Then I put on a pair of jeans, a top, and a jacket, ready to hit the road. I pull out my phone and text my girls. We’ve had a group chat since we were basically in nappies and it’s where we always talk.
Ava: Is it weird that I’m losing hair because of Ari? She won’t shut up about wanting to join the group chat.
Cecily:Tell her to reapply in two years once she’s of age. We only talk big girl stuff here.
Ava: Big girl stuff? Bitch, where? Didn’t see that on your prude menu in the last…nineteen years.
Cecily:Very funny. Rolling on the ground as we speak. Not.
Ava:You know you love me, Ces *kisses emojis*
Juggling my bag on one shoulder, I type with my other hand.
Glyndon:Ready to hit the road for uni. Who’s driving?
We can actually fly to the island in a shorter amount of time, but that would mean taking a plane, and I’m scared of flying.
My screen lights up with a reply.
Ava: Not me. That’s for sure. We stayed up with Mum, Dad, and our grandparents last night, and I feel like a zombie.
Cecily: I’ll do it. Give me another hour. Still didn’t get my fill of Mum and Papa.
I’m about to type that I’m in a hurry but stop mid-text when Ava texts back.
Ava: Gonna miss Mum and Dad like fucking shit. Grandpa and Grandma, too. Sigh. I’ll even miss the troublemaker, Ari. Have you guys seen her new IG handle? Ariella-jailbait-Nash. That bold little bitch, I swear. If Dad sees it, he’ll lock her the fuck up. Did I mention that I’m losing hair because of her?
With both of them being sentimental, if I said let’s leave right now, it’d seem as if I were the one who was running away from my parents or something.
I’m not.
And really, I’ll miss them like hell, too. Maybe even more than Ava and Cecily will miss theirs, but sometimes, I just don’t like myself around my family.
When I peek down from upstairs, the dining table is already buzzing with energy.
Mum is putting some eggs in front of Bran, and Dad is helping but somehow getting in the way since he touches her every chance he gets. Something that she scolds him for but still laughs about anyway.
I stop at the base of the stairs to watch them together. It’s been a habit of mine since I was young and dreamed about my own Prince Charming.
Dad is big, tall, muscular and so blond, it’s like he’s a Viking god, as Mum likes to call him. He’s also one of the two heirs of the King fortune. A man of steel with a ruthlessness that’s often spoken about in the media.
However, around Mum and us? He’s the best husband and father. The man who gave me higher standards.
Ever since I was young, I’ve seen how he’s treated my mother as if he can’t inhale oxygen without her around. And I’ve seen how she looks at him as if he’s her protector. Her shield.
Her partner.
Even now, she shakes her head as he slips a hand around her midsection and steals a kiss from her lips.
Her cheeks turn red, but she doesn’t attempt to shoo him away. I inherited her height and the rich depth of her green eyes. But other than that, we’re as different as night and day.
She’s such a talented artist, and I can’t even reach her ankle.
She’s a strong woman, and I’m just…me.
Bran is oblivious to the PDA happening near him as he elegantly cuts his eggs and focuses on his tablet. Probably reading some arts magazine.
It’s Mum who notices me first and promptly pushes Dad away. “Glyn! Morning, baby.”
“Morning, Mum.” I plaster the brightest smile on my face, drop my backpack on the chair, and kiss her cheek, then Dad’s. “Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, little princess. Where did you sneak to last night?”
I step back with a start and stare at Bran, who merely lifts a shoulder. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed.”
“I just went out to get some air,” I whisper, dropping down beside my brother.
Mum and Dad take their seats with my father at the head of the table. He picks up his fork and knife and speaks without taking a bite. “You could’ve gotten some air within the property. Roaming around at night is dangerous, Glyndon.”
You have no idea how true that statement is.
I take a sip of my orange juice to stop myself from reliving the rotten memories from last night.
“Let her be, Levi.” Mum passes me a boiled egg—well-cooked, the way I like—with a smile. “Our Glyn is a big girl now and can take care of herself.”
“Not if she’s attacked by some crazy scum in the middle of the night.”
I choke on the bit of juice that’s stuck in my mouth. Bran passes me a napkin and gives me a weird look.
Shit.
Please don’t tell me it’s written all over my face.
“Don’t jinx it,” Mum tells him with a frown, then points at the egg. “Eat, honey.”
I stuff my mouth with the white of the egg and Mum shakes her head when I basically throw most of the yolk away.
“Do you need anything?” Dad asks, seeming suspicious of me. Jeez. I really hate having him in this mode. He’s like a crooked detective fishing for any sort of information.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Good. But if you happen to need something, let me or your brothers know,” he says after swallowing his food.
“Will do.”
