Move 1

***Disclaimer***

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

It contains mature themes including emotional manipulation, psychological tension, and complex romantic dynamics that may not be suitable for all readers.

The author does not promote or condone toxic behavior, revenge, or violence in any form. These elements are explored purely for narrative and character development.

Reader discretion is advised.

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Thunder struck!

“Are you sure you are ready to do this? After that, there is no turning back,” he asked.

“Yes. I have waited for this all my life. I trained for this for years. I am ready,” she answered.

“So shall it be.”

She rose and left the room without looking back.

¤¤¤

Stanton University

The most expensive and exclusive university in the world. Children of the wealthiest fortunes were admitted there — sons and daughters of politicians, billionaire business people, oil and petrol magnates, mafia leaders, princes and princesses from all around the globe. It was a place where the rich sent their children not to study, but to make connections. The students were rich, yet even among them existed a hierarchy based on family fortune and the amount of their parents’ donations to the university. The wealthiest were granted exclusive privileges, as well as protection and cover-ups whenever they committed crimes that needed to be hidden to preserve their family names.

Angelique was freshly out of France and stepping into this new universe, ready to face whatever awaited her. Her first stop was the admissions office to finalize her registration. The semester was already halfway through.

“Welcome to Stanton University, Ms. Rochefort. I’m Mrs. Thompson,” the woman said warmly.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Thompson,” Angelique replied politely.

“I can see you’re from France?” asked Mrs. Thompson, glancing at the file before her.

“Yes, I’m from Paris. My parents travel a lot, so they decided to send me here for stability until I obtain my degree,” Angelique explained.

“Oh, I understand. Our university counts many international students. You’ll notice the cultural diversity on campus,” said Mrs. Thompson, handing her a brochure. “This will show you the way to your apartment. Here are the keys — you’ll be sharing it with one other student. It was the only available spot we had. The brochure also includes directions to your classes. Don’t forget to register your courses online. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Angelique took the brochure, pocketed the keys, and headed out to drive to her apartment — her new beginning.

Her apartment was about twenty minutes away from the main building by car. The campus stretched endlessly, like a miniature city built for the elite. Manicured lawns rolled into vast golf courses, while marble-paved paths led to private cinema rooms, tennis courts, football and basketball fields, and even a hockey arena. There was an underground shooting range, a grand library that looked more like a museum, a modern game center, a private hospital, and a supermarket stocked with imported delicacies. Stanton University wasn’t just a place to study — it was a world designed to keep its privileged residents comfortably isolated from reality.

The student dorms resembled luxury villas rather than housing blocks. Their opulence varied according to the price their parents were willing to pay. Some students lived alone in lavish suites; others shared two-bedroom apartments. Only a handful of scholarship students occupied the modest multifamily residences tucked discreetly at the far edge of campus.

“I think it’s here,” Angelique murmured as she parked her car in front of a cream-colored townhouse. The garden was small but well-kept, and tall glass windows gleamed under the soft afternoon light. “It doesn’t look that bad from the outside,” she added, stepping out.

She rang the bell, and a few seconds later, the door opened to reveal another girl.

“Uh, hey! I’m Angelique Rochefort — your new flatmate,” she said, smiling politely.

“Nice to meet you. Pavitra Raj. Come in,” the girl replied, stepping aside to let her in.

The moment Angelique entered, she was struck by how elegant and modern the living room looked. Cream walls, plush beige couches, and the faint scent of jasmine incense gave the place a warm, welcoming aura.

“Wow, you’re so beautiful,” Pavitra said suddenly, her gaze full of surprise and admiration.

Angelique laughed softly. She was used to the reaction, though it still made her a little shy. Her white-blonde hair, cut into a sleek long blunt bob, framed her oval face perfectly. Olive-green, fox-like eyes shone with quiet intensity above soft pink lips. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline lent her a kind of effortless elegance. Her complexion was luminous — neither too pale nor too rosy — and her long, graceful legs and subtle curves made her presence both delicate and striking.

“Oh, thank you. You’re beautiful too,” Angelique replied sincerely.

Pavitra smiled, brushing a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. She was a tanned Indian girl with gentle brown almond eyes and a naturally warm smile that immediately put people at ease — a stark contrast to Angelique’s composed and slightly distant demeanor.

