THE APEX KING(He never says sorry...)

Vista Academy didn’t accept “parvenus.” If your last name wasn’t etched into a hospital wing, a tech IPO, or a bill on the Senate floor, the titanium gates didn’t recognize you. Tuition was $98,500 a year. The parking lot looked like a dealership for cars that cost more than houses. And at the top of the Hierarchy were *The Apex Five*. Playboys. Bullies. Untouchable. Sons of billionaires who owned zip codes in California. You didn’t say no to them. You didn’t look at them unless they allowed it. You definitely didn’t cross them. Especially not *Jaxon Vance*. 18. Senior. Heir to Vance Tech. 6’2”, ice blue eyes, jawline that crashed the school’s Wi-Fi every time someone posted a photo. He hadn’t said the word “love” since sophomore year, not since *Ava Quinn* left him in a Paris hotel with a $40k dress on the floor and a note that read: “You’re too cold to love anyone, Jax. Even yourself.” After that, two words got banned from The Apex Lounge: _Love and Sorry_. He didn’t do either. Not anymore. *RESUMPTION DAY: 8:15 A.M.* The courtyard of Vista Academy smelled like money and new leather. Bugattis purred next to custom matte black G-Wagons. Some freshman’s dad had actually landed a helicopter on the quad last year. He got expelled. Not for the helicopter. For being “tacky.” Scholarship kids were easy to spot. Non designer blazers. Scuffed shoes. Eyes on the ground. There were only 12 of them in a school of 400. Vista didn’t do charity. Vista did “philanthropy optics for tax season.” *Mia Smith* kept her head down as she crossed past the marble fountain. 18. Senior. 4.0 GPA. Daughter of a single mom who cleaned offices in Compton from 4am to 2pm, then went to her second job. Mia's “uniform” was from Target. She’d restitched the blazer twice and hidden the Target tag with a Sharpie. Her backpack was from 9th grade. But her grades? Her grades were why she was here. She knew the rules. Resumption day was open season on scholarship kids. The Vista Dolls, girls who ran the school’s social hierarchy, needed to remind everyone where the line was. Crowd: “Yo, it’s the charity case.” Crowd: “Did she Uber here or take the bus with the poors?” Crowd: “Mia Who? Oh right. The janitor’s kid.” *Aria Williams* stepped into her path. Senator’s daughter. Captain of the Vista Dolls. Blonde, Botox lips at 17, and a trust fund that could buy Mia's entire block. “Vacation was amazing, Smith,” Aria said, flicking Mia's fake pearl necklace. The pearl went flying. “St. Barts. You should try it. Oh wait. Motel 6 doesn’t have a beach, right?” Mia met her eyes. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. Not this year. “I don’t have to talk to you, Aria.” Wrong answer. Aria's smile vanished. She shoved Mia with both hands. Mia hit the concrete hard. Her palms scraped. Her left knee split open under her Target slacks, blood blooming fast. “Get the eggs!” someone yelled from the crowd. The first one hit her cheek. Cold. Yolk sliding down her neck. Then another. Her hair. Her blazer. Laughter crashed over her like a wave. She stayed down for five seconds. Just breathing. Do not cry. Do not give them that. That’s when the atmosphere shifted. The laughing stopped. The phones went up. The screaming started. _“OH MY GOD THE APEX FIVE!”_ Five custom Rolls-Royces rolled through the gates in formation. All black. All tinted. Engines growling low, like they owned the air. Doors opened at the same time. *Daven Shakespeare* stepped out first. Hollywood royalty, boxer’s body, smirk that had ended valedictorians’ college plans. *Knox Brown*. Tech heir, rolled-up sleeves, forearms that had their own fan page. *Cash Brooks*. Oil money from Texas, pink lips, rumored body count: half the senior class. *Liam Hatt*. “The Baby Face.” 18, looked 16, smiled like an angel. He was the only virgin in the group by choice. That’s what made him terrifying. And *Jaxon Vance*. He stepped out last. No smile. No wave. Black Amiri shirt, no logo. A Patek on his wrist that cost more than most cars. Ice blue eyes scanned the courtyard like he was deciding what to buy and what to demolish. Crowd: “Jaxon, I’ll drop out for you!” Crowd: “Knox, step on me!” Crowd: “Cash, I don’t need consent!” Crowd: “Liam is so cute” The Apex Five walked like the ground owed them thanks. They didn’t look at the crowd. The crowd wasn’t people to them. They disappeared into *THE APEX LOUNGE*. A glass penthouse above the admin building. $2M renovation, paid by their parents as a “donation.” *THE APEX LOUNGE: 8:30 A.M.