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PART ONE
Chapter one
Mia
The loud clang of the campus gate swinging shut echoed in the hollow of my chest, sealing me in their world.
The mist hung thick on the grounds, pressing down on my lungs and muffling my footsteps as I tucked a strand of brown hair behind my ear and surged forward, suitcases dragging through gravel, leaving indents in their wake.
Tall trees dotted the path leading to the sprawling burnt-amber building, the faint rustle of sycamore leaves carrying with it the clean, woody scent of early autumn and the promise of rain.
For one heart-stopping moment, I allowed myself to slow down, take it all in, and hope this would be everything I’d wanted.
Students streamed around the marble fountain at the centre of the quad with the casual air of people who’d never woken up wondering if they belonged. Everyone projected the kind of effortlessness that took three hours, a fashion degree, and a month’s paycheck.
To make matters worse, they were all staring.
I’d expected as much—there had never been a scholarship student at Whitmoore Academy before—but their lingering looks bit and clawed into my flesh, telling me that wasn’t the only reason. Pinpricks of awareness dug into the back of my head, and a hot flush crept over my too-tight skin.
Yeah, this was the day for a scruffy white T-shirt and jeans…
My fingers tightened around the handles as I fought the urge to drop them and smooth my hair again.
The large clock tower perched atop what looked like the main building chimed, and a heartbeat later, chatter resumed, as if someone had turned the volume back up.
My palms had grown damp against the cheap plastic by the time I paused at the top of the stairs to get my bearings, when a dark-haired man detached himself from a nearby group and ambled towards me.
Slow, inevitable. As if he’d already decided I was today’s trouble.
His companions snickered and whispered among themselves before a hush fell over the grounds, leaving only the soft tinkle of rushing water—or maybe that was my blood rushing in my ears.
I set my suitcases down on the marble steps and straightened up.
He stalked towards me with the casual grace of someone who owned a room as soon as he stepped into it, embodying the same unfair elegance—with his hair pushed back, a simple navy henley, beige slacks, and white trainers with no scuff marks on them.
My toes twitched in my worn ones as I resisted the impulse to bolt.
“Can I help you?”
His voice might have been pleasant if he didn’t sound as though he was offering directions to an unfortunate homeless person.
He stopped a few steps away, his ice-blue gaze trailing over me in a slow once-over that made me feel like a bug under a microscope.
I fought the urge to press a palm to the wrinkles in my T-shirt.
“You clearly don’t belong here.”
His mouth curled into a cruel line, and any notions he might have been attractive evaporated.
Who the fuck are you?
The words were on the tip of my tongue.
“Excuse me?” I said instead.
He took a step closer, then another, until I had to tip my head up to maintain eye-contact.
My stomach gave a warning flip.
