The heavy oak door of the guest room clicked shut.

The head maid didn't say a single word to Averi. She just turned on her heel and marched down the hallway, her posture screaming silent judgment.

Averi stood in the center of the massive room. Her eyes scanned the floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes, the antique mahogany dresser, and the king-sized bed covered in Egyptian cotton.

She let out a long, bored yawn.

She swung the worn canvas backpack off her shoulder and dropped it onto the pristine white leather sofa.

Thud.

Averi walked straight to the full-length mirror standing in the corner. She reached up and pulled the heavy black frames off her face. She pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing the red indentations the cheap plastic had left behind.

She unzipped her bag. She didn't unpack everything. She simply pulled out three thick, scratchy sweaters. They were a muddy brown color, poorly knitted, and smelled faintly of mothballs. She hung them deliberately in the center of the massive, empty walk-in closet.

The next morning, the sun pierced through the velvet curtains.

Averi sat at the vanity. She reapplied the dark, yellow foundation. She drew the thick, ugly eyebrows. She shoved the glasses back onto her face.

Before leaving the room, she glanced out the massive window. The estate's sprawling, pristine swimming pool shimmered in the morning light. Averi's expression hardened for a fraction of a second, a faint, phantom chill crawling up her spine, before her face returned to its usual meekness.

She walked downstairs and followed the smell of fresh coffee to the sunlit dining room.

The long mahogany table was covered in a spread of silver platters and fine bone china. Holt sat near the middle, violently slicing into an Eggs Benedict.

When he saw Averi walk in, his knife froze. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked visibly beneath his skin.

Averi ignored his glare. She walked straight toward him and pulled out the chair directly to his right.

She sat down. She reached for the heavy, solid silver fork resting beside her plate.

Her fingers deliberately slipped.

Clang!

The silver fork slammed against the edge of the bone china plate. The sharp, piercing noise shattered the quiet elegance of the room.

Holt flinched. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a loud, aggressive hiss of breath. "Jesus Christ."

"I'm so sorry!" Averi gasped. She exaggerated her Rust Belt accent, making it sound nasal and grating. "My hands are just so clumsy today."

Ricardo sat at the head of the table. He lowered his newspaper. His eyes drifted over the hideous, oversized brown sweater swallowing Averi's frame. He frowned.

"Averi," Ricardo said smoothly. "I will have the butler contact a stylist from Fifth Avenue. We need to arrange a complete wardrobe overhaul for you."

Holt slammed his fork down. "You could dress her in Chanel, Grandpa, and she'd still reek of cheap detergent and desperation. You can't wash the poor out of someone."

Averi immediately crossed her arms over her chest, clutching the collar of her ugly sweater as if protecting a sacred treasure.

"No, thank you, Mr. Chavez," Averi said, her voice trembling with manufactured sincerity. "My grandmother knitted these sweaters for me before she passed. Every single stitch. They keep me warmer than any fancy clothes ever could."

Holt's face turned a dangerous shade of red. The moral high ground she just claimed made his insult look petty and cruel. He hated it.

He shoved his chair back so hard it screeched against the hardwood floor. He pointed a shaking finger toward the dining room doors.

"Get out," Holt snarled, his chest heaving. "Get the hell out of this house right now. I am not eating at the same table as a manipulating rat."

Averi's eyes widened behind her thick lenses. She forced blood to rush to her face. Within seconds, her eyes pooled with tears. She bit her lower lip hard, making it tremble, refusing to let the tears fall.

"I... I just want to honor the contract," she whispered. Her voice was so fragile it sounded like it might break.

Ricardo slammed his cane against the floor.

"Holt!" Ricardo roared. "Sit down! Your lack of manners is a disgrace to this family's name!"

Holt froze. His face went pale, then flushed dark red with humiliation. He didn't dare defy his grandfather. He shot Averi a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

Instead of sitting, Holt kicked the leg of his chair. He spun around and stormed out of the dining room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

Averi kept her head bowed. She raised a trembling finger and wiped a single, perfect tear from the corner of her eye.

