Chapter 2

RHETT

By the time my roommate and I finish unpacking, the faint panic buzzing through the hallways has settled into something quieter- anticipation, maybe. Or dread.

Thirty minutes later, we file out into the courtyard again, following the path back toward the main hall.

The campus has shifted since earlier. Banners gleam under the muted afternoon light, and long rows of white chairs stretch out across the lawn. A raised stage sits at the far end, flanked by tall marble columns and a flag - bearing the university crest.

We’re ushered to a block of seats closer to the back. No one says it out loud, but everyone knows why.

Adrian stands near the steps with a clipboard, scanning the crowd like a hawk. Upperclassmen in similar black jackets move around, directing groups with practiced ease.

“Scholarship students- back two rows,” one of them calls.

I sink into a chair, my fingers drumming against my knee. My roommate -Tj - leans closer and whispers, “Well. At least we have the best view of everyone’s expensive haircuts.”

I choke on a laugh, earning a glare from the girl sitting next to me.

The hum of conversation dips as the sound system crackles to life. A woman in a sharp black suit steps up to the podium.

“Welcome to Ravenwood University,” she begins, her voice smooth and steady. “You stand on grounds where history was written, power was taught, and futures were built. Whether you carry a legacy name or are here on earned merit-” her eyes flick briefly to the scholarship rows, “-you are now part of the Ravenwood tradition.”

The air thickens. It’s subtle, but it’s there- the invisible line between them and us.

The woman at the podium steps away, and the crowd shifts almost instinctively. Heads turn, voices drop- not into silence, but something sharper. A group of students walks toward the front with the kind of ease that doesn’t come from arrogance but from belonging.

They laugh as they go, bumping shoulders, one of them lifting a hand to acknowledge someone in the crowd. A few students clap out of habit, others because they recognise them. It’s casual, unforced- the kind of reaction that comes from seeing familiar faces in familiar roles.

And at the centre of it is Lucien Ricci.

Even if I hadn’t memorized his file, I’d know who he is. Tall, sharp suit, dark hair slicked back with just enough defiance to keep him from looking boring. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, hinting at rebellion-but polished enough to be intentional.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t wave. He just walks. And the crowd reacts like he’s the sun they revolve around.

Students- seniors most likely- straighten.

A few girls whisper wjile eyeing him like candy.

Teachers glance up and nod at him approvingly- not even trying to hide that he’s their favourite student.

Lucien doesn’t acknowledge any of them.

He doesn’t have to.

Cause he’s got all of them wrapped in the palm of his hand.

Golden boy of Ravenwood. Star athlete. Top of every list that matters. The one the school parades for the press. The one e6ven the shadows respect.

But behind the calm expression and flawless record is the heir to the Ricci Mafia empire.

My target.

.........

A week at Ravenwood was enough to settle into a rhythm before I got in to observing my target.

Mornings meant Political Theory and Comparative Government-classes where professors spoke like they were daring someone to contradict them.

Criminology followed in the afternoons, all case studies and uncomfortable silences when someone got a little too enthusiastic about punishment. One lecturer had a habit of pacing the aisles while he talked. Another graded participation the way a prosecutor builds a case.

No one asked personal questions.

No one needed to.

By Friday, I knew which seats stayed empty, which students answered too quickly, and which ones never raised their hands but somehow always had the right answer. Ravenwood didn’t feel hostile.

It felt selective.

Tj, took to it like it was a sport.

He flopped onto the couch Friday evening, scrolling through his phone, boots still on.

“Good news,” he announced. “We didn’t get expelled in our first week.”

“High bar,” I said.

He grinned. “Right? Which means we’ve earned this.”

I glanced over. “Earned what?”

“A party.” He finally looked up. “Off campus. Nothing fancy. Just people blowing off steam before midterms sneak up and ruin our lives.”

He shrugged. “Older students are hosting. Mostly scholarship kids. You don’t have to go- but if you want to meet people without a professor and trusties staring through your soul, tonight’s the night.”

That sounded… normal.

Suspiciously so.

The house was already loud when we arrived. Music thudded through the walls, bass heavy enough to rattle the windows. Someone had dragged speakers onto the porch, and a cluster of students were already half-dancing, half-spilling drinks on each other.

Inside was chaos in the way only college parties managed- too many people, not enough space, red cups everywhere. Someone was shouting over the music. Someone else laughed like they’d already lost their voice.

Tj vanished within minutes, absorbed into the crowd like he’d been born for it.

I grabbed a drink and leaned against the wall, content to observe.

That’s when I noticed the tension.

Near the kitchen, a small group had formed- not loud enough to draw the whole room, but tight enough to trap attention. Three guys. All older. All relaxed in the way that meant they thought they were untouchable.

The guy they’d cornered didn’t look scared.

He looked calm as though it was just another regular night.

“Didn’t think they’d let Helmshire rejects wander this far,” one of them said, tipping his cup just enough to slosh beer onto the floor.

The guy in the middle smiled faintly. “Didn’t realize Ravenwood was that insecure.”

Another guy, taller than the others steps closer to the guy in the middle” I’d be careful if we’re you...” he leans in muttering the rest to his ear then just as he did he steps back and leaves his two buddies following

 That was...an unexpected ending.

“You planning to glare at everyone tonight?” Someone asked. “Or was that a special performance?”

I shift my gaze from where the guys jad walked off to and I’m met with the guy they’d surrounded standing next to me lazily holding a red cup, with his other hand in his pocket.

“Wasn’t aiming for an audience” I said

“Shame” He held out his hand “Could’ve used one”

I took it “Luke.”

“Cole.”

Afterwards we spend the rest of the night talking and drinking like we were some high-school buddies who had reunited again in college.

Maybe fitting in here won’t be so hard afterall.