Ayla's POV
We entered the elevator.. yes, elevator, not stairs and I caught my reflection in the gold-tinted glass, pink fading bag, worn sneakers, and terrified eyes.
Yeah. Definitely not belonging to this planet. The planet of the rich and the untouchable.
As the elevator hummed upward, I tried not to fidget. My palms were sweating, my heartbeat pounding like a drum. Every number that lit up felt like a countdown to my own execution. My brain scrambled for a plan, what to say, how to act, how to satisfy my new school boss so she wouldn't add to my sentence.
When the elevator finally dinged open, it felt like stepping into another universe, one lined with polished marble, silk drapes, and air that somehow smelled expensive. Everything gleamed too perfectly, like even dust particles weren't allowed to live here.
"This is Miss Morgan's private suite… and where you'll be staying," Mrs. Caldwell said with a polite nod.
"Eh… Mrs. Caldwell," I started, hoping to ask a few questions, maybe stall long enough to breathe or get some survival tips for living with the Almighty Elena. But she'd already turned. The elevator doors slid shut before I could finish my sentence. She was gone.
"Great. Abandoned in the dragon's lair, exactly what they meant by saying carry your cross," I murmured.
I stood in front of Elena's door, hand hovering over the bell. My brain went to war with itself, press it or run for your life. If I pressed it, I'd finally be in her control. If I didn't, my family might pay for it.
I closed my eyes, breathing shallow. Will she scream at me the moment she sees me? What will the queen's sentence be like? What if she's standing there in her perfect uniform, smiling that smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes? Or worse, what if the moment she sees me, she gives me that stare, the one she gave me earlier, and triggers my Elenaphobia?
I swallowed hard. My imagination was already murdering me.
After a full minute of panic and mental breakdown rehearsal, I adjusted my shirt, inhaled, and pressed the bell.
"Come in," came her voice, calm, low, and terrifyingly close, even from behind the door.
I stepped in.
Perfume. Marble. Everywhere gleaming and screaming wealth. A chandelier that looked like it cost more than my entire life. The floor gleamed so much I could see my reflection on it, scared, small, and wildly out of place. Even the air seemed trained not to breathe too loud.
Books lined the walls like soldiers, and there was something about the silence that made me feel trespassed, like I'd just walked into a place where people like me didn't exist.
Everything screamed control, power, and money.
I was so amazed that I didn't even notice when I said under my breath, "Wow… perfect for the school's icy queen. No wonder she's so proud." I quickly caught myself and stayed quiet before I started praising the entire room like a walking magazine feature. Whether she heard or not, I wasn't sure.
I stood near the door, too scared to step fully inside.
And there she was.
Elena Morgan.
Sitting on her couch, laptop in hand, scrolling like a husband waiting for his wife to explain herself.
Silence.
She didn't look up.
I didn't dare speak.
The only sound was the faint tick of a gold-trimmed clock and the wild thumping of my heart. Every second stretched, twisted, and refused to move.
Maybe she didn't hear me enter. Or maybe I just became invisible. Her silence was killing me faster than a gun would. Great. I always wanted to die quietly in a designer apartment. I guess she's helping me fulfill that dream.
After minutes that felt like hours, standing there staring at her side profile, I finally summoned enough courage and said, "I'm here."
No reply.
"I'm here," I tried again, softer this time.
Nothing.
"I'm…"
The clap of her laptop closing sliced through the air, cutting my words off.
Finally, she looked up.
Blue eyes. Sharp. Cold. Dangerous.
And that alone made me shiver and swallow hard.
She stood slowly, almost lazily, shaking her head once. Her long, shiny black hair fell in a soft, threatening wave over her shoulders. Slowly, she walked toward me.
I stepped back before I even realized it, instinct, pure and useless.
She took two steps forward, deliberate. Unbothered. Hunting.
I stumbled again, my bag slipping from my shoulder and thudding to the floor. My hands came up, pressed tight to my chest like they could shield me. But it was obvious they couldn't.
She kept coming closer, and I kept moving backward.
Each click of her heels echoed louder than it should have, sharp, final, like a countdown.
Every step she took swallowed space, swallowed air, swallowed me.
By the time my back hit the cold wall, she was already there, just inches away.
Her perfume wrapped around me, clean, expensive, invasive. A warning dressed as sweetness.
My heart started racing so loud I was sure she could hear it.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, voice shaky.
She didn't answer.
She just placed a hand beside my head on the wall, her gaze drifting from my eyes to my mouth, then back again. Too close. Too calm. Too much.
My voice shook. "Elena… what are you…"
Her breath brushed my cheek as she leaned in, voice low enough to crawl under my skin.
"From tonight," she whispered, "your life in Solaria belongs to me."
My stomach dropped.
"W… wh… why? What do you mean?" I whispered, stammering so quietly one could barely hear, palms flat on her chest, trying to keep space between us.
Her eyes never wavered.
"Because you went against me," she said, her tone soft but lethal. "You defied my rule. You made me talk when I shouldn't have. So now, you'll stay here and spend every day at Solaria paying for it."
I swallowed hard, fear crawling through every vein. My heart was thudding loudly. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, too heavy with everything she wasn't saying. For a moment, she just stood there breathing over my face while my heart bumped wildly.
She stepped back at last, her grip tightening on the laptop, a smirk tugging at her lips. Then she returned to where she was sitting earlier and typed away again as if nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just announced my social execution or made my heart race like someone who had just finished a marathon.
Meanwhile, I stood there trying to stabilize my breathing and let it sink in.
I'd officially become the Queen's new project.
Or pet.
Or puppet.
Or chew toy.
Honestly, I wasn't sure which was worse.
She took another glance at me, gave that subtle "I own you" smirk, and went back to pressing her laptop. Judging by the smirk, she definitely knew which one she'd picked me as.
And that was the scariest part.