arms. But he pays them no attention, just continues studying whatever’s on his phone.

As though he has eyes on his forehead, he makes his way over, still glued to his phone, and sits in the seat to my left. A few minutes later, the Prince with the curly light brown hair arrives. Two girls hang off his arms, and he smiles in a very charismatic manner, flashing the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. He’s classically handsome and carries himself like he’s worth all the money he has in his bank account. I can totally picture him forty years from now, stinking rich and living the good life. The girl on his right bends forward to run her tongue across his cheek, purring the name Colt. So this must be Colt Montgomery. I did a bit of research on all three Princes last night. The Montgomery family comes from old money, and Colt likes to party around with as many girls as he can get.

He flops on the desk to my right, with the girls surrounding him. A few of them give me dirty looks, like they expect me to give up my seat. Yeah, not happening.

When there are about two minutes before first period bell, a charge sizzles in the air. A second later, Alessandro Beckham saunters into the classroom. Is the guy so cocky that he even has the air notifying us of his arrival?

His eyes do a quick sweep of the room before landing on me. Oh, great. I quickly lower my gaze to my book and pretend I’m completely engrossed in the story. I hear his footsteps before his loafers come into view. I don’t have to look at him to see the scowl on his face. It practically leaps off his body.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands.

My eyes lift to his. “Excuse me?”

Like yesterday, his uniform sits perfectly on him, not a single crease. His hair falls over his eyes, still in that bad boy manner, and his eyes are like ice.

“This is my seat,” he says, venom dripping off his tongue.

With my eyes dead-locked on his, I say, “Does it have your name on it?”

“I don’t need to put my name on it.”

“Really? Because it’s a free country and I can sit wherever I want.”

He lowers his palms on the table of my desk, moving his face so close I can almost see my reflection in his eyes. “Not in my school.”

We’ve gathered quite a crowd, even kids from other classes are peeking their heads inside.

“Peasants aren’t welcome,” he continues.

“Guess they made an exception for me.”

His eyes growing more furious, he says, “If you don’t move, I’ll move you.”

My jaw hangs open. “Did you just threaten me?” I glance at everyone else, but they don’t seem fazed by what their prince just said. Is that really how they roll through life? Threatening anyone who stands in their way?

He straightens up and fists his hands to his sides. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You owe me something.”

His brows rise so high they nearly touch his hair. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. A thank you is in order.”

“Why the hell should I thank you?”

“Because I saved your life?”

His mouth snaps shut, and I swear something flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone so fast I can’t make sense of it. He slides his face close to me, his lips only a few inches away from my ear. “I’d rather skin myself alive than thank you,” he hisses. “And if you dare bring that up again, I’ll destroy you.”

My heart thumps violently and I feel lightheaded. It takes all I have not to flee for the safety of the hallway. I’ve never felt so unsafe before in my life.