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CHAPTER FOUR – The Enemy Wears a Crown
Brielle Caldwell never lost.
Not at games, not at dares, and definitely not at attention.
So when Emily Hale kissed her brother in front of the whole damn campus?
That wasn't betrayal.
That was war.
By Monday morning, the entire school was drenched in whispers:
> "Did you see the tower kiss?"
"Luke Caldwell let her touch him?"
"She's not even legacy."
And Brielle?
She was already planning the perfect response.
Emily Hale could smell the ambush before it came.
She was heading to Ethics class—an ironic place for someone planning to destroy a university from the inside—when she was stopped just before the steps.
"New girl," Brielle's voice called like a songbird sharpened with glass.
Emily turned, unfazed. "Crown slipping already?"
Brielle smiled without warmth. She wore a pale-pink trench and sunglasses that hid her fury.
"I just came to say thank you."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For making my brother feel something. He's been so bored lately."
Emily didn't blink. "That must run in the family."
Brielle's smile cracked, just slightly.
"Be careful," she said sweetly. "Crestwood eats the weak."
"I'm not here to be eaten," Emily replied. "I'm here to set the table."
That night, Luke found Emily in the archives, buried in old files.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her trace her fingers across years of hidden corruption.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She didn't look up. "I found the paper trail. Your father covered the expulsion committee. Every time someone threatened his campaign, they disappeared from this place."
Luke stepped inside. "Including your dad."
Emily nodded. "There's no record of the investigation. No statement. No appeal. Just… vanished."
Luke's face was unreadable.
"I want blood," she whispered.
He stepped closer, voice low. "Then take mine."
She turned slowly.
"Don't offer what you don't mean."
His mouth was inches from hers now.
"I never do."
But she didn't kiss him.
Not yet.
That weekend, an invitation arrived.
"Crestwood Legacy Dinner – Formal Attire Required"
And somehow, Emily Hale's name was printed in gold.
"It's a trap," Luke said, flipping the card.
"I know," she replied. "But sometimes the best way to break a system is from inside its prettiest room."
Luke smirked. "Then we go in loud."
Emily wore a black silk gown that slipped off one shoulder.
Hair sleek, lips crimson, fire in her veins.
Luke wore a midnight suit and danger like perfume.
They walked into the ballroom together.
Every head turned.
Every whisper stopped.
Brielle stood by the center table, jaw tight.
President Caldwell raised a glass, eyes flickering to Luke's hand on Emily's back.
And Emily?
She smiled like a queen.
She didn't need a crown — she was the storm.
During dessert, Brielle made her move.
"Emily," she said sweetly, "I hear you're looking into old files. Curious, don't you think, for a scholarship student to be so… involved?"
Emily met her gaze. "I'm curious about a lot of things."
"Like how your dad vanished from our records?"
Luke dropped his fork.
Silence fell.
Brielle smirked. "Tragic, really. I guess not all families are legacy material."
Emily stood slowly. "You know what I think's tragic?"
She looked around the table, locking eyes with each board member.
"That this place is rotting. And you're all too rich to smell it."
The president stood. "Miss Hale, that's enough."
"No," Luke said, rising beside her. "It's not."
And in one motion, he dropped the USB drive onto the table.
"Enjoy the files. I made copies."
The room erupted.
Outside, in the night air, Emily breathed for the first time in hours.
Luke lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it.
"You know this means war," he said.
"I was already at war."
He looked at her then, really looked.
"You scare me."
"You like it."
"I do."
She stepped close. "Then don't blink."
And she kissed him again — softer this time, but full of fire.
Not a dare.
Not a performance.
A promise.
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