"Greetings, my lady," the butler said at the front door.
She offered no more than a fleeting glance. The man—somewhere in his mid-thirties—stood stiffly in an ordinary jacket and loose, baggy trousers, his posture respectful, almost invisible.
"Diana, you drive," she said, her voice calm but final.
Diana obliged without hesitation, taking the keys from the butler's outstretched hand.
Kayla followed a step behind, dressed in a tailored crimson blazer over a crisp white long-sleeved shirt.
The matching skirt hugged her frame neatly, a black tie resting against her chest—sharp, deliberate, and commanding. She moved with quiet confidence, as though the space itself bent to her presence.
The gates of Blackwood Academy rose like iron ribs against the morning sky.
Tall.
Imposing.
Silent.
Kayla sat in the back seat of the sleek black car, her gaze fixed on the school crest carved into stone.
An elite institution for heirs, prodigies, and future rulers of society. Power gathered here—quietly, dangerously.
Perfect.
The car came to a smooth halt.
"Remember," Diana said softly from beside her, "you're just a transfer student."
Kayla didn't reply.
She stepped out of the car, dressed in the academy's uniform—dark blazer, white shirt, fitted trousers.
Her long black hair fell loose to her shoulders, framing a face too calm for a seventeen-year-old.
Students slowed as she passed.
Some stared.
Some whispered.
Some instinctively stepped aside without knowing why.
Kayla felt it—the familiar pull.
Fear. Curiosity. Interest.
She ignored them all.
Inside the main hall, the air buzzed with polished laughter and expensive perfume. Screens displayed announcements.
Teachers moved with rigid discipline.
A woman stood near the front desk—sharp suit, colder eyes.
"Kayla Wayne," the principal said, glancing at her tablet.
"Transfer student. Exceptional academic record."
Kayla nodded once.
"You'll be joining Class A," the woman continued.
"And remember—Blackwood values conduct as much as intelligence."
Kayla's lips twitched.
"I understand."
The classroom fell unnaturally quiet when she entered.
Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward her.
At the back, a boy leaned lazily against his desk—dark hair, calm posture, eyes sharp with quiet confidence.
Aidan Ryan.
She recognized him instantly.
Not because of the file—
but because of the way power seemed to orbit him.
The teacher cleared his throat.
"Class, this is Kayla Wayne. She'll be joining us from today onward."
No applause.
Just murmurs.
Kayla scanned the room once before choosing a seat—
directly beside Aidan.
He glanced at her, surprised but composed.
"Bold choice," he murmured.
She met his eyes for the first time.
"I don't believe in coincidence," she replied evenly.
Aidan smiled—slow, intrigued.
"Neither do I."
Throughout the day, Kayla observed.
Who spoke to whom.
Who avoided whom.
Who held influence without trying.
Aidan was at the center of it all.
Students deferred to him unconsciously.
Teachers trusted him. Even rivals treated him carefully..
At lunch, she sat alone.
As planned.
But the seat across from her was suddenly pulled out.
"Mind if I join?" Aidan asked.
She looked up at him, expression unreadable.
"You already did."
He laughed quietly.
"So," he said, resting his elbow on the table,
"new girl with no social media, no entourage, and no fear.
What's your story, Kayla Wayne?"
She took a bite of her food, unbothered.
"I'm here to learn."
"That's not all," he replied.
"You don't look like someone who came here by choice."
Her eyes flickered—just for a second.
He noticed.
Interesting.
Before she could respond, a girl approached their table—elegant, confident, perfectly composed.
Stella Conner.
She slipped her arm through Aidan's.
"Aidan," she said sweetly, then turned to Kayla.
"And you must be the new student."
Kayla stood.
"Yes."
No hostility.
No submission.
Just calm.
"Well," Stella smiled thinly,
"welcome to Blackwood."
Kayla returned the smile—cool, measured.
"Thank you," she said.
"I'm sure this place will be… educational."
As she walked away, the voice inside her whispered softly:
"Good. Stay close."
