​Chapter 3: Claws and False Smiles

The pristine, polished marble floor of Saint Jude’s Academy clicked beneath my boots, echoing through the vaulted stone corridors of the city’s most elite preparatory estate. High arches, stained-glass windows, and the faint, sickening scent of lavender polish and old money filled the air. To the world outside, it was an exclusive sanctuary for the offspring of high-ranking diplomats, corporate titans, and corrupt politicians.

To me, it was a hunting ground.

I walked down the main hallway toward the grand courtyard, flanked loosely by Julian and Roxy. We kept our heads down, but our presence radiated a dark, quiet lethargy that made the gilded legacy kids shrink back against their lockers. Underneath my high-collared black wool blazer, my skin still burned with fresh adrenaline from the morning's logistics audit. My street network was expanding rapidly, but maintaining a presence inside Saint Jude’s was essential—this was where Victor’s political lackeys rubbed shoulders, traded secrets, and managed their off-book bribes.

"Three o'clock," Roxy murmured under her breath, her voice barely a whisper against the low hum of student chatter. "The high priestess of daddy’s dark money."

I didn't need to look up to know who she meant.

Standing by the central fountain in the sunlit glass atrium was Scarlett.

She was draped in a custom-tailored silk blouse and a pleated school skirt, a court of fawning sycophants hovering around her like flies on silk. Scarlett was the daughter of the city’s deputy commissioner—a man deep on Victor’s payroll—and she ran the social hierarchy of Saint Jude’s like a tyrant with a golden whip. Her long, pointed stiletto nails—painted a deep, wet crimson—glistened under the glass ceiling as she gestured grandly, holding a designer iced coffee in her left hand.

The moment her sharp eyes caught sight of me stepping into the atrium, her smile faltered, twisting into a look of absolute, aristocratic disgust.

"Well, well," Scarlett called out, her shrill, refined voice cutting through the chatter in the courtyard. The surrounding students went dead quiet, instantly sensing blood in the water. "Look what slipped through the back doors today. I thought Saint Jude’s had updated its security protocols against common street trash."

Julian’s hand twitched subtly toward the inside of his jacket, but I gave him a single, micro-fractional shake of my head. Not here. Not yet.

I stopped five feet from her, resting my hands casually in my blazer pockets, my posture cold, relaxed, and utterly unfazed. I tilted my head, looking at her with the same mild curiosity I’d give a squished bug on the sidewalk.

"You look stressed, Scarlett," I said, my voice smooth, quiet, and laced with a deadly, sweet composure. "Is your father having trouble moving his secondary accounts through the harbor this week? I hear the docks have been... unpredictable."

The color drained from Scarlett’s face for a fraction of a second, her glossed lips pressing into a thin, white line. Mentioning the docks hit a nerve—she knew her father’s political benefactors were losing millions following my total wipeout of the Irish mob's harbor cell.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" Scarlett hissed, stepping into my personal space. The heavy, suffocating reek of her synthetic rose perfume hit my nose. "You walk around here acting like you're invincible. You're nothing. You're a nameless, fatherless stray who survived a gutter battle, and you think you can stand in the same room as us?"

"I don't just stand in the same room, Scarlett," I murmured, leaning in close enough that only she could hear the icy venom beneath my breath. "I own the foundation under your feet."

Scarlett’s composure completely shattered. The aristocratic mask slipped, revealing a ugly, spoiled brat blinded by white-hot, narcissistic rage.

Before her surrounding circle of sycophants could even register her movement, Scarlett lunged forward, her hand shooting out like a striking viper. She didn't throw a punch—she raked her long, dagger-like crimson acrylic nails directly across the side of my neck and collarbone.

RIP.

The sharp, pointed tips tore through the fabric of my collar, biting deep into the soft skin beneath.

A sharp, searing spike of heat shot straight down my shoulder. Four jagged, weeping tracks opened up across my skin, instantly pooling with hot, crimson blood that soaked into the white collar of my shirt.

Julian made a violent move forward, his dark eyes flashing with pure, terrifying murder, and Roxy’s hand slammed flat against the grip of her concealed weapon. The students in the courtyard gasped in collective, horror-stricken silence, expecting me to scream, collapse, or strike back.

Instead, I didn't even flinch.

I didn't blink. I didn't wince. I didn't drop my chin.

I stood there like an iron statue, the hot arterial blood trickling down into the hollow of my throat, staining the black wool of my blazer. I slowly turned my head, locking my dark eyes straight into hers.

Scarlett froze, her hands shaking, her breath hitching sharply in her chest as she looked down at her own fingers. Two of her immaculate acrylic nails were chipped and stained with my fresh blood. The absolute, unhinged deadness in my gaze struck her like a physical blow, paralyzing her with a sudden, suffocating wave of instinctual fear. She took a involuntary half-step back, her eyes wide with shock.

A slow, terrifyingly sweet smile curled the corners of my lips.

I reached up with two fingers, casually dabbing a drop of the warm blood from my neck. I looked at the red stain on my skin, then looked straight back up into her trembling eyes.

"Nice claws, Scarlett," I whispered smoothly, my voice dripping with dark, playful malice that sent a visible shiver down her spine. "Hold onto them while you can. Because when I decide to clip them... I'm taking the fingers with them."

Without waiting for her to respond, I turned on my heel and walked away.

My boots clicked rhythmically against the marble floor as I glided toward the courtyard exit, Julian and Roxy falling into step right beside me like silent, lethal bodyguards. Behind us, Scarlett stood frozen in the center of the silent atrium, trembling under the bloody weight of a rivalry that would soon burn her entire world to ash.