Chapter 2

Price of a Signature

POV DARCIE

I didn’t sleep. Every time the house groaned or a car passed by the tall iron gates outside, my eyes snapped open, darting toward the door that no longer had a lock. It was a psychological game, and I was already losing.

At 6:00 AM, my alarm went off, but I was already sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the dusty mirror. I looked like a ghost of the girl I used to be. I threw on my best pair of jeans—the ones without too many holes—and a cream-colored top that felt like the only clean thing I had left. I tied my hair back in a tight ponytail, a soldier preparing for the trenches.

When I stepped into the kitchen, the smell of expensive coffee and fried bacon hit me like a slap. Mrs. Sterling was there, looking flawless in a silk robe, tapping away at her tablet. She didn't even look up.

"Your breakfast is on the counter, Darcie. Charles is waiting in the garage. Don't be late for the first bell. It reflects poorly on us."

"Good morning to you too," I muttered under my breath.

I grabbed a piece of cold toast and headed for the garage. Charles was leaning against a black SUV that probably cost more than my dad’s entire failed business. He was wearing his varsity jacket again, looking effortlessly perfect, tossing a set of keys in the air.

"Took you long enough, Miller," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "Get in. We’re leaving."

The drive to St. Jude’s Academy was silent, save for the aggressive rap music blaring from the car’s speakers. Every time the bass thudded, it felt like it was vibrating against my ribs. I stared out the window, watching the mansions of the North Hill fade into the familiar, manicured streets of our school.

"Listen up," Charles said as we pulled into the student parking lot—the prime spot, right near the entrance. "Inside those doors, nothing changes. You aren't my roommate. You aren't my friend. You're the girl whose dad ruined everything, and I'm the one who’s stuck with you because my parents have a savior complex. Got it?"

I turned to him, my jaw tight. "Trust me, Charles. The last thing I want is for people to think we’re friends. It would ruin my reputation to be seen with a jerk like you."

His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He pulled the key from the ignition and leaned in close, his scent—something like cedar and expensive laundry soap—filling my lungs. "Watch your mouth, Miller. Remember who’s paying for your lunch today."

He hopped out before I could respond. I followed, feeling every eye in the parking lot turn toward us. The whispers started immediately. I could practically hear the gossip spreading like wildfire. Why is Darcie Miller getting out of Charles Sterling’s car?

As we walked through the main hallway, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Charles didn't look back once. He walked with a confident stride, high-fiving teammates and nodding at girls who looked like they were about to faint. I walked three paces behind him, feeling like a shadow.

"Hey, Sterling!" a voice called out. It was Sloane. She was leaning against a locker, her blonde hair perfectly curled, looking like she stepped out of a movie set. Her eyes landed on me, and her expression shifted from a flirtatious smile to a cold, calculating mask. "Why is the scholarship charity case following you around like a lost puppy?"

Charles stopped and turned, a lazy smirk on his lips. He glanced back at me, then at Sloane. "Oh, this? My dad decided we needed a new project. Something about 'community service.' Miller’s my new shadow. She’s here to make sure I don't miss a single homework assignment."

A ripple of laughter went through the hallway. Sloane laughed the loudest, a high-pitched, mocking sound. "A tutor? That’s adorable. I didn't know you needed a babysitter, Charlie."

"I don't," Charles said, his voice dropping an octave. He walked over to me, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something to defend me. Instead, he reached out and flicked a stray hair away from my face, his fingers cold against my skin. "She’s just the help, Sloane. Don't let her presence ruin your morning."

The sting of his words was worse than any prank he’d ever pulled. I felt the heat rising in my neck, the familiar urge to run and hide. But I didn't move. I stared straight at Sloane, my eyes hard.

"I'm here to do a job, Sloane," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And part of that job is making sure Charles actually graduates. Something I'm sure you'd know nothing about, considering you've spent more time in the janitor's closet than in a library."

The hallway went dead silent. Sloane’s mouth dropped open. Charles actually choked on a laugh, trying to mask it with a cough.

"You little—" Sloane started, taking a step toward me.

"Leave it, Sloane," Charles said, his voice firm. He didn't look at me, but he stepped between us. "She's not worth the effort. Come on, we have practice."

He walked away, Sloane clinging to his arm, leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway. I felt a hundred eyes on me—some pitying, some mocking, all judging.

I took a deep breath and headed for my first class. I had a job to do. I had a scholarship to win. And I had a bully to survive. But as I sat down at my desk, I realized that the hardest part wasn't going to be the bullying. It was going to be the moments when Charles Sterling almost felt like a human being, right before he reminded me exactly why I hated him.

By lunch, the "Nanny" nickname had already stuck. Someone had taped a picture of a baby bottle to my locker. I ripped it off and threw it in the trash, ignoring the snickers from the group of cheerleaders nearby.

I found a quiet corner in the library, the only place I felt safe. I pulled out my notebook and started working on Charles's history notes. It was tedious, frustrating, and a constant reminder of my situation. But as I wrote, I found myself doodling in the margins—little sketches of the Sterling mansion, the iron gates, and a boy with stormy eyes who seemed to be everywhere I looked.

I was so absorbed in my work that I didn't hear someone approach.

"Working hard, or hardly working?"

I looked up. It was Jax. He looked tired, his eyes bloodshot, but a small, knowing smile was on his face.

"Hey," I said, feeling a wave of relief. "How’s it going in the real world?"

"Same old," he said, sitting down across from me. "Hear you’ve got a new roommate. The King himself. How’s that working out for you?"

"It’s hell, Jax. Absolute hell."

"I bet. But hey, at least the food’s better, right?"

"I'd trade the steak for a sandwich and my old life any day," I said, leaning back in my chair.

"I know, Dar. I know. But you’re tough. You’ll survive this. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find something under all that gold that’s actually worth saving."

I looked at my notes, at the sketches in the margins. "I highly doubt it, Jax. I highly doubt it."

But even as I said the words, I couldn't help but remember the way Charles had looked at me in the gym the night before. The vulnerability. The fear. It was a crack in his armor, and I was the only one who had seen it. And in a world like this, a crack was the most dangerous thing you could have.