* “I need to get laid before first period,” Cash said, flopping onto a $24k couch. “Resumption makes me feral.” “Who’s on the roster?” Daven asked, already scrolling his phone. Three different girls had sent nudes before 8am. “You guys are disgusting,” Liam said, pouting. He was 6’0” of baby faced chaos. The youngest billionaire in California. “Have some class.” “Says the guy who made that sophomore transfer student cry in the library last week,” Knox said, not looking up from his tablet. He was shorting Tesla before homeroom. “She lied to me,” Liam said, eyes darkening. “I hate liars more than I hate poor people. And I really hate poor people.” Jaxon stood by the floor to ceiling windows, hands in his pockets, staring down. He could see her. *Mia Smith*. Still on her knees. Still covered in egg. Still not crying. She was using a handkerchief to wipe her face, movements sharp, angry. Not broken. He’d read her file. Counselor’s note: “4.0 GPA. Debate State Champion. Recommend for Ivy League pathway. Mother: single parent, works 2 jobs. Father: deceased. Financial aid: full.” Scholarship kid. Statistic. Temporary. She’ll break by lunch, he thought. They all do. “I’m bored,” Jaxon said. The room went dead silent. When *Jaxon Vance* spoke, people lost money and reputations. “Let’s play a game,” he said, finally turning from the window. His eyes were empty. “I want to see who bleeds first.” The Apex Five stood. Game on. *CAFETERIA: 8:43 A.M.* They walked in and the air left the room. Trays clattered. Conversations died. One girl choked on her $10 Coke. Crowd: “Oh my, their aura is demanding” Crowd: “He looked at me!” Crowd: “Knox, I’ll pay YOU!” Crowd: “Cash, use me for practice!” A sophomore in head to toe Dior jumped on a table. Drunk on attention and maybe Adderall. “F*_ ME TILL I CAN’T WALK ANYMORE, *JAXON VANCE__!” she screamed. Silence. Dead. Cold. Silence. Jaxon stopped walking. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head toward her. Everyone at Vista knew the rules. There were two words you never, ever said in front of The Apex Five. Two words Jaxon had banned personally after Paris. _Love and Sorry.* And she’d just said something worse. Jaxon raised two fingers. Daven moved first. He grabbed the Dior girl by the wrist and yanked her off the table. She hit the ground. Two of her friends screamed and tried to run. Cash blocked them, herding them back like cattle. “Do you know who we are?” Jaxon’s voice was soft. That was the scary part. Jaxon didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. “Y..yes,” the Dior girl sobbed. “The Apex Five. Please…” “Don’t,” Knox cut in. “Wrong word.” “Salt,” Jaxon said. A terrified cafeteria lady came running with three containers of Dangote's salt. Her hands shook. Jaxon took them. Threw one at each girl’s feet. Salt exploded across the tile. “Lick it,” Jaxon said. “All of it. Off the floor. Until I say stop.” “W..what?! Jaxon, we didn’t mean…” “Can’t do it?” Cash asked, smiling like this was Christmas. “Then we go to eggs. Or worse.” “EGGS!” Liam yelled, clapping. He loved chaos. The girls dropped. Tongues out. Salt burning. Tears mixing with the mess. The whole cafeteria filmed. This would be on Page Six by third period. “Enough,” Jaxon said after 40 seconds. He looked up. Scanned the crowd of cowards and cameras. And his eyes locked on the one person not recording. Not laughing. Not looking away. *Mia Smith*. Standing in the doorway. Knee still bleeding through her slacks. Egg still in her hair. But her chin was up. And her eyes? Her eyes were fire. “You,” Jaxon said, pointing. “Scholarship girl.” Every head turned. Mia’s blood went cold. “Come here.” She didn’t move. “Now,” he said, softer. Deadlier. She walked. Each step echoing. She stopped three feet from him. Refused to look down. “Name,” he said. “*Mia Smith*.” No sir. No Jaxon. Just her name. His eyebrow twitched. Nobody did that. “Clean it,” he said, nodding at the salt, the egg, the spit on the floor. “With your tongue. Every inch. Start now.” Mia’s fists clenched. Her whole body shook, not with fear. With rage. She’d been humiliated. Beaten. Called poor. But she would not get on her knees for a rich boy who thought he was God. She opened her mouth. She was going to tell *Jaxon Vance* exactly where he could shove his salt… “Don’t you dare do it.” The voice cut through the cafeteria like broken glass. Female. Cold. Not scared at all. Every phone froze mid record. Every whisper died. Forks stopped halfway to mouths.A student choked on his $18 smoothie and nobody helped him. Every single person turned to the double doors. *Jaxon Vance* turned his head one inch. That was all. But the whole room felt it. Like someone opened a freezer door in hell. The temperature dropped 20 degrees. *TBC* ---