Ayla's POV
Slowly, my first day at Solaria Girls Academy dragged itself to an end like even the sun wanted to watch me suffer a little longer.
I sat there, pretending to study, pretending to breathe, pretending Elena Morgan hadn't already stomped on whatever confidence I had left. Of course, she had. And in heels that could double as weapons.
Everyone else was busy giggling, packing their designer notebooks, reapplying their makeup, and getting ready to return to their various dorms, while I sat convincing myself that moving into the Queen's Dorm wasn't a death sentence. Even though everything in me screamed it was.
The secretary's words from earlier kept looping in my head like a cursed ringtone. "She can make your life miserable. And your family's more miserable."
Perfect. Just what I needed, a reminder that the school's reigning monarch could destroy me and the people I love in one breath.
My sharp mouth, my one and biggest superpower, didn't work here. Here, it could cost me something I couldn't dare think of. I couldn't risk that. Not now. Not after burying Dad a few weeks ago. Not when my mum and my little twelve-year-old brother Damon were back in Lima, Ohio, running our tiny restaurant and praying the rent fairy stayed merciful.
If Elena decided to ruin me, she wouldn't just end me. She'd drag them down too. And nothing, absolutely nothing, was worth me making them suffer because of me.
So yeah, I accepted my fate. I'd move into her dorm. Live in her castle. Breathe her air. Maybe even learn to bow properly while I was at it. And maybe, just maybe, her grace Elena, the queen of Solaria, would decide to forgive a peasant like me for standing against her and refusing to be nicknamed by my poor city.
When the final bell rang, I didn't rush out like everyone else. I waited, watching them leave with perfect hair and fake laughter. Then I grabbed my fading pink bag, the one that screamed definitely not rich, and started dragging it behind me while I walked.
Each step down that hall felt like marching straight into a luxury prison, a gold cage with velvet walls, chandelier lighting, and a queen who probably wanted to hang my confidence next to her trophies.
By the time I stepped outside of the class, a woman in her late forties was already waiting, phone in hand, scanning through it like she was reading my entire life story.
"Are you Ayla Davul?" she asked, stepping forward, taking another look at me and another at the phone like confirming my picture.
"Yes," I said, nodding, half curious, half convinced I was in trouble again.
"I'm Mrs. Caldwell, the Dorm Supervisor. I'll be taking you to Miss Morgan's dorm."
"Oh. Okay," I said, forcing a smile. For once, I was happy this wasn't another round of detention.
Mrs. Caldwell led me past the main dorm buildings, each already rich enough to host royalty. I kept walking behind her, waiting for her to stop at one of them as the Queen's Dorm, but she didn't. She just kept walking.
And walking.
And walking.
By the time we finally stopped, my jaw dropped.
Standing in front of me was a building that made every other dorm look like servant quarters. Carved elegantly above the entrance in gold letters read, WELCOME TO THE QUEEN'S DORM.
If Solaria had a heart, this was it, big, bright, and breathing money.
The building rose like it was allergic to modesty, all ivory stone and black-trimmed windows gleaming in the fading sunset. Golden vines curled around marble railings, and the path leading up looked like it had been swept by angels and polished by guilt. Even the grass seemed richer here, manicured, smug, and very aware it wasn't meant to be stepped on by scholarship students' shoes.
A soft scent of peonies floated through the air, mixed with laughter that only came from girls who'd never checked a price tag in their lives. I stared, trying not to whistle.
"No way. This can't be a high school dorm," I muttered. "Did we accidentally walk into a five-star hotel?"
Mrs. Caldwell smiled politely, clearly used to that reaction.
"This is the Queen's Dorm, Miss Davul. It houses the daughters of board members, ambassadors, and very special students."
I mentally translated that into plain English, people who could buy my entire existence twice over.
She led me to the glass doors, which opened automatically because of course they did. The school crest SOLARIA glittered above, a crown wrapped around the letter S. I almost waited for a velvet rope and a bellhop, like someone should be carrying my luggage and announcing my arrival in a five-star hotel.
"Miss Morgan's suite is on the top floor," Mrs. Caldwell said.
"You mean Elena lives somewhere still different from all this?" I asked, almost whispering.
"Yes. There is a penthouse on the Queen's Dorm, built specially for her thirty years ago, when the academy was founded," she replied calmly.
"Thirty years? But she wasn't even born then."
Mrs. Caldwell chuckled. "Her grandfather built it in advance. Said it was meant for his precious future granddaughter. It was sealed until her birth and renovated when she enrolled. No one else has ever lived there except her. It's the dream of all students in Solaria to step there and know what it looks like."
"Of course," I muttered under my breath. "The queen needs her throne room."
I just didn't realize she'd decided to make me part of the furniture.