JADE'S POV
I threw up twice before first period.
My temporary room—they'd moved me after the vandalism—was smaller than a closet. But at least it had a bathroom where I could fall apart in private.
I stared at my reflection. My eyes were red and puffy. My skin was pale. I looked exactly like what I was—a girl who'd been awake for thirty-six hours, who'd lost everything, and who was about to walk into a classroom full of people who wanted her gone.
"You can do this," I whispered to the mirror. "You've done harder things."
It was a lie. But sometimes lies were all you had.
I grabbed my schedule and backpack—they'd given me new supplies since mine were destroyed—and headed to my first class. Political Theory, Room 304.
The hallways were packed with students who all looked like they belonged in magazines. Designer bags. Perfect hair. Confidence that came from never having to worry about money or safety or belonging.
They stared as I passed. Some whispered. A few laughed.
I kept my head down and walked faster.
Room 304 was at the end of a long hallway. I slipped inside and chose a seat in the back corner. Maybe if I was invisible enough, they'd forget I existed.
The universe laughed at that plan.
Alex walked in thirty seconds later, saw me, and sat down in the empty seat right next to mine.
"What are you doing?" I hissed.
"Sitting in my assigned seat." He pulled out a tablet and stylus, not looking at me. "Problem?"
"Yes! Sit somewhere else!"
"These seats were assigned at the beginning of term. I'm not switching because you're uncomfortable."
Other students were filing in, and every single one of them stared at us. The crown prince sitting next to the charity case. This was going to be all over social media in minutes.
"You said you'd help me," I whispered angrily. "Sitting next to me is the opposite of helping!"
"I said I'd protect you. I didn't say I'd make you invisible." He finally looked at me, his blue eyes unreadable. "You're going to have to get used to people staring."
I wanted to argue but the professor walked in—an older man with gray hair and sharp eyes that immediately landed on me.
"Ah. Miss Morrison. Our lottery winner." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I hope you're prepared. This class requires extensive knowledge of political philosophy and theory. We're currently discussing Machiavelli's 'The Prince.' Are you familiar?"
Every eye in the room turned to me.
"I've read it," I said quietly.
"Excellent. Then perhaps you can explain Machiavelli's position on whether it's better for a ruler to be loved or feared?"
It was a trap. I could feel it. If I got it wrong, I'd prove I didn't belong here. If I got it right, they'd say I got lucky.
"Machiavelli argued it's better to be feared because love is fickle and depends on others' feelings, while fear depends on the threat of punishment, which the ruler controls." I paused. "But I think he was wrong."
The professor's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? You disagree with one of history's greatest political theorists?"
"I disagree with his conclusion. Fear only works until someone becomes more afraid of the consequences of submission than the consequences of rebellion. Love—real love, built on respect and trust—is harder to achieve but more stable long-term."
Silence filled the room.
Then Alex spoke, his voice cold. "That's idealistic and naive. History proves fear is more effective than love for maintaining power. Every successful ruler has used fear as their primary tool."
I turned to glare at him. "Every successful ruler who was eventually overthrown, you mean? Fear breeds resentment. Resentment breeds revolution."
"And love breeds weakness. A ruler who's loved will be taken advantage of, manipulated, destroyed by those they trust."
"So your solution is to trust no one and rule through terror? That sounds like a lonely, miserable existence."
His jaw tightened. "Better lonely and alive than beloved and dead."
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning I didn't understand. Something in his eyes looked almost... hurt?
"Mr. Rothschild makes an excellent point," the professor said, breaking the tension. "Though Miss Morrison's counterargument is surprisingly sophisticated for someone without formal political training."
The way he said "surprisingly" made my skin crawl. Like he'd expected me to be stupid.
For the next hour, Alex corrected everything I said. Every opinion, every answer, every observation. His voice was sharp and condescending, like I was a child who needed constant correction.
By the time class ended, I was shaking with rage.
I grabbed my bag and rushed out before he could say anything else.
Lunch was worse.
The cafeteria was enormous, with high ceilings and long tables where groups of students sat together. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they belonged.
I grabbed a tray and stood there, scanning for an empty seat that wouldn't force me to ask permission to sit down.
There wasn't one.
Every table was full. Or looked full. Or suddenly became full the moment I walked toward it.
I ended up in a corner by the windows, sitting alone at a table meant for eight.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Check your email.
I shouldn't have looked. I knew I shouldn't. But I pulled up my email anyway.
The subject line made my stomach drop: "REGENCY ACADEMY COMMUNITY BOARD - YOU HAVE BEEN MENTIONED."
I clicked.
It was the message board Dante and Alex didn't know I'd already found this morning. The thread about me. The poll. The bets on how long I'd last.
But now there was something new. A video.
I clicked play before I could stop myself.
It was security footage from last night. Me, in the café back in Seattle, arguing with Victoria. The audio was enhanced, so every cruel word she'd said was crystal clear. "I hope you're happy. You took everything from me."
And my response, just as clear: "I never wanted any of this!"
The video ended with me crying alone in the destroyed café.
Below it, hundreds of comments:
"She really is pathetic.""Can't even handle her own sister lol.""Why did they pick someone so weak?""Give it a week. She'll drop out."
My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped my phone.
They had footage from Seattle. From my life before this. How was that even possible?
I looked up and saw students at nearby tables watching me. Some were smirking. Others looked almost... sorry?
I couldn't breathe. The cafeteria was too loud, too crowded, too much.
I stood up, leaving my untouched lunch, and walked out as fast as I could without running.
I made it halfway down the empty hallway before the tears came.
I pressed my back against the wall and slid down, burying my face in my knees. Two days. I'd lasted two days before completely falling apart.
"Rough day?"
I looked up sharply. A boy I didn't recognize stood a few feet away. He had warm brown eyes, reddish hair, and he was holding two chocolate bars.
"I'm Finn," he said gently. "And before you tell me to leave you alone, I brought chocolate. Which I'm told is the universal currency for bad days."
Despite everything, I almost laughed. "You always carry spare chocolate?"
"My mom's a doctor. She taught me that sometimes the best medicine is sugar and kindness." He held out one of the bars. "No strings attached. You can tell me to go away right after."
I took the chocolate. Opened it. Took a bite.
It was good. Really good.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
He sat down next to me—not too close, but close enough to feel like companionship instead of pity. "First day of classes is always brutal. Especially when you're new."
"Especially when everyone hates you."
"Not everyone." He unwrapped his own chocolate. "I don't hate you. Dante seems to like you. Even Alex is trying to help, in his weird, emotionally constipated way."
That surprised a real laugh out of me. "Did you just call the crown prince emotionally constipated?"
"I mean, am I wrong?" Finn grinned. "The guy has two emotions: 'mildly irritated' and 'very irritated.'"
We sat there eating chocolate in comfortable silence until my phone buzzed again.
Another email. Another video.
This one was from this morning. Me, throwing up in my bathroom. Crying. Telling myself I could do this.
Someone had put cameras in my room.
"Jade? What's wrong?" Finn leaned closer, concern on his face.
I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the horrible realization that I had no privacy. No safety. Nowhere to hide.
My phone buzzed again. A text from the same unknown number: "Smile, Jade. You're always being watched."