STERLING HEIRS

The Lion's den

Episode 5

Adunni clutched her school bag tighter against her chest, refusing to step back an inch. She didn't know who this boy was, but the sheer aura of danger radiating off him told her he wasn't someone to mess with. Still, Lagos had taught her never to show fear to a predator.

"Step aside," she said, keeping her voice completely steady. "I have a class to get to."

The gray-eyed boy didn't move. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, trapping her against the space of the stone wall without even touching her. The rich, intoxicating scent of expensive leather and dark woodsmoke enveloped her senses.

"You've got teeth," he whispered, a dark, dangerous smirk spreading across his handsome face. "My blond friend over there might buy that fierce, independent act, but I see right through it. You're completely terrified, sweetheart. You're a little lamb walking into a lion's den."

"I'm not a lamb, and I'm definitely not your sweetheart," Adunni snapped, staring straight into his stormy eyes. "Move."

He let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest. He reached out, his long, pale fingers hovering just inches from her face, capturing a stray, coiled lock of her afro. "We'll see about that. Around here, everything eventually belongs to the heirs. And right now... you're the most interesting thing in this entire academy."

Before his fingers could fully tighten around her hair, Adunni raised her hand and slapped his away with a sharp, resounding smack.

The boy’s breath hitched. The smirk froze on his lips, his gray eyes narrowing into something incredibly intense. Nobody touched him. Nobody struck an heir. But before he could react, Adunni dived around his left side and walked rapidly down the hall, her heart pounding like a bass drum.

By the afternoon, the modeling track classes had begun. Sterling Heights wasn't just about textbook intelligence; it was about building global brands. The runway studio was a massive, state-of-the-art room lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, blinding studio lights, and a raised wooden catwalk.

The instructor, Madame Laurent—a former Paris fashion editor with sharp, designer glasses—stood at the end of the runway, clapping her hands authoritatively.

"Listen up, diamonds in the rough," Madame Laurent called out, her voice echoing. "Modeling is not about walking. It is about power. It is about making everyone in the room look at you and wish they were you. Today, we test your raw presence. Who wants to go first?"

"I will, Madame," a haughty voice chimed in.

Christina Vance stepped forward, casting a nasty, dismissive smirk toward the back corner of the room—straight at Adunni—before gliding up the catwalk with practiced, elite elegance. The students cheered.

"Very good, Christina. Standard, commercial, safe," Madame Laurent nodded vaguely. Her sharp eyes scanned the rest of the crowd and suddenly locked onto Adunni's striking structure. "You. The new girl. Step up."

The entire room went completely dead silent. Christina crossed her arms, leaning against the mirror wall with a cruel smile, waiting to watch the scholarship charity case embarrass herself