Chapter 4

Art of Faking It

POV DARCIE

The sun was too bright the next morning. It bounced off the white marble of the Sterling breakfast nook, making my head ache. I kept my eyes on my cereal, listening to the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of the morning news on the wall-mounted TV.

Charles sat across from me. He looked perfectly put together in his blue and gold jersey, his hair styled just right, not a single hair out of place. You’d never know that six hours ago, he was a wreck on the floor surrounded by broken glass. He didn't look at me once. He was back to being the King, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression.

"Charles, make sure you're home by seven tonight," his father said, not looking up from his Wall Street Journal. Mr. Sterling was a man who radiated power like a heater radiates heat—constant and suffocating. "The Senator is coming over for dinner. I expect you to be sharp."

Charles’s grip tightened on his phone just for a second. "I have practice, Dad. The big scouts are coming Friday."

"Practice can wait," Mr. Sterling replied, his voice flat. "The Senator’s endorsement is more important than a game. Darcie, make sure he’s dressed and ready. That’s what we’re paying you for, isn’t it?"

I felt a spark of heat in my chest. "Yes, Mr. Sterling."

Charles stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. "We're going to be late. Let’s go, Miller."

The car ride was different this time. The music wasn't blaring. It was quiet—the kind of quiet that feels like it’s about to explode. I waited until we were halfway to school before I spoke.

"Are you going to do it?" I asked, looking at his profile. "Are you going to skip practice for a dinner?"

"What do you care?" he snapped, but there was no bite in it. He looked tired.

"I don't. I just think it's pathetic," I said, leaning back. "The 'Golden Boy' does exactly what Daddy says, even when it kills him. It’s a great look, Charles."

He swerved the car into a parking spot at St. Jude’s with more force than necessary. He killed the engine and finally looked at me. His eyes were hard, but I saw the flicker of the boy from last night hiding behind the steel.

"You think you're so smart, don't you? You think because you saw me lose it for five minutes, you know me?" He leaned over the center console, invading my space again. "You don't know anything about the weight of this name, Darcie. You get to be invisible. You get to fail and no one cares. I don't have that luxury."

"You call it luxury," I whispered, my heart doing that annoying thumping thing again. "I call it a leash. And honestly? I’d rather be invisible than owned."

I opened the door and stepped out before he could respond.

The hallways were a minefield. The "Nanny" jokes had evolved. Now, people were whispering that I was only in the house because I was "easy." I saw Sloane at her locker, surrounded by her court of cheerleaders, watching me with a predatory smile.

"Hey, Nanny!" she called out as I passed. "Did you tuck Charles in last night? Or did he have to tuck you in?"

The girls erupted in giggles. I kept walking, staring straight ahead. I was used to it. I’d been the target for three years. But today, for some reason, it felt heavier. Maybe because the person who should have been stopping it was the one who started the fire in the first place.

During lunch, I was tucked away in my usual corner of the library when a shadow fell over my table. I expected Jax. Instead, I saw a pair of expensive leather sneakers.

I looked up. It was Charles. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be at the "Elite Table" in the cafeteria, surrounded by people laughing at his jokes.

"What do you want, Sterling? Come to tell me I missed a spot on the marble?"

He didn't smirk. He sat down across from me, sliding a brown paper bag across the table. "You forgot your lunch. My mom noticed. She didn't want the 'help' fainting on the Senator’s shoes tonight."

I looked at the bag. It was heavy. Probably a gourmet sandwich from the Sterling kitchen. "You walked all the way across campus to bring me a sandwich because your mom told you to?"

"Just eat the damn food, Miller," he muttered, looking around to make sure no one was watching. He looked out of place among the dusty books and the quiet nerds. "And... about this morning. I’m going to practice tonight."

I paused, my hand on the bag. "And the Senator?"

"He can talk to my dad. I'm playing on Friday. I'm not letting him take that too." He looked at me then, a real, honest look. No mask. No King. Just Charles. "You were right. About the leash."

I didn't know what to say. The air between us changed again, shifting from static to something softer. For a second, I forgot we were in a school where everyone hated me. I forgot that his father owned my life. I just saw a boy who was finally trying to breathe.

"Good," I said, my voice a bit shaky. "Now get out of here before someone sees you talking to the 'peasant' and your social score drops."

He stood up, a ghost of his usual smirk returning. "Too late for that, Miller. Sloane already saw me coming in here. I’ll probably have to spend an hour apologizing to her just to keep the peace."

"Poor you," I rolled my eyes.

He started to walk away, then stopped. He turned back, leaning his hands on the table. "By the way... that cream top? It looks better than the hoodies. You should wear it more often."

He walked away before I could process the compliment—if you could even call it that. My heart was racing so fast I thought I might actually faint, and it had nothing to do with skipping breakfast.

I opened the bag. Inside was a chicken pesto sandwich, an organic apple, and a small, hand-written note on a scrap of paper. It wasn't fancy stationery. It looked like it had been torn from a notebook.

Section 4 of the History notes. I don't get the part about the industrial revolution. Fix it before 7.

There was no signature. But I recognized the messy, aggressive handwriting.

I bit into the sandwich. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Not because it was expensive, but because for the first time in three years, Charles Sterling hadn't taken something from me. He’d given me something.

But as I looked toward the library doors where he’d disappeared, I saw Sloane standing in the shadows of the stacks. She wasn't smiling anymore. She was watching me with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

The peace was over. The war was just getting started, and I realized with a sink in my stomach that being noticed by the King was a lot more dangerous than being his shadow.