The next morning, the Chapman dining room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the early sun.

The long mahogany table was set with fine china and crystal glasses.

Elia walked in. She wore a plain white T-shirt and faded denim jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. She looked completely out of place against the backdrop of silk drapes and oil paintings.

Mavis was sitting near the head of the table, delicately slicing a French crepe for Geri.

When Mavis saw Elia, her smile vanished. The silver knife scraped harshly against the china plate.

She pointed her fork toward the very end of the long table, the seat farthest away from the family.

Elia walked to the end of the table. She pulled out the heavy wooden chair. The legs scraped loudly against the hardwood floor, making Mavis flinch.

Elia sat down. She picked up a piece of dry, unbuttered toast from a basket. She took a bite. The crunch was loud in the quiet room.

Gorge lowered his copy of the Wall Street Journal. He cleared his throat, adjusting his silk tie.

"I assume you looked at the file I gave you last night," Gorge said, not looking directly at Elia. "The driver will take you to Queens. It's a public school. Given your... lack of academic history in the Midwest, it was the best I could do."

Mavis scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee. "Best you could do? It's a charity. With her middle-school dropout record, she's lucky any school in New York took her."

Geri took a delicate bite of her crepe. She looked at Elia with wide, innocent eyes.

"I heard the security at that school is really bad, Elia," Geri said softly. "There are metal detectors at the doors. Will you be okay? I mean, you're probably used to rough crowds, but still..."

"She'll fit right in," Mavis sneered. "Trash belongs with trash."

Elia chewed the dry toast. It scratched the back of her throat as she swallowed.

She didn't look at Mavis. She didn't look at Geri.

"I don't want you anywhere near Geri's social circles," Gorge continued, his tone hardening. "Geri is at Manhattan Elite Prep. She has an image to maintain. I will not have you dragging her down with your rust-belt habits."

Geri straightened her posture, a smug, victorious gleam in her eyes.

Elia swallowed the last piece of toast. She reached for a linen napkin and wiped the crumbs from her lips. Her movements were slow, precise, and completely unbothered.

She placed the napkin on the table.

She lifted her eyes and locked onto Gorge.

"I'm not going," Elia said.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a scalpel.

The dining room fell dead silent.

Mavis slammed her coffee cup onto the saucer. The dark liquid sloshed over the rim.

"Excuse me?" Mavis hissed, her face turning red. "You ungrateful little brat. Do you know how much money Gorge spent bribing the principal just to look at your blank transcripts?"

Gorge's face darkened. The veins in his neck bulged.

"You don't have a choice in this house," Gorge warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "This is New York. You are a nobody. You will do exactly as I say."

Geri's lower lip trembled. She looked at Gorge, playing the victim. "Dad, maybe she just feels bad that she can't go to a good school like me. Don't be too mad at her."

Elia watched Geri's performance. A flicker of pure disgust crossed her cold eyes.

Elia pushed her chair back and stood up.

She placed both hands flat on the mahogany table. She leaned forward slightly.

The physical shift in her posture changed the gravity in the room. The air suddenly felt too thin to breathe.

"I handle my own affairs," Elia said, her voice dropping an octave. "I already enrolled myself in a school."

Mavis let out a loud, theatrical bark of laughter.

"You? Enrolled yourself?" Mavis mocked, waving her hand dismissively. "Where? A community college for dropouts? A vocational school for mechanics?"

Gorge crossed his arms, staring at Elia with heavy contempt. "Enlighten us. Where are you going?"

Elia looked down at him.

"Manhattan Elite Prep."

The name dropped like a bomb.

Geri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her juice glass tipped over, spilling orange liquid across the white tablecloth.

Mavis froze, her laughter dying in her throat. She stared at Elia as if she had grown a second head.

"That is the most ridiculous lie I have ever heard," Mavis spat, her voice shaking with sudden rage. "Elite Prep requires a massive endowment, perfect test scores, and a legacy interview. You are a stray dog we picked up from the Midwest!"

Gorge slammed his hand on the table. The silverware rattled.

"Enough!" Gorge roared. "I will not tolerate pathological lying in my house. You are embarrassing yourself, Elia."

Elia didn't blink. She didn't raise her voice.

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out her phone.

She tapped the screen twice, opening a PDF document.

She slid the phone across the long, polished table. It stopped precisely in front of Gorge.

Gorge glared at her, then looked down at the glowing screen.

His eyes locked onto the crimson crest of Manhattan Elite Prep at the top of the page.

His gaze moved down to the bold text.

Official Letter of Acceptance.

Student: Elia Chapman.

At the bottom of the page, glowing in digital ink, was the personal, verified electronic signature of the Headmaster.

Gorge's pupils dilated. His breathing stopped.

The color drained from his face, leaving him looking sick.

The silence in the dining room was absolute, broken only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Gorge's hand shot out. He snatched the phone off the table, his fingers gripping the metal casing so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He brought the screen inches from his face. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the digital watermark, the official school seal, the Headmaster's signature.

His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths.

"Let me see that," Mavis demanded, leaning over Gorge's shoulder.