Hidden in the shadow of her hand, the corner of her mouth twitched upward into a cold, victorious smirk.

Ricardo sighed heavily. The anger drained from his face. "Do not let his words upset you, Averi. He is hot-headed."

"I understand," Averi said softly. She pushed her chair back and stood up. "I'm full. I think I'll go back to my room and study."

She bowed awkwardly, her posture rigid, and turned toward the stairs.

She walked up the steps, her head down. The moment she reached the second-floor hallway, she checked her surroundings. Empty.

She slipped into her guest room and pushed the heavy door shut.

She turned the deadbolt.

The pathetic, trembling posture vanished instantly. Her spine straightened. The fake tears dried up, leaving her eyes as cold and sharp as shattered ice.

The bathroom in the guest room was lined with white marble.

Averi stood in front of the sink. She twisted the brass handle. Hot water poured from the faucet, filling the basin with steam.

She poured a generous amount of specialized cleansing oil into her palms. She rubbed her hands together and pressed them to her face. She massaged the oil into her skin, feeling the thick, suffocating layers of yellow foundation and heavy brow pencil melt away.

She splashed warm water over her face.

When she looked up into the mirror, the ugly duckling was gone.

Her skin was luminous, pale and flawless. Her natural eyebrows were sharply arched, framing eyes that were a striking, piercing shade of hazel. Her lips, freed from the pale concealer, were naturally full and flushed. She was breathtaking.

Averi grabbed a plush white towel and patted her face dry.

Her throat felt scratchy. She looked around the room. There were no water bottles.

She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was past midnight. The house was dead silent. The brothers were likely out at their clubs, and the staff was asleep.

She didn't bother putting the makeup back on. She wore a loose, oversized silk pajama shirt. She opened her door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

She walked barefoot, her steps making absolutely no sound on the thick Persian runner. She headed toward the end of the hall, where she remembered seeing a small sitting room with a wet bar.

She reached the heavy mahogany door. It was cracked open an inch.

Averi pushed it open and stepped inside.

It wasn't the sitting room.

The air was heavy with the scent of old paper and expensive scotch. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the moonlight. The only source of light was a single, green-glass banker's lamp sitting on a massive oak desk.

Behind the desk sat Clarke Chavez.

He was leaning back in his leather executive chair. His tie was loosened, his top collar button undone. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

The slight shift of air from the open door made Clarke freeze.

His eyes snapped open.

They were predatory. Sharp, cold, and assessing.

Averi's heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat. She instinctively took a step backward, her bare foot brushing against the carpet.

The faint, golden light from the hallway spilled over her shoulder. It hit the side of her face, illuminating the sharp, perfect slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips, and the cascade of dark hair falling over her shoulders.

Clarke's pupils dilated. The air in his lungs vanished.

His hand dropped from his face. He stared at the stunning, ethereal woman standing in the doorway of his study, his brain short-circuiting.

Averi reacted with lethal speed.

She threw her head down. Her long, dark hair fell forward like a curtain, completely obscuring her face.

"Sorry. Wrong room," she mumbled, her voice thick and completely devoid of her fake accent.

She stepped back and pulled the door shut.

Bang.

Clarke shot out of his chair. The heavy leather seat slammed into the bookshelf behind him. He crossed the room in three massive strides and ripped the door open.

He stared down the long, empty hallway.

Nothing. Not a sound. Not a shadow.

The next morning, Averi sat at the vanity. She applied the yellow foundation twice as thick. She drew the eyebrows harsher. She shoved the glasses so far up her nose they pinched.

She walked into the dining room.

Holt and Clarke were already seated.

The moment Averi walked in, Clarke's head snapped up. His cold, eagle-like stare locked onto her face. He scrutinized her muddy skin, her hunched posture, her thick glasses.