“Where are your belongings?” Pavitra asked, glancing at the empty hallway.

“My employees will bring them over this evening,” Angelique answered, her voice calm, almost detached.

For a moment, Pavitra blinked — then she simply nodded and smiled again. “Alright then. I’ll help you settle in once they arrive.”

Angelique smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

“While we wait, let me show you around,” Pavitra offered, leading the way through the apartment. “We share the living room and kitchen, but not the bedrooms, bathrooms, or study areas.”

She guided Angelique into the kitchen, then down the hallway to her room. It was a spacious, elegant suite — complete with a private bathroom, a large dressing area, and a study corner bathed in soft light from the tall window.

“I hope you like it,” Pavitra said.

“It’s smaller than my house, but it’s okay,” Angelique replied, setting her purse on the desk. “What about cleaning and cooking?”

“The cleaning, laundry, and maintenance are included in the rent,” Pavitra explained. “If you want to eat at home, you can hire a private chef. Otherwise, there are some excellent restaurants nearby.”

“Oh, I see. And can you tell me more about the university? I came here mid-semester, so I don’t really know much yet,” Angelique asked, curiosity flickering in her voice.

Pavitra nodded. “Well, as you probably know, this university isn’t for everyone. To be part of it, you have to belong to a powerful or wealthy family. Students here are classified according to their fortunes.”

She began counting on her fingers as she explained:

“We have the D-Class — those are the scholarship students. They’re very few, maybe three percent of the total population. Then comes the C-Class, the classic millionaires. Normally, their status wouldn’t grant them access here, but their parents could afford the tuition.

Next is the B-Class — the multi-millionaires. They’re rich, but not rich enough to be considered part of the elite. After that, the A-Class — the billionaires, the true elites, sons and daughters of the world’s biggest fortunes.

And finally, the S-Class — the ones who practically govern the world. They’re the children of the one percent, and there are only five of them in the entire undergraduate program.”

Angelique’s eyes widened slightly. “How do you recognize them?” she asked, intrigued.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Pavitra said with a smirk. “Their names are displayed on a special board at the main building’s entrance — listed in order of fortune, from the richest to the least rich among the five. We also have pins to make the difference. If you’re lucky, you might have one of them in your class, but not often. They usually have private lessons or special schedules.”

“And you? Which class are you?” Angelique asked, smiling faintly.

“A-Class — lower range,” Pavitra said with a laugh. “But I was too bored to live alone.”

“And you?” she added.

“A-Class as well,” Angelique replied softly. Her tone was calm, but her mind was elsewhere.

“In which field are you majoring?” Pavitra asked, curious.

“Business. Level 200,” Angelique replied.

“Then you’re lucky — you have Trunks in your class.”

“Trunks?” Angelique asked, confused.

“Yeah. Trunks is his nickname, but his name is Juhoon Choi. He’s in Business, Level 200. He arrived last year, and he’s number one among the five S-Class students. He’s Korean-American — the son of the Korean business tycoon Seungmin Choi, CEO of H Holdings, and Xiaolin Feng, heiress of the Sash Conglomerate.”

“You mean THE H and THE Sash?” Angelique repeated.

“Exactly. The most powerful alliance in the world. He lost his parents two years ago and inherited everything. He was embroiled in a family inheritance war for almost a year and only just won. That made him the youngest of the top one percent — number one on Forbes, for now… but who knows if it will stay that way.”

“Oh, I see,” Angelique murmured.

“In fact, I don’t think you’ll have much chance to meet him. He’s discreet — a kind of geek, speaks to almost no one, and makes rare appearances. People say he’s a real loser. I’ve seen him a few times and I agree — a big loser,” Pavitra said, unbothered.

¤¤¤

The bell rang. It was Angelique’s movers with her things. She directed them to her room, and they set about unpacking. While they arranged her wardrobe and positioned the furniture, Angelique returned to the university’s main block. She stood before the diamond board and read to herself, the names of the five S-Class students from bottom to top.

- Ryan Jay Williams

- Alejandro José Diego Carvajal

- Cornelia Harley Meier

- Suhee Park

- Juhoon Harris Feng-Choi — number one on Forbes, huh? Not for long, she thought, a cold smile tightening at the corner of her mouth. I’ll make sure I ruin every part of you, make you suffer, seize everything from you, and then kill you.