She squinted at the screen. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into the back of Gorge's chair.

"This is fake," Mavis shrieked, her voice pitching into a hysterical octave. "It has to be! Gorge, look at it. It's a PDF. Anyone with a computer can make a PDF."

Geri stood up, her chair scraping loudly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a frantic, ugly jealousy.

"Elia," Geri said, her voice trembling with barely contained panic. "Forging academic documents is a felony in New York State. You could go to prison for this. Why would you do something so stupid?"

Gorge slammed the phone face-down onto the mahogany table. The loud smack echoed off the high ceilings.

He stood up, towering over the table. He pointed a shaking finger directly at Elia.

"Where did you get this?" Gorge snarled, his face twisted in fury. "Which cheap hacker did you pay to mock this up? Or worse..." His eyes dragged up and down Elia's simple clothes, his lip curling in disgust. "Who did you sleep with to get someone to make this for you?"

The air in the room turned to ice.

Elia's eyes went completely dead. The flat, detached look vanished, replaced by a dark, suffocating pressure.

She took one step forward.

The movement was slow, but the sheer predatory weight behind it made Gorge instinctively take a half-step back. His heel hit the leg of his chair.

Elia picked up her phone. She checked the screen. No cracks.

She slipped it back into her pocket.

"Watch your mouth," Elia said. Her voice was a low, guttural whisper that carried across the room like a physical threat. "I am only staying in this house until I turn eighteen. Do not give me a reason to burn it down before then."

Geri whimpered, shrinking back behind Mavis.

Mavis opened her mouth to scream for security.

Ding-dong.

The sharp, melodic chime of the front doorbell cut through the heavy tension.

Everyone froze.

The butler hurried past the dining room, his shoes clicking rapidly on the marble floor.

Gorge took a deep breath, smoothing his tie, forcing the red flush of anger from his face. He assumed it was a business associate. He couldn't afford to look unhinged.

Mavis quickly patted her hair, pasting on a tight, artificial smile.

The heavy front door opened.

"Good morning," a smooth, professional male voice echoed from the foyer. "I am looking for Miss Elia Chapman."

Gorge frowned. He walked out of the dining room, Mavis and Geri trailing closely behind him. Elia stayed where she was, her face completely blank.

Standing in the foyer was a tall man in a sharp, charcoal-grey suit. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and carried a thick, leather briefcase.

Through the open front door, a gleaming black Rolls-Royce Phantom idled in the driveway.

Gorge immediately recognized the aura of extreme wealth and power. He stepped forward, extending his hand with a practiced, eager smile.

"I am Gorge Chapman. How can I help you, sir?"

The man looked at Gorge's outstretched hand. He didn't take it.

"I am Mr. Vance," the man said, his tone polite but entirely dismissive. "Dean of Admissions at Manhattan Elite Prep."

Gorge's hand dropped to his side. His jaw went slack.

Mavis gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

Geri stared at the man, her eyes bulging.

Mr. Vance looked past them. He spotted Elia standing in the dining room doorway in her cheap jeans and white T-shirt.

Mr. Vance walked right past Gorge. He stopped three feet in front of Elia.

He snapped his briefcase open. He pulled out a heavy, cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax and stamped with the gold crest of Elite Prep.

To the absolute horror of the Chapman family, Mr. Vance bowed his head slightly.

He held the envelope out to Elia with both hands.

"Miss Chapman," Mr. Vance said, his voice ringing with deep respect. "The Headmaster sends his regards. Your official physical enrollment file. We eagerly anticipate your arrival on campus tomorrow."

Elia looked at the envelope. She reached out and took it.

She didn't say thank you. She didn't smile.

"Is there a mistake?" Mavis blurted out, her voice cracking. She lunged forward, pointing at Geri. "My daughter Geri is the student at Elite Prep! This girl is a dropout! She has no records!"

Mr. Vance turned his head slowly. He looked at Mavis over the rim of his gold glasses. His eyes were cold and dead.

"The Headmaster does not make mistakes, Mrs. Chapman," Mr. Vance said flatly.

He turned back to Elia, gave one last nod, and walked out the door.

The Rolls-Royce pulled away, leaving a deafening silence in the foyer.

Elia tapped the thick envelope against her thigh. She looked at Gorge, whose face was now the color of ash.

"Looks like my forgery held up," Elia mocked softly.

She turned and walked up the sweeping staircase, leaving them drowning in their own shock.

Down in the foyer, Geri's fingernails dug into her palms so hard they drew blood. She pulled out her phone, her hands shaking with rage. She opened her group chat with the Elite Prep mean girls.

My psycho adopted sister is coming to school tomorrow. We need to destroy her.

Across Manhattan, in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, Kane Wolf sat in a leather chair.

He stared at a glowing monitor. A red dot blinked over the location of Manhattan Elite Prep.

His special assistant, Lex, walked into the room, shedding the tailored charcoal-grey suit jacket he had worn just moments ago in the Chapman foyer.

"The file is delivered, Boss," Lex reported. "She took the bait."

