Semua Bab THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME : Bab 171 - Bab 180

Fiero woke up to the sound of something thudding against his door. A dull, rhythmic thud that didn’t stop after the first one. Or the second. Thud. Thud. He cracked an eye open, one hand blindly reaching for his phone like he could slap the world into snooze mode. 4:58 A.M. He blinked. Then groaned. Another hit. Then— “Fiero, open this damn door!” Joy. Of course it was Joy. He sighed through his nose and dropped his phone onto his chest with a muted thunk. Yeah. He knew exactly what this was about. She was coming for him. Because of last night. The moment replayed like a cursed VHS: Moses, half-naked, Mika, even worse, together, and the kind of eye contact that made you want to bleach your soul. He had closed the door so slowly, like if he moved gently enough, time would reverse and give him a do-over. Joy hadn't come last night. He’d expected her to. Joy didn’t sit on things, she detonated. Which meant… He rolled onto his side with a groan and stared at the door. Mi

Monday had passed. House Six had won. Again. Thornecrest Academy buzzed like a stirred hive, tense and volatile. The leaderboard hadn't even finished updating before the forums caught fire—thread after thread, each one louder, messier, more unhinged than the last. But no one was really talking about the points anymore. They were talking about the Founder's Ball. It wasn’t just an event. It was a coronation in disguise. A political cage match dipped in champagne and dressed in velvet, where reputations were built, dismantled, and fed to the crowd in a single night. Two students would be crowned Monarchs of Thornecrest—ruling figures for the rest of the semester. Technically, anyone could win. Realistically? Only house leaders stood a chance. The current Monarchs were Denise Poppins and Adonis Hale. They weren’t just popular—they were strategically bred for this. The year before, it had been Anabel Lillington and Tristan Hope, both of whom were now interning unde

The Founder’s Ball had finally arrived.The ballroom at Thornecrest Academy shimmered beneath a thousand golden lights, chandeliers catching every whisper of motion. It smelled like perfume, ambition, and too much hairspray. Music played—a haunting string quartet tucked into the alcove but no one was really listening. Students from every house arrived in waves, dressed like royalty, masks discarded in favor of presence.House Royal and House Prestige strutted in early, all stiff posture and practiced smiles. Their heels didn’t scuff. Their dates didn’t sweat. They knew the cameras would pan to them first.Titan was already raiding the drink table—flasks passed under velvet coats, their laughter too loud. Dominion and Valiant arrived together, all political tension and sideways glances toward Elect.And House Elect?Adonis Hale looked like he’d eaten the concept of wealth and pissed out status. His suit probably cost more than tuition, and the gold stitching on his cuffs spelled his

The hallway outside Principal Whitmore's office was silent, save for the faint hum of electricity from the overhead lights. House Six moved like ghosts, each step calculated. Miriam was at the front, her fingers gripping the cool metal of the master key as she slid it into the lock. The door clicked open, and they slipped inside. The office smelled of old paper, cigar smoke, and a faint trace of Whitmore's expensive perfume. The large oak desk was littered with neatly stacked files, but Miriam ignored them. She moved straight to the surveillance system on the far wall, its screens dimmed in standby mode. Samuel stood beside her, a flick knife twirling between his fingers as he leaned in. "We don't have all night, genius." Miriam rolled her eyes and began typing rapidly. The system was layered with firewalls, but nothing she hadn't cracked before. Within moments, the footage began to rewind. The others crowded around, watching intently. The timestamp read: 11:01 PM. They were re

Luca Avancii had spent his youth being ruthless—an unrelenting force in business, carving out an empire with sharp instincts and sharper decisions. He didn’t negotiate. He didn’t pause. He didn’t second-guess. But now, in the later years of his life, something had shifted. Power never left a man willingly. It clung like a second skin, but these days, Luca took greater pleasure in simpler things: the weight of a good book in hand, a glass of thirty-year whiskey neat, the chaos of his children shrieking down the hall. Still, one thing hadn’t changed. Legacy. Legacy was everything. And that was why, at this moment, he stood in the center of the master bedroom, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, facing off with his wife, Maria, as though she were a rival in one of his old boardroom wars. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said, voice low and tight.