Averi felt the weight of his gaze like a physical pressure on her skin. She forced her hand to tremble as she pushed her glasses up. She pulled out her chair and sat down, keeping her eyes glued to her empty plate.

Clarke stared at her for another five seconds. Then, he slowly exhaled and rubbed his temples. He had been reviewing the European merger documents until 4 A.M. He was hallucinating. That was the only logical explanation.

Holt threw the morning edition of the Wall Street Journal onto the center of the table.

"Look at this," Holt sneered, glaring at Averi. "Another article about gold diggers trying to marry into old money. You parasites are all the same. You latch on and suck the resources dry."

Averi slowly set her glass of milk down.

She lifted her head. The pathetic, trembling act vanished from her eyes.

"Is that right?" Averi said. Her English was crisp, sharp, and completely devoid of the Rust Belt twang.

Holt blinked, caught off guard by her tone.

"Because if we are talking about draining resources," Averi continued, her voice cold and steady. Thank God for the public financial reports she had skimmed on her phone late last night. "I believe the Chavez Group's stock dipped 2.4 percent yesterday. Primarily due to the catastrophic failure of the Hudson Yards real estate acquisition."

Holt's face drained of color.

"A project," Averi tilted her head, her eyes locking onto Holt's, "that you have been personally managing for the last six months. So tell me, Holt. Who is the real parasite draining this family's money?"

Holt's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face flushed a violent, angry red. He slammed his hands on the table and shot up, his chair tipping over backward with a loud crash.

Clarke's hand froze halfway to his coffee cup.

He slowly turned his head, looking at Averi. The annoyance in his eyes was gone. In its place was a sharp, dangerous spark of genuine intrigue.

Averi didn't even flinch at the crashing chair. She calmly picked up her linen napkin, dabbed the corner of her mouth, and stood up.

She grabbed her frayed backpack and walked out of the dining room without looking back.

Averi walked into the grand foyer, adjusting the strap of her heavy backpack.

Brennan Chavez was leaning against the marble pillar near the front doors. He was spinning a silver key fob around his index finger. He wore a tailored navy blazer and a perfectly practiced, gentle smile.

"Morning, Averi," Brennan said smoothly. "Grandfather's orders. We have to 'bond.' I'm your chauffeur today."

Averi didn't argue. She nodded meekly and followed him out the massive front doors.

A sleek, black Rolls Royce Phantom sat in the driveway. Brennan opened the passenger door for her. Averi climbed in, her cheap sneakers sinking into the lambswool floor mats.

As Brennan steered the massive car onto the streets of Manhattan, he glanced at her.

"So," Brennan said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "Tell me about Ohio. Must have been tough growing up out there."

Averi stared out the window. "It was okay. Lots of corn. My grandma liked to knit."

She kept her answers painfully dull, using short, ungrammatical sentences. She played the idiot perfectly. Brennan probed for twenty minutes, trying to find a crack in her story, but hit a solid brick wall of manufactured stupidity.

The Rolls Royce pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of the Manhattan Elite Academy.

It was a sea of designer uniforms, luxury cars, and generational wealth.

Averi pushed the heavy car door open. She stepped onto the sidewalk. Her oversized brown sweater and scuffed sneakers made her look like a stain on a priceless painting.

Dozens of eyes immediately snapped toward her. Whispers erupted like a sudden gust of wind.

Brennan rolled down the passenger window. He leaned over, his gentle smile widening into something cruel.

"Have a wonderful first day, Averi!" Brennan shouted, making sure his voice carried over the courtyard.

He rolled the window up and drove away, leaving her completely exposed to the wolves.

Averi ignored the burning stares. She kept her head down and walked straight into the main academic building.

She found her locker in the crowded hallway. She reached out to spin the combination dial.

A hand slammed flat against the metal door, right next to her face.

Averi didn't flinch. She slowly turned her head.