Kane's thumb traced his lower lip. He remembered the taste of rain and blood.

"Good," Kane murmured, a dark smile spreading across his face. "Let's see what she does next."

The next morning, the subway rattled violently as it shot through the dark tunnels under Manhattan.

Elia stood near the doors, holding the metal pole. She wore the same faded jeans, a black hoodie, and her scuffed canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

She stepped out of the station and walked the three blocks to Manhattan Elite Prep.

The campus looked like a medieval castle dropped into the middle of the city. Gothic stone archways, manicured lawns, and a fleet of black SUVs idling at the curb. Teenagers in tailored blazers and plaid skirts milled around, dripping in designer accessories.

Elia walked through the wrought-iron gates. She didn't look at the cars. She didn't look at the students staring at her cheap clothes.

She walked straight into the main administrative building and found the Admissions Office.

She pushed the heavy wooden door open without knocking.

Behind a large mahogany desk sat Ms. Adler, a thin woman with a pinched face and severe glasses. She was carefully applying a coat of blood-red nail polish.

Ms. Adler didn't look up. "Wait outside. Can't you see the door was closed?"

Elia walked to the desk. She pulled the gold-stamped envelope from her bag and dropped it flat onto the polished wood.

Smack.

Ms. Adler jumped. The red brush slipped, smearing polish across her knuckle.

She glared up, her face twisting in fury. She took one look at Elia's hoodie and sneered.

"You must be the charity case," Ms. Adler said, her voice dripping with venom. She grabbed a tissue, wiping her finger aggressively. "Geri warned me about you. The rust-belt dropout who somehow blackmailed her way in."

Elia's face remained a blank mask. She stared at the woman's smeared red finger.

"Process the file," Elia said.

Ms. Adler's eyes narrowed. She snatched the envelope, ripped it open, and typed aggressively on her keyboard.

"Don't think you're special," Ms. Adler spat, hitting the print button. "With zero academic background, the system automatically defaults you to the lowest tier. You are in Class 10."

Class 10. The dumping ground. The containment zone for the rich kids who were too stupid, too violent, or too addicted to function in normal classes, but whose parents paid too much money for them to be expelled.

Ms. Adler shoved a printed schedule across the desk. "Try to survive until lunch."

Elia took the paper. She turned and walked out, leaving the door wide open.

She navigated the labyrinth of hallways until she reached the basement level. The air here smelled of stale cologne and rebellion.

She stopped in front of the door marked Class 10.

Through the thick wood, the heavy, vibrating bass of a death metal track rattled the hinges.

Elia lifted her right foot and kicked the door directly in the center.

Crash.

The door slammed open, hitting the inner wall with the sound of a gunshot.

The heavy metal music was instantly cut off.

Thirty pairs of eyes snapped toward the doorway.

The classroom was a disaster. Desks were pushed together. A girl with heavy eyeliner was sitting on the teacher's desk, chewing gum. Two boys in the back were openly vaping.

Brenda Kowalski, the girl on the desk, popped her gum. She looked Elia up and down, taking in the canvas bag.

"Did the janitor get lost?" Brenda mocked loudly. "Or did the school finally go bankrupt and start letting the homeless sleep here?"

The classroom erupted in cruel, barking laughter.

A boy in the front row crumpled a piece of notebook paper into a tight ball and hurled it at Elia's head.

Elia didn't flinch. She tilted her head exactly two inches to the left.

The paper ball whizzed past her ear and bounced off the doorframe.

The laughter died instantly.

Elia stepped into the room. Her eyes swept over the crowd. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The sheer, physical weight of her stare made the boy who threw the paper swallow hard and look down at his desk.

She walked down the center aisle. She didn't rush.

She reached the last row. There was one empty desk next to the window.

The boy sitting in the adjacent desk was fast asleep, his head buried in his arms. He had messy blonde hair and wore a leather jacket over his uniform.

Elia swung her canvas bag off her shoulder and slammed it onto her desk.

Thud.

The sleeping boy jerked awake.

Cody Powers rubbed his eyes, scowling. He looked at Elia, his face twisting in annoyance.

"What the hell is your problem?" Cody snapped, leaning toward her. "I was sleeping."

Elia slowly turned her head. She locked eyes with him.

Her gaze was so cold, so entirely devoid of fear or hesitation, that Cody's breath caught in his throat. A primal instinct warned him that the girl sitting next to him was dangerous.

He closed his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

The bell rang. Ms. Adler marched into the room, her heels clicking aggressively. She glared at Elia, then turned to the chalkboard.

Meanwhile, three floors up, in the Headmaster's lavish office.

Kane Wolf sat behind the Headmaster's desk. He was wearing a black suit, his long legs stretched out.

The Headmaster stood nervously in the corner, sweating through his shirt.

Kane held a tablet. On the screen was the live security feed from the hallway outside Class 10. He watched Elia kick the door open.

A dark, genuine smile spread across Kane's face.

He tapped his earpiece.

"Lex," Kane murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Keep eyes on her. I want to know every breath she takes in this building."