chapter 4 " The trap in the locker room "

The last bell rang. Brentford Academy exhaled with the relief of another day survived. Students flooded the courtyard in sleek uniforms and smug laughter, their expensive colognes trailing like war paint. Helena had planned to head straight home—Tessy had left earlier for a board meeting with her father’s estate company, and Helena wanted nothing more than a hot shower and silence.

But something felt off.

As she approached her locker, her shoulders tightened. That sixth sense—sharp and instinctive—tugged at her spine. Still, she unlocked it, swapped out her books, zipped her bag, and turned to leave.

“James.”

The voice stopped her cold.

Greg Carter leaned casually against the marble column by the exit, hands in his pockets, shirt slightly undone like it had been that way all day on purpose. His blazer hung off his shoulder with effortless arrogance.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, Carter?”

He pushed off the column and walked toward her, slow and deliberate. “I’m missing something,” he said smoothly. “An item. Small, but expensive.”

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t lost and found, Greg.”

He stopped in front of her, so close she could smell his cologne—expensive, woodsy, wrong. “It’s a wristwatch. Gold. Cartier. A gift. Disappeared after lunch.”

Helena crossed her arms. “And you think I have it?”

He tilted his head, mock sympathy in his gaze. “Look, I don’t want this to become an issue. But we can check your bag. Just to be sure. Right?”

Before she could respond, Ferdinand appeared behind him, as if summoned by the devil himself.

“Bag,” Greg said smoothly, turning to Ferdinand. “Check it.”

Helena recoiled. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You’d only say that if you had something to hide,” Greg said softly.

Ferdinand grabbed her backpack before she could protest. She lunged, but it was too late—he had already unzipped it and reached in.

And then…

“Got it,” he announced with smug satisfaction, holding up a gleaming gold wristwatch.

Helena stared in horror. Her blood turned ice. “That’s not—I didn’t—”

Greg took the watch from Ferdinand, turning it in his hand like he was examining a piece of art. “Interesting. Found in your bag, Helena.”

“You planted it,” she snapped. “You set me up.”

Greg smiled, slow and infuriating. “That’s a bold accusation. Especially for someone who now has stolen property in her possession.”

Helena’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her hands shook.

“You wouldn’t—”

“I would,” Greg said, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You think this school would believe you? Scholarship girl with a chip on her shoulder? Or me, son of the board’s biggest donor?”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. “What do you want?”

Greg leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “Nothing public. Just a little arrangement.”

Her skin crawled.

“You’ll come to my house,” he said. “Once a week. Do some work. Chores. Laundry, maybe. Fold my clothes. Clean my room.”

Helena swallowed hard. “Like a maid?”

“Call it community service,” he whispered. “It’s that or I report you. And I’m sure the headmaster would love to hear all about your sticky fingers.”

She wanted to slap him. Hard. But her fists stayed clenched at her sides.

“You’re disgusting.”

Greg stepped back with a smirk. “You’re brave, Helena. But you’re also new. You don’t understand how this place works yet. Everyone here has a price. Or a punishment.”

Ferdinand laughed and walked off. Greg followed, leaving her standing alone in the hallway—shaking, humiliated, and full of rage.

Later that Night

She paced her room like a caged animal.

What kind of sick game was this? She didn’t steal that watch—she knew it, and he knew it. But no one else would believe her. Greg Carter was Brentford’s crown prince. His word wasn’t just law—it was gospel.

She thought about reporting him anyway. But how would she prove it? She didn’t have access to cameras or allies in high places. Even Tessy, as kind as she was, would be crushed under the weight of Greg’s influence if she tried to help.

So that left her with one option.

Play the game.

And plan her revenge from the inside.

Elsewhere in Brentford

Bianca adjusted her lipstick in front of the mirror in the elite girls' dormitory. Her phone buzzed. A message from one of her sources.

Greg cornered the new girl today. Something about a watch. She’s going to his house now. 👀

Bianca’s hand froze.

Rumors had long circled that she and Greg had once shared more than just chemistry class. Whispers of a secret affair—burned notes, late-night meetings, stolen kisses in forbidden corners of the academy.

But it ended. And when it did, Greg became colder. Sharper. Meaner.

And now, this new girl…

Bianca’s eyes narrowed.

Helena James was more dangerous than she looked.

And if Greg was looking at her like that… someone was bound to get hurt.

Bianca frowned at the message.

Greg cornered the new girl today. Something about a watch. She’s going to his house now. 👀

Her manicured thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before she locked the phone and shoved it into her purse.

Gossip.

That’s all it was. Greg had always attracted it like a magnet. Besides, Helena James was too plain to be his type. Greg liked dangerous girls. Beautiful ones. Girls who knew how to play.

Bianca knew—because she had been that girl.

Still, something itched at the back of her mind. Greg’s eyes had been drifting lately, unfocused. Distant. She hadn’t known what it meant… but maybe she did now.

“Whatever,” she muttered under her breath.

She fixed her lipstick one last time and stepped out of the dorm, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. Outside, a sleek black Lexus waited, engine idling, headlights glowing faintly under the dusk sky.

Audrey sat behind the wheel, one hand draped casually on the steering.

Her second boyfriend.

Not the public one. Not the one who brought her flowers in school. Audrey was different. Older. Dangerous in the kind of way that felt like fire under her skin.

“Hey, baby,” she purred as she slid into the passenger seat.

Audrey didn’t smile—he never did. But his hand found her thigh as he shifted the gear. “You’re late.”

“I had to put out a fire,” Bianca said, flipping her hair. “Something about Greg and the new girl.”

Audrey scoffed. “Greg Carter? Thought you were done with his kind.”

“I am,” Bianca replied quickly, a little too quickly. “He’s not my concern.”

Audrey didn’t push. He drove in silence, knuckles pale on the steering wheel.

They reached the hotel in twenty minutes. The place was upscale—discreet. A haven for Brentford’s elite students and the secrets they carried.

Inside the room, Bianca dropped her purse on the velvet armchair and pulled off her blazer, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window as the city lights shimmered below.

Audrey came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. “You’re tense.”

Bianca closed her eyes as his lips brushed her shoulder. “I hate when people lie to me.”

He chuckled against her skin. “Then stop surrounding yourself with liars.”

She turned, her fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket. “You’re one too.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

Their mouths met in a kiss—urgent, hungry, a silent war between power and possession.

But even as she let him touch her—skin to skin, breath tangled with breath—Bianca’s mind wasn’t fully there.

It was still back at Brentford.

Still on Greg.

Still on Helena James.

Meanwhile, Across Town

Helena sat in her room, the letter from Tessy’s stationery clutched in one hand. Tessy had slipped it into her pocket earlier with a quiet smile.

You stood up for me. That makes you rare around here.

Let’s be friends. Real ones.

– Tessy 🌷

The soft scent of lavender ink clung to the page. It made Helena smile. At least someone in this place didn’t think she was a thief.

She glanced at the clock. 10:42 PM.

Greg’s ultimatum still echoed in her ears.

Come to my house. Or face the consequences.

Her phone buzzed again.

A new message from an unknown number.

Don’t trust anyone. Not even the ones you think you like.

Helena’s heart pounded.

She sat up straighter.

Someone was watching her.

And if she was going to survive Brentford, she'd have to watch back—twice as hard.