And far above the campus, unseen cameras adjusted their angles—
watching.
Recording.
Waiting.
It happened during the last period.
Gym class.
Kayla already hated it.
Too many people.
Too much noise.
Too many eyes watching for weakness.
She stood at the edge of the court, arms crossed, observing instead of participating. Sweat, laughter, competition—things that belonged to normal students.
Not her.
That was when Marcus Hale noticed her.
He was loud, rich, and reckless—the kind of boy who thought power was something you took with force.
"Well, look at this," Marcus said, spinning a basketball on his finger.
"The new girl thinks she's too good for us."
A few students chuckled.
Kayla didn't react.
That only irritated him more.
"What's wrong?" he continued, stepping closer.
"Cat got your tongue? Or are you just mute?"
Still nothing.
The voice inside her stirred.
"Break him."
She clenched her fists behind her back.
No.
Not here.
Not now.
Marcus scoffed. "Figures. Daddy probably bought your grades."
That was when Aidan looked up.
"Back off, Marcus," he said calmly.
"She hasn't done anything to you."
Marcus smirked. "You defending her now, Ryan?"
He turned back to Kayla and shoved her shoulder—hard.
That was the mistake.
The room went silent.
Kayla's body reacted before her mind could stop it.
She grabbed Marcus's wrist.
There was a sharp crack.
Marcus screamed as he dropped to his knees, clutching his arm.
The basketball rolled away, bouncing uselessly across the floor.
Kayla released him instantly and stepped back, breathing unevenly.
"I warned you," she said quietly.
The gym teacher rushed over, panic flashing across his face.
"What happened?!"
Marcus groaned, pain etched into his features.
"She—she just snapped it!"
Kayla looked down at her own hands.
They were shaking.
Not from fear.
From restraint.
Aidan stared at her, eyes narrowed—not scared, but deeply alert.
That wasn't normal strength.
Not even close.
Security was called.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
As Kayla was escorted out, she felt it again—
That burning pressure under her skin.
The voice whispered, almost pleased:
"Good control… but next time, don't stop."
From the hallway, hidden behind a tinted window, a camera zoomed in on her face.
Miles away, Mr. Wayne watched the footage.
He smiled.
"She's adapting," he murmured.
"Excellent."
But back in the gym, as medics helped Marcus away, Aidan stood still, staring at the spot where Kayla had been.
For the first time that day—
He felt afraid.
Not of what she did.
But of how calm she was afterward.
*******
******
****
***
**
*
The disciplinary meeting was brief.
Too brief.
Kayla stood before the vice principal, hands folded neatly in front of her, expression calm and unreadable. Marcus's injury was labeled an "accident," softened by his family's influence and the lack of witnesses willing to speak clearly.
A warning.
A note on her record.
Nothing more.
Blackwood preferred silence over scandal.
By late afternoon, Kayla walked out of the main building alone.
The sky was overcast, the air heavy with the promise of rain. She followed the paved path toward the gates when a familiar voice stopped her.
"Kayla."
She turned.
Aidan stood a few steps behind her, backpack slung over one shoulder, his usual composure slightly… cracked.
"You don't have to walk alone," he said. "My car's this way."
She studied him for a long moment.
"Why?" she asked. "Curiosity? Pity? Or regret for defending me earlier?"
He exhaled a quiet laugh. "None of the above."
Then, more honestly,
"Because you don't look like someone who gets asked that often."
She hesitated.
The voice inside her stirred.
"Don't trust him."
But something else—smaller, quieter—pushed back.
She nodded once.
They walked in silence at first. Not awkward silence. The kind that felt… deliberate.
"You didn't look surprised today," Aidan finally said.
"When Marcus went down."
"I was," Kayla replied.
"Just not the way you think."
He glanced at her. "You weren't afraid."
"No," she admitted. "I was afraid of what would happen if I wasn't careful."
That answer made him slow his steps.
"You talk like someone who's lived through consequences," he said quietly.
Kayla stopped walking.
"So do you."
He met her gaze, surprised.
