The Secret Girl In Class

CHAPTER FIVE:THE ARCHITECTURE OF LIES.

Chapter 5: The Architecture of Lies

Elara's

The London drizzle was colder than the rain back home.

It wasn't heavy enough to call a proper rain, but the tiny drops kept hitting my face until my skin felt numb.

I stood three blocks from the bus stop, staring at the gates of Ravenscroft College.

They were enormous.

Black wrought iron stretched between two old stone pillars, topped with sharp brass points that caught what little light the gray sky had to offer.

For a few seconds, I forgot to breathe.

This was it.

Ravenscroft.

The place I had spent months dreaming about from a cramped apartment, between shifts at the diner and nights when I was too tired to study.

And now I was actually standing outside it.

Then I looked around.

My excitement disappeared almost immediately.

Black luxury cars lined the road. Maybachs. Range Rovers. Cars I had only ever seen online.

Porters in navy uniforms moved between them, carrying expensive-looking trunks and garment bags. Students stepped out of the cars wearing tailored coats and polished shoes, laughing with their friends as if they had known each other forever.

I tightened my grip on my duffel bag.

The zipper was broken and held together with a safety pin.

Suddenly, it felt enormous.

Like everyone could see it.

Like everyone could see me.

My father's voice came back to me.

You're trash, Elara.

I swallowed.

Putting an expensive rag over a corpse doesn't make it alive.

I shut my eyes for a second.

No.

I wasn't going back.

I had worked too hard for this.

I adjusted the collar of my coat and straightened my back.

I'd practiced this part.

Shoulders back.

Chin up.

Don't look around too much.

Don't stare at the cars.

Don't react when someone talks about money.

Most importantly, don't look scared.

I had also prepared a name.

Not a new name exactly.

Just a version of myself that didn't come with questions I couldn't answer.

Elara Vance.

Daughter of Julian Vance.

A wealthy international commodities trader who avoided the press and spent most of his time somewhere on a yacht in the Mediterranean.

I'd built the story carefully.

No public appearances.

No social media.

No famous family friends.

No reason for anyone to ask why they had never heard of him.

My fictional family didn't show off because we didn't need to.

At least, that was the story.

I took a breath and started walking.

"Mind the bag, please."

I stopped.

A boy in a charcoal Ravenscroft blazer had stepped backward without looking. He nearly knocked into my duffel.

He turned around.

His eyes dropped to my coat.

Then my boots.

Then the bag.

His mouth curled into a small smile.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't realize the staff entrance was out front today."

A few people nearby laughed.

Heat rushed into my face.

For one horrible second, I forgot every single thing I'd practiced.

Then I noticed the gold name tag on his blazer.

ARTHUR.

I looked back at him.

Slowly.

"I'd watch where you're going, Arthur."

His smile faded slightly.

I glanced at my boots.

"Especially if you're going to keep staring at them."

The laughter stopped.

Arthur blinked.

I didn't smile.

I didn't look angry either.

Just bored.

He shifted his weight.

"Whatever."

He stepped aside.

I continued walking.

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

But I kept my face calm.

It worked.

I almost smiled.

Almost.

The gates opened into a huge courtyard surrounded by old stone buildings. Ivy climbed the walls, and tall windows reflected the dull afternoon sky.

Students moved everywhere.

Some were carrying books. Others stood in groups, talking and laughing.

Nobody paid much attention to me.

That was good.

I pulled my registration card from my pocket.

I made it.

After everything, I was finally here.

I climbed the first marble step.

"Elara Vance?"

I stopped.

The voice came from above me.

I looked up.

A tall woman stood at the top of the stairs.

She had silver hair pulled neatly into a bun and wore a dark academic robe. A thick manila folder was tucked beneath one arm.

Two security officers stood behind her.

Something about the way they were looking at me made my stomach tighten.

The woman looked directly at my face.

"Elara Vance?"

"Yes?"

She opened the folder.

Her eyes moved over the papers inside.

Then back to me.

"Step away from the stairs."

I frowned.

"Why?"

A few students nearby had stopped talking.

The woman closed the folder.

"Your admission has been flagged by the Board of Governors."

My fingers tightened around the registration card.

"I don't understand."

"You are not permitted on campus grounds."

My mouth went dry.

"What?"

The woman didn't answer immediately.

One of the security officers stepped forward.

I took a step back.

"But I have a scholarship."

"I know."

Her answer was quiet.

Too quiet.

I stared at her.

"Then there must be a mistake."

"There isn't."

She looked down at the folder again.

Then she said something that made my entire body go cold.

"Your scholarship was never supposed to be approved."

The courtyard seemed to go silent.

I couldn't hear the students anymore.

Couldn't hear the rain.

Couldn't hear anything except my own heartbeat.

"Who approved it, then?" I asked.

The woman's expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough for me to notice.

She looked almost uncomfortable.

Then she slowly turned the folder around.

A photograph was clipped to the front page.

My breath caught.

It was a photograph of me.

But underneath it wasn't my name.

It was a name I had never seen before.

And beside it, written in red ink, were four words:

DO NOT LET HER ENTER.