Tinsley Vance stood there. She was the undisputed queen of the school, wearing a custom-tailored blazer and a sneer that mirrored Holt's. Two girls stood right behind her, acting as her shadow.

"You're the charity case," Tinsley said loudly. The hallway went quiet. Everyone was watching. "You smell like a literal dumpster. Are you sure you're not lost?"

Averi stared at Tinsley's perfectly manicured nails pressing against the locker. She didn't say a word. She just stepped back, intending to walk around them.

Tinsley's eyes flashed with fury at being ignored.

She grabbed the large iced coffee from her friend's hand and hurled the dark liquid straight at Averi's chest.

Averi's reflexes fired. She shifted her weight and slid a half-step backward.

The coffee splashed violently against the metal locker door, raining down onto the floor. Not a single drop touched Averi's sweater.

Tinsley gasped, her face turning red.

Averi didn't even blink. She turned and walked down the hall toward her first class.

At noon, the cafeteria was deafening. Averi skipped lunch. She walked into the girls' bathroom on the second floor. It was empty.

She walked over to the sink and turned on the water.

The sound of the heavy bathroom door locking echoed off the tile walls.

Averi looked up into the mirror.

Tinsley stood by the door, her hand still on the deadbolt. Her two friends flanked her. They blocked the only exit.

Tinsley rolled up the sleeves of her blazer. She marched toward Averi, her face twisted in ugly rage.

"You think you can embarrass me?" Tinsley shrieked. "I'm going to teach you exactly where you belong, you piece of trash."

Tinsley raised her right hand high, aiming a vicious slap directly at Averi's face.

The pathetic, hunched posture vanished from Averi's body.

Her eyes turned into chips of black ice.

Averi's left hand shot up like a striking snake. She caught Tinsley's wrist mid-air. Her fingers clamped down on the bone with the crushing force of a steel vice.

Tinsley's eyes bulged. A piercing scream ripped from her throat as the bones in her wrist ground together.

Averi didn't hesitate. She pivoted on her left foot, driving her right leg forward in a brutal, sweeping arc.

Her shin slammed into the back of Tinsley's knees.

Tinsley's legs flew out from under her. She crashed hard onto the unforgiving ceramic tile floor. The breath exploded from her lungs in a violent gasp.

The two friends screamed and lunged forward.

Averi dropped Tinsley's wrist. She spun, using the momentum to deliver a flawless, lightning-fast roundhouse kick. Her heel connected squarely with the first girl's stomach. The girl folded in half and flew backward, crashing into the metal stall door.

The second girl froze in terror.

Averi grabbed her by the lapels of her expensive blazer. She lifted her onto her toes and slammed her backward against the mirrors above the sinks.

The heavy glass shuddered violently, threatening to shatter.

Averi pinned the girl there, her forearm pressing against the girl's collarbone, cutting off her air.

Ten seconds. The fight was over.

The bathroom was filled with the sound of wheezing and quiet sobbing.

Averi released the girl against the mirror. She stepped over Tinsley, who was curled in a fetal position on the wet floor, clutching her wrist.

Averi crouched down. She grabbed a fistful of Tinsley's blonde hair and yanked her head back.

"Listen to me very carefully," Averi whispered. Her voice was dead calm, devoid of any emotion. "If you dare come near me again, I'll break your arm. Do you understand?"

Tinsley stared into Averi's eyes. She saw pure, unfiltered violence. Tinsley sobbed hysterically, nodding her head as fast as she could.

Averi let go of her hair. She stood up.

She walked over to the sink, turned on the water, and washed her hands. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, dried her fingers, and tossed it perfectly into the trash can.

She unlocked the bathroom door and walked out into the hallway. The shrill lunch bell shrieked through the halls at that exact moment, its harsh sound perfectly covering the last of the whimpers from inside and sending the few lingering students scattering toward their next class. Her face returning to a mask of dull indifference.