“Speaking of your brothers,” Mum fixes me and Bran with her stern parental gaze. “I heard you two avoid Landon on campus?”
“It’s not that we avoid him…” I start.
“It’s that he doesn’t have time for us with all the attention he gets from both professors and students,” Bran finishes, lying through his teeth.
Because we do try to spend as little time with him as possible.
“Still.” Mum makes me a piece of toast, still treating me as if I’m a little girl. “You guys go to the same university and even the same art school, so I’d hoped you’d at least keep your bond.”
“We’ll work on it, Mum,” I say in my pacifying tone, because even though Bran isn’t antagonistic either, he can definitely channel that energy when it comes to Lan.
I start to get up, my stomach feeling heavy and absolutely refusing to accept more food.
After kissing my parents goodbye and telling Bran I’ll see him later, I contemplate driving to Grandpa’s house, but he’s probably at work now.
Also, if a slight interrogation from Dad rustled my feathers, an encounter with Grandpa will probably make me break down.
So I send him a good morning email. Because my granddaddy doesn’t do texts. Doesn’t even honor them with a look.
I’m about to tuck my phone away when it pings with a text.
I think maybe Grandma is texting on Grandpa’s behalf, but it’s an unknown number.
My heart nearly explodes from my chest when I read the words.
Unknown Number:Maybe you should’ve died with Devlin, huh? After all, that was the plan, wasn’t it?
GLYNDON
Brighton Island is a large piece of land surrounded by forests and sea and is riddled with infamous castles from the Middle Ages.
However, almost half of the land has been used for centuries as an education hub. The other half is filled with some locals and a lot of pubs, shops, and entertainment parlors for the students.
Two large, regal universities occupy the north of Brighton. One is American and the other, where I study, is British. Admission into Royal Elite University—commonly known as REU—is as hard as securing an audience with the queen. Not only because of the fees that just the rich and their granddaddies can afford, but also because the educational system is tough.
The campus is divided into different universities with all important majors—such as arts, business, medicine, law, and human sciences. The education goes from bachelor degrees to PhDs.
Some students spend all their youth between the castle-like walls, studying until they collapse. But they still do it anyway.
Why?
Because those who graduate from here are granted a diploma that anyone in the world would immediately accept. The founders of Royal Elite University have picked the best professors, best councilors.
Best everything.
Except for maybe the location.
Because there’s that small detail I mentioned earlier. We share the north of Brighton Island with an infamous university.
The King’s U.
They’re founded by unknown money coming from the other side of the pond. Most students there are American and have a chip on their shoulders. Which is funny because they call us the snobby, posh rich kids.
They, however? They’re the dangerous kids.
The ones who walk with a chip on their shoulders and promise of crime on their faces.
Their university only has three main majors. Business, law, and medicine. That’s it. I think they used to have human sciences, but they closed it.
Cecily says it’s because they have no human bones in their bodies.
While REU is posh, sophisticated, and reeks of old aristocratic money, The King’s U is all about new money, sharp stares, and threatening auras.
We’re specifically told to stay away from them.
As far as possible.
And we do. But it almost always gets muddied in sports events.
But generally, there’s an invisible line between our two campuses. Between our posh English manners and their all-American ones.
It’s been like this for years. Way before my friends and I came along. In fact, there’s a high wall that separates their campus and dormitory from ours.
One that can’t be climbed or jumped over.
A wall that represents the deep hole between the two of us. Unless we have a competition with them, we don’t tread into each other’s waters.
Which is why I’m pulling on Cecily’s hand and promptly stopping her from barging into their campus.
We’ve barely just arrived and we’re currently near the metal gate. A golden lion holding a key sits at the top, under which is the name ‘Royal Elite University’ in sophisticated writing.
Even Ava, who’d usually be hugging her cello for dear life, has abandoned it and is holding on to Cecily’s other arm.
“Be reasonable, Ces. Just because you couldn’t find your notes, doesn’t mean one of The King’s U’s students took them. They don’t have access to our campus, remember?”
Cecily’s silver-dyed hair falls in disarray as she attempts to release herself from our hold. Her black shirt that says How About No kind of translates her whole mood. “Their stupid football team logo was on my locker. It’s them. And I’m going to see this through to the end.”
“And go missing?” I sigh, feeling the tension rising to my head.
“Small price to pay to catch those pricks.”
“You won’t be saying that when they get you locked up in their basement or something.” Ava shudders, then whisper-yells, “You know those rumors about them being financed by mafia money? I totally believe it. And I’m definitely not going to let you be chopped up nineties mafia movie style.”
“We’re in a country of law,” Cecily says with pure determination, and she even sounds to believe it.
“Law is bullshit to some people,” I say, feeling the terror from two days ago mounting to my throat.
