STERLING HEIRS

Aduuni's POV

Episode 10

I stared at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror of Maya’s dorm room, my hazel eyes tracing the lines of my reflection.

I didn't have a ten-thousand-dollar designer gown. When the invitation to the Sterling Heights Welcome Gala had been slipped under my door that morning, panic had briefly seized my chest. But poverty breeds invention. Back in Lagos, my mother and I used to tailor our own clothed from scrap fabrics.

From my duffel bag, I had pulled out the single formal piece I owned: a stunning, floor-length dress made of rich emerald silk, interwoven with bold, golden Ankara patterns. I had spent the afternoon taking it in at the waist and adjusting the neckline. Now, it fit me like a second skin. It didn't look like the mass-produced haute couture the elite girls wore; it looked like royalty.

I left my magnificent afro wild and free, pinning just one side back with a simple gold clip.

"Adunni," Maya breathed from the edge of her bed, adjusting her own modest silver-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a simple, elegant navy slip dress. "You don't look like a scholarship student. You look like you own the academy."

"Good," I murmured, smoothing my hands down the silk. "Because tonight, I can't afford to look like prey."

The Welcome Gala was held in the Grand Atrium, a massive, glass-domed ballroom that overlooked the mist-covered Seattle coastline. When Maya and I walked through the heavy mahogany double doors, the sheer display of wealth was suffocating. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, sparkling cider towers bubbled under the lights, and the air hummed with the arrogant chatter of billionaires' children.

As I stepped to the top of the grand staircase, the chatter closest to the doors began to die down. Then, like a domino effect, heads began to turn.

I kept my chin high, my spine straight, and channeled every ounce of the runway presence Madame Laurent had praised yesterday. The vibrant emerald and gold of my Ankara dress cut through the sea of boring black tuxedos and pale, predictable chiffon gowns like a knife.

"Well, well. Look what the charity fund dragged in," a sharp, venomous voice purred.

Waiting at the bottom of the stairs was a stunning brunette in a blood-red designer gown. Her features were flawless, but her perfectly glossed lips were twisted into an ugly sneer. Flanking her were two identical, mean-looking girls who looked like they lived to spread rumors.

"Is that a dress?" the brunette mocked loudly, ensuring the growing crowd of elite students could hear her. "Or did you just wrap yourself in some curtains from a thrift store? We have a dress code here. This isn't a street market."

The crowd snickered. Beside me, Maya went completely rigid and grabbed my arm, whispering frantically under her breath. "Adunni, be careful. That's Christina Vance. She's Professor Vance's daughter from your Economics class—the legacy student who usually rules the runway. Just ignore her."

Ah. So this was the fallen runway queen. And the professor's daughter.

I descended the final three steps, closing the distance between this Christina and myself. I was taller than her, and I used every inch of it to look down at her with absolute, icy calm.

"It’s custom," I said, my smooth Nigerian cadence echoing clearly in the sudden quiet of the hall. "Woven by hand, tailored to fit. It requires a level of originality and culture you couldn't buy with your father's credit card... Christina. But don't worry—red is a very safe color for you and your little clones."

Christina’s face went entirely pale, her jaw dropping as the snickers from the crowd instantly redirected toward her. Her two minions gasped in unison. Nobody spoke to the Queen Bee like that.

Before she could recover and launch a counterattack, the crowd parted.

Cole Ashford stepped into the light. He looked like an absolute prince in a sharply tailored navy tuxedo, his blond hair perfectly styled, his blue eyes locked onto me with a fierce, possessive warmth that made my breath hitch.

"You look breathtaking, Adunni," Cole said, stepping right past Christina as if she were a piece of modern art he didn't care for. He extended a hand toward me. "Ignore them. Let me show you around."

Christina looked like she was about to explode at the sight of her ex-boyfriend publicly claiming the new girl. I looked at Cole’s hand. Taking it would secure my safety for the night, but it would also mean submitting to his protection. I didn't want a shield. I wanted control.

Before I could politely decline, a low, dark chuckle vibrated through the air, sending a collective shiver through the nearby students.

"Breathtaking is far too safe a word, Cole," a smooth, British accent cut in.

From the shadows of the marble pillars, Keiran Voss emerged. He was wearing an all-black suit, the jacket open, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar with no tie in sight. He looked dangerous, lawless, and entirely intoxicating. His stormy grey eyes dragged slowly down my body, a predatory smirk playing on his lips.

"She doesn't need you to show her around," Keiran murmured, stepping so close to us that the tension in the air felt thick enough to snap. He didn't look at Cole; he only looked at me. "She’s doing just fine causing chaos all on her own."

Cole’s posture went rigid, his fists clenching at his sides. "Back off, Keiran. This isn't one of your games."

"Who said I was playing?" Keiran countered, his voice dropping an octave.

The two most powerful heirs in Sterling Heights were officially squaring off in the middle of the ballroom, and the entire academy was watching in breathless silence. The wedge had been driven straight to the hilt.

I looked between the golden boy and the dark prince, feeling the massive weight of their obsession. It was terrifying. It was thrilling.

I flashed them both a brilliant, devastating smile.

"You're both standing in my light," I said softly, my hazel eyes dancing with pure defiance. I stepped smoothly around Cole’s outstretched hand and slipped past Keiran’s broad shoulders. "Excuse me, boys. I need to find the sparkling cider."

I walked away, leaving the two billionaires completely speechless, glaring at each other as the entire social hierarchy of Sterling Heights shattered in my wake.