"My family's name protects me," Aidan said after a moment.
"But it also cages me. Everything I do is watched. Measured."
Kayla almost smiled.
******""""
Kayla headed home in her new car—a plain black sedan, the kind that blended easily into traffic and never drew attention. Nothing about it stood out, and that was exactly how she preferred it.
She parked in front of the garage and quietly stepped inside.
The warm scent of Madam Rina's cooking filled the house.
Though Kayla preferred raw meat to homemade meals, this was the closest thing she had to the feeling of family.
"Greetings, my lady. Dinner will be ready shortly," Madam Rina said, bowing once she noticed her presence.
Kayla gave a small nod and went upstairs to her room.
She removed her uniform, letting it fall to the floor, and dropped her bag onto the bed.
From the drawer beneath her desk, she pulled out a worn sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, she paused at the drawings—her parents, her little sibling still carried in her mother's womb, and Divya. Faces frozen in charcoal and ink, untouched by fire or blood.
Her phone buzzed.
Notification received.
Your brother will be coming home this weekend. Be prepared.
— Father
James.
Her half-brother.
To him, she was nothing more than a stain—someone who should never have been born, someone stealing a future she didn't deserve.
A rival in a twisted game for inheritance he believed was his alone.
Kayla felt nothing toward him.
Hatred required emotion, and she had long learned how to bury those.
All she cared about was escaping that man.
Escaping this cage disguised as a home.
And reuniting with her sister.
No matter the cost.
Even if it meant obeying his commands a little longer.
She closed the sketchbook and stared out the window as night slowly crept in.
Freedom, she thought, is the only cure that matters.
After showering, Kayla joined them for dinner, her presence quiet but familiar.
Later, she changed into her loose pajamas, the company logo barely visible in the dim light.
She set her sketchbook down with care, as if it held unspoken thoughts, then slipped beneath the covers.
As the room fell silent, sleep claimed her slowly, gently.
That night, Kayla dreamed.
She stood barefoot in a field of ash beneath a sky painted in bruised violet and crimson.
The air was heavy, thick with smoke, yet she could breathe—slowly, painfully—as embers drifted around her like falling stars.
"Chris…"
The voice was soft. Familiar.
She turned.
Divya stood a few steps away, dressed in the white summer dress she used to wear, untouched by soot or fire. Her hair fluttered gently, though there was no wind. Her smile was the same—warm, trusting, painfully alive.
Kayla's chest tightened.
"Don't come closer," Kayla whispered, though her feet betrayed her, moving on their own.
Divya tilted her head. "Why do you look so sad? You promised we'd exchange gifts."
The world trembled.
Flames erupted behind Divya, rising like a wall. Kayla reached out, her fingers burning before they could touch her.
"I tried to save them," Kayla said, her voice cracking. "I tried to save you."
Divya's smile faded. Her eyes darkened—not with anger, but with grief.
"You ran," Divya said quietly. "You always run."
The words pierced deeper than any blade.
Suddenly, the fire roared louder, and shadows emerged from the flames—faceless figures with hollow eyes,
whispering her name.
Her name twisted into something monstrous.
Kill them.
Consume them.
You were made for this.
Kayla clutched her head and screamed.
Her eyes snapped open.
She sat upright in bed, gasping, her hands trembling as sweat soaked through her shirt.
The room was dark, silent—too silent. Her heart pounded like it was trying to break free.
She pressed her palm against her chest.
Still human.
.
Still breathing.
Barely.
From the corner of her room, the mirror reflected her faintly glowing eyes before the light faded back to normal. Kayla looked away.
"Just a dream," she whispered, though she knew better.
Dreams didn't leave the taste of ash on her tongue.
She rose from the bed and opened her window, letting the cold night air wash over her skin.
Somewhere beyond the estate walls, freedom existed. Somewhere, Divya was still alive—or at least, Kayla hoped she was.
"I'll come back for you," Kayla murmured into the night.
Behind her, unseen, the shadow on the wall shifted.
And smiled.