“What she said.” Ava bobs her head up and down, then flips her blonde ponytail back. “Now, can we go back to the dorm without worrying about finding Ces’s corpse floating in the sea tomorrow?”
I can tell Cecily wants to continue with her original plan, despite our warnings. She’s usually laid back, but not when her things are touched, and I honest to God think she doesn’t give two flying hecks about the reputation of The King’s U’s students.
She might even witness them doing horrendous acts and would choose to psychoanalyze them instead of running the hell away.
Like her hair, she’s silver to me, not really white, and can be smudged with black.
Ava is, without doubt, pink, like her dress, aura, and personality.
“Excuse me?”
A soft voice interrupts my and Ava’s attempts to drag Cecily back with us to the dorms.
We share a small apartment at the top that costs a fortune but at least gives us the chance to stay together.
I stare back to find a petite girl, around my height but way leaner and with a lithe body, standing near REU’s gate. Her brown hair falls to her neck and her blue eyes are big and breathtaking amidst her small features. Juggling a soft pink backpack with a fluffy kitten keychain on one shoulder, she rests her matching suitcase on the asphalt and stares at us.
She’s wearing a purple dress with a lacy hem with an elegance that rivals Ava’s princess wardrobe.
Having the same reaction as me, my friends study her intently. It’s Ava who asks, “Do you need something?”
“Yes, would you please tell me where the School of Art is?”
American.
The new girl, who must be right out of high school, is definitely an American—if the accent is any indication. And while we do have some American students at REU, they’re very few and far between. They always try to get to The King’s U first. It’s also why almost all of us British students don’t even attempt to apply to the other university.
“Are you perhaps lost?” I say with a warm tone, then point behind her. “The King’s U is that way.”
“Oh, I know. They don’t have a ballet school there, so I applied here and luckily got accepted between semesters. I’m going to try and do the college thing aside from ballet, but we’ll see how that goes.” She smiles brightly. “I’m Annika Volkov, by the way. You can call me Anni or Anne. Just not Nika.”
“I’m Ava Nash. A cellist. I study classical music at the School of Arts and Music.”
“Cecily Knight. Psychology major.”
The newcomer, Annika, stares at me expectedly, and I realize she’s waiting for me to also introduce myself.
I’m so out of it lately, it’s a little embarrassing. Maybe I should lock myself in my room for the week to come.
“Glyndon King. I’m a studio art student in the same school as Ava.”
“Nice to meet you all. I’m sure we’ll get along.”
“Judging by your fashion sense, I’m sure we will.” Ava glues herself to Annika’s side. “Let us show you around your new school first.”
Cecily slides her black-framed glasses over her nose and shakes her head in a ‘here we go again’ gesture. Ava has always been the most social out of us, and she’s probably met her match in Annika since they’re chattering happily about fashion and the latest trends.
We let Ava guide Annika through the giant halls as Cecily and I fall a step behind.
I feel a flash of movement in my peripheral vision and I freeze. Slowly, I turn back, only to find some students are buzzing around.
But the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and sweat trickles down my back.
Cecily nudges me. “Want to bet on how long it’ll take for her to call the new girl her bestie?”
I startle and hold in a yelp. “What? Ah… Ava? Yeah, probably soon.”
Cecily stops in her tracks, watching me intently. “What’s up, Glyn? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing… I just spaced out.”
She touches my arm and I know not to take that for granted. Cecily is the type who has her emotions in a vault, so the fact that she’s offering me any type of consolation is a big deal in and of its own.
“I know the pain must still be raw, but it’ll get better with time, Glyn. I promise.”
I stare dumbfounded for a beat, and then I realize she’s talking about Dev. That should’ve been my first thought, too, but right now? When I felt a shadow following me?
That definitely wasn’t on my mind.
“Thanks, Ces.” I rub her arm back, grateful to have her.
She’s a year older than Ava and me and the most serious out of all of us, but she’s also the most motherly. Probably why she chose to study psychology in the first place.
If I tell her about the other night, she’ll listen and won’t judge me.
But that means I’ll have to tell her why I was there in the first place, and that’s just not going to happen.
Not in this lifetime.
A small smile lifts her lips. “Let’s go save the poor soul from Ava.”
“How about you save me from my misery instead?” The cool tone takes us by surprise, and soon enough, the owner of said voice barges into the space between me and Cecily and wraps an arm around our shoulders.
Remington Astor, or just Remi—who’s about three years older than me—grins down on us with his all-encompassing charm. His brown eyes twinkle with mischief and pure trouble. He’s built like a Greek god and has an aristocratic nose that’s courtesy of ‘his lordship’ stature, as he likes to remind us. Small tidbit about Remi, he always talks about himself in third person and says things like, ‘my lordship did this’ and ‘my lordship did that.’