ELENA'S POV
After an amazing welcome—note the sarcasm—I walked into the main university building, trying to shake off the cold splatter still clinging to my clothes and pride. The grand structure looked like it had been plucked straight out of the Victorian era—arched windows, carved stone, polished wood. A fountain in the middle and a huge statue standing behind it. It was pristine. Untouched. As if centuries of scholars had strolled these halls with freshly ironed blazers and pocket watches that ticked with inherited privilege.
I didn't belong. Not today, not in this state.
I mumbled to myself as I started wiping the dirt. My skirt clung to my legs, stained brown. My blouse—white this morning—was now a canvas of shame. The notebook I'd pressed against my chest. Crinkled and damp. A few students walked past, their eyes flicking to me with that perfectly subtle disgust. Designer coats, monogrammed backpacks, and laughter that felt like those millionaire-and-billionaire dramas I wasn't cast in.
One girl whispered to another in French, "Regardez-la, dégoûtante."
I didn't need subtitles to catch the judgment in her eyes.
A guy with a painfully symmetrical face and aviator sunglasses made a dramatic detour around me, like I was contagious.
I kept walking. Head down. Although Mom's voice echoed in my head— "Don't let them see you break."
But right now, the last thing I wanted was any kind of attention.
And God, I was close.
Then—
I stumbled into someone.
"S-sorry." I said adjusting my bag
"Wow. You look like you lost a fight in a war."
A guy stood in front of me. I stepped back instinctively.
His Backpack slung on one shoulder, curls half-tamed. His outfit was casual but definitely cost more than my monthly part-time salary. His eyes weren't mocking, though. They were… curious. Soft.
"Let me guess," he said, stepping closer. "First day?"
I nodded as he held out a napkin. Like that would fix my whole situation. But still—I took it.
"I'm Jamie," he said.
"T-thank you. I'm Elena." My voice sounded smaller than I liked.
"Don't mention it," he replied, grinning. "Fellow scholarship kid. Don't worry. We're rare, but we exist."
I blinked. "You're… a scholarship student?"
He laughed, tilting his head.
"Nope, I'm joking. Full-blooded rich kid, sadly. But don't hold it against me—I promise I'm not allergic to decency."
I let out a reluctant laugh.
It caught me off guard.
Maybe it was the fact that he didn't look at me like I was garbage someone forgot to sweep off the steps.
"I saw what happened," he said, his tone softening. "First day and face-to-face with Maxwell? Not a pleasant start."
The way he said that name made my spine straighten.
'You know him?'
"Unfortunately. We went to the same prep school," he said, typing something on his phone. Before I could answer, he turned and waved over his shoulder. "Sera!"
A girl emerged from behind a group of students—a slightly shorter version of him. Same curly hair, same warm eyes, except hers were lined with determination and just the right amount of attitude.
"This is my sister," he said. "She's got a whole emergency kit in her bag. Lip balm, stain wipes, existential wisdom. She'll help you."
The girl—Sera—grinned and handed me a small pack of tissues and a folded wipe.
"New admission?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Welcome to Kingsleigh," she said, tilting her head. "It gets better with time. Sort of. I guess. Don't worry—you'll get used to it."
I managed a small smile.
For the first time since stepping into this building, I didn't feel entirely alone.
'Thanks,' I said. 'I'm Elena.'
"Sera," she added. "Follow me."
She nudged the restroom door open with her hip, and I followed her into the pristine space—marble counters, gold taps, the whole royal treatment.
She swung her white tote bag onto the counter and unzipped it like it was Mary Poppins' personal vault—or maybe Sera Poppins' vault. Out came a compact, lip balm, stain remover pens, blotting papers, perfume, a roll-on, a change of clothes, and—I swear—a tiny steamer and a mini straightener.
I blinked.
'You carry this… to university every day?'
Sera glanced up with a smirk.
"Of course. What if someone spills matcha on me? Or if I cry during lectures? Or meet a future employer? Or get cursed? Life is unpredictable."
'O-kay, that's weird,' I said, half-laughing, half-terrified of how put-together she was. She handed me a neatly folded white blouse and a skirt that miraculously looked close to my size—though still a little tight.
"Here. Emergency stash. I always keep some basic clothes in neutral colors—just in case."
'You're not real," I muttered as I took the clothes, still slightly stunned.
"Tell that to my twin" she said. "He's worse. Carries snacks like it's the apocalypse."
"You mean Jamie?" I asked, eyeing the skirt, which was shorter than my liking.
She hummed, fixing her curls in the mirror. His name is James, James Nashville, but everyone calls him Jamie, because it's cute.
I changed quickly in one of the stalls, the fresh fabric making me feel almost human again.
When I stepped out, Sera gave me a once-over and clapped her hands.
"Much better."
We stepped out into the hallway, buzzing with voices, footsteps, and the low hum of new beginnings.
Sera glanced at my schedule over my shoulder and pointed down the corridor.
"We've got the same first class. Come on, newbie. Let's go pretend we know what we're doing."
I smiled—small, but real.
And together, we walked toward the classroom.
My first class. My first lecture. My dream university.
I took my seat beside Sera, buzzing with nervous excitement. But as the saying goes—some happiness is short-lived. Mine lasted about three minutes. The classroom went silent as a group of students walked in—
Or rather, the group.
The popular ones.
And he was among them.
The asshole from this morning.
Maxwell Carter.
Not even trying to command attention—yet somehow stealing every ounce of it. Girls swooned. His friends exchanged shoulder slaps and smug grins.
But when his gaze landed on me, the air between us seemed to thicken.
"God, I hate that smirk," I mumbled.
He walked toward me, invading my personal space.
Our eyes met—full of hate. And then he walked past me like I didn't even exis, but also like I was beneath him.
Sera tugged the hem of my shirt.
"He's trouble. It's better to stay away from him," she whispered.
"Son of a gun," I muttered.
He didn't need to say a word; his presence alone was a statement.
He slid into his seat with exaggerated ease, casting a quick, almost dismissive glance in my direction. The professor walked in. The room went still. Everyone took their seats. So, did I. The lecture began. And I tried to focus—really tried.
But my skin still burned under the weight of his gaze. If this was just the beginning… God help me with what's next.