They called her the heiress, but only with a smirk.
Adele stood on the polished granite steps of the Lorrington high-rise, a glittering glass monolith tucked into the heart of Aurelia City — all neon lights, sky-bridges, and glimmering façades. The building rose like a crown in the skyline, adorned with chrome vines and holographic roses projected along its facade — a family trademark. Everything about the tower screamed wealth and perfection, yet the atmosphere was sterile, indifferent.
Her suitcase sat by her boots, one handle missing, the other stained with fingerprints and city grime. She'd dragged it through the subway system like a commoner, earning glances from strangers and knowing sneers from staff. Rain hadn't fallen, but the storm had happened anyway.
She had failed.
The results had come in that morning — a glowing document of shame delivered via encrypted holo-mail directly into her stepmother's sleek, ivory datapad. The projected blue light had flickered coldly in Lucille Lorrington's eyes as she scanned Adele's performance. No yelling. No drama. Just a barely perceptible smirk. Satisfaction in high definition.
"You are truly your mother's daughter," Lucille had said, each word more polished and artificial than the drone-chipped marble floors.
Adele didn't respond. She never did when Lucille spoke like that — not because she lacked words, but because Lucille thrived on resistance. Silence was her rebellion. Or so Adele tried to believe.
Her fingers curled around the printed copy of her score, the paper old-fashioned but somehow more brutal than a datapad readout. Her score for the Arcane Aptitude Trial — the golden key to the elite Academy of Saerrowell — had come in at 32%.
Embarrassing.
Not even a retake.
No second chances at Saerrowell.
Inside the tower, her father hadn't even looked up from his conference holocall. And her siblings…
"A shame, really," Marcellus drawled as he descended the penthouse staircase, designer boots clicking like the ticking of a countdown clock. "I assumed the Academy might be feeling charitable this year."
Clarisse hovered nearby, her platinum hair styled in pixel-precise waves, sipping sparkling citrus from a crystal tumbler. She didn't even bother to look directly at Adele.
"It's humiliating," she said. "Our family name is linked to you on public records."
"Half-linked," Marcellus corrected with a smirk.
Clarisse gave a crisp nod. "Right. Half."
Adele tuned them out, focusing on the scuffed zipper of her suitcase. The hallway around her shimmered with translucent wall panels that displayed digital art and cityscapes. It was all glass, light, and curated perfection.
"You should've booked the service elevator," Clarisse said. "The staff saw you. That's bad optics."
"Let them talk," Adele murmured.
Marcellus let out a dry chuckle. "She's got a voice after all."
"Enough."
Lucille's voice slid into the room like synthetic velvet. She didn't raise it — never needed to. Clad in a high-neck golden jumpsuit with integrated tech accents, she strode into the living space like the AI queen of the tower. Her makeup glowed faintly under the ambient lighting, her eyes as sharp as code.
She faced Adele, head tilted slightly.
"You'll be relocated to Unit B-42 on Level 6. Temporarily. Until a more… suitable plan is in place."
"Plan?" Adele echoed.
Lucille offered a cool, calculated smile. "To find you a more appropriate path. Something functional."
"What kind of path? Interning at a spellmart?"
Lucille didn't flinch. "If that's where your talents peak."
Adele felt the weight of her mother's pendant beneath her shirt, the only thing not upgraded or artificial. Her real mother — gone since birth — had left no legacy beyond whispered comparisons and Lucille's gleaming disapproval.
"Dinner is at seven," Lucille said. "Dress appropriately. No more of these… retro coats."
She turned and disappeared through a sliding glass door, her heels clicking like a coded threat.
The Level 6 unit was practically abandoned, an old maintenance suite refitted with discount decor and flickering lighting. It wasn't even listed on the tour brochures. The smart-mirrors were outdated, the smart-kitchen barely recognized her fingerprint.
She placed her suitcase on the cot that passed for a bed and sat down, the silence screaming in compressed air.
In the cracked corner mirror, her reflection stared back — split and fractured.
Failure.
That word had dogged her since she was a child. Not loudly, not overtly, but in subtle ways — being left out of family functions, her name omitted from press releases.
She had tried. Harder than they knew.
The Academy of Saerrowell was the pulse of the arcane elite. Housed in a floating city, it welcomed only two hundred initiates a year, chosen from billions. Legacy helped, but not enough to override scores.
Adele had studied in secret, used black-market tutors, hidden study plan and slept when others were starting their day.
And she still hadn't made it.
Dinner was held in the sky-dining suite — a panoramic room encased in transparent alloy, offering an uninterrupted view of Aurelia City at twilight. The skyline pulsed with life. Drones zipped past. Holograms advertised perfumes, techwear, fashion glam.
Lucille sat at the head of the table, her tablet open beside her lamb. Her father scrolled a projection of market analytics, silent as always.
"Your cousin Evelyn was accepted into Saerrowell," Lucille said smoothly.
Clarisse practically sparkled. "She's always had the aura of a top-tier."
Marcellus raised his tumbler. "To Evelyn. May she raise the bar we no longer reach."
Glasses clinked. Adele did not drink.
"We'll announce your decision to take a reflective gap year," her father said blandly. "For your health."
"For her recovery," Lucille clarified. "A controlled reintegration into society's expectations."
Adele narrowed her eyes. "And what do you expect me to become? A case study?"
Her father paused. "Something safe. Humble."
"Like a desk clerk at a perfume warehouse?"
He didn't answer.
Lucille folded her hands. "Let's not make this dramatic, Adele. You've simply reached your limit. And it's not a high one."
Clarisse laughed. "Some people are meant to lead. Some… to obey traffic signs."
Adele rose. The chair screeched.
"I'd rather crash and burn than turn into any of you."
Lucille's eyes flickered with pleasure. "Then start burning, darling. You're already halfway there."
That night, Adele stood on the balcony of her new unit, overlooking the city that never slept. The glowing buildings didn't care if she failed. The traffic moved on. The world didn't pause for her pain.
She held the physical printout of her exam results. 32% gleamed in ink. A static scar.
She lit it on fire. It caught fast, folding in on itself.
She didn't cry. Not anymore.
Not all failures are final.
Some are just the beginning of finding one's self.
She really wanted to believe that.