ChapterOneEnd
780 Words
Her name was Anastasia Michaels.
No one knew where she came from.
Well, technically, the admissions office knew. She was a scholarship student from a private College in Plano—top of her class, full ride, exceptional grades, no criminal record, and unfortunately, no billionaire parents.
She had one suitcase, a worn-out laptop, and an eyebrow raise that could silence a room. No designer bag. No bodyguard. No diamond-studded Apple Watch. Just confidence sharp enough to cut glass.
Her first day was a spectacle.
The first day at Starlight felt like walking onto the set of a high-budget movie she didn’t audition for. Ferraris lined the curb. A drone flew overhead, livestreaming arrivals. Students were stepping out of Bentleys in slow motion, like a commercial for cologne that didn’t exist yet. Anastasia had arrived in a rideshare. The driver had tried to drop her at the back of the campus, assuming she worked there. She’d tipped him extra for honesty. As she walk towards her dorm,
The whispers started before she even made it past the koi pond.
“Who is she?”
“New maid?”
“That’s not Prada. That’s like… Target.”
But Anastasia didn’t blink. She didn’t need validation. She had worked her way up from public libraries and school buses, from financial aid forms and part-time tutoring gigs. The glitter didn’t impress her.
Her dorm room looked like a boutique hotel. Marble counters. Plush bedding. An espresso machine she didn’t know how to use. Her roommate never showed. Later, she learned her name was Lacey and that she’d demanded a solo room because she was “emotionally allergic to stress.” Whatever that meant. So Anastasia kept to herself. Unpacked her clothes—none of which had designer labels. Lined her books along the windowsill. Set up her laptop with military precision. And started watching
Starlight's academic building looked like something out of a movie—high arched ceilings, velvet-lined lockers, and chandeliers that cost more than most people’s homes. Each classroom had touchscreen walls and AI assistants. The vending machines served sushi. Real sushi.
But what stood out most wasn’t the glamor.
It was the hierarchy.
Starlight had three unspoken rules:
Don’t embarrass yourself unless you want to be a meme.
Don’t speak unless you have at least one verified account.
Don’t mess with Zayden Wellington.
He was the king.
And kings didn’t take kindly to being questioned.
That’s why when Zayden first noticed Anastasia—really noticed her—it was in the library during a heated debate about modern political theory.
She had raised her hand, corrected the teacher, and used a quote from a German economist Zayden hadn’t even heard of. The class had gone silent.
Zayden’s lips twitched. No one corrected his favorite professor. Not unless they wanted to find their scholarship mysteriously revoked.
But she wasn’t done.
She turned slightly in her chair, glanced at Zayden’s open phone—where he was scrolling through his own photos—and said loud enough for everyone to hear:
“If you’re gonna distract the class, at least post a better selfie.”
The room froze.
Someone gasped.
Zayden looked up, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
Anastasia didn’t blink. “You’re excused.”
And just like that, a line had been drawn.
Back in his corner of the cafeteria—an elevated glass booth known as “The Throne Room”—Zayden stared at her like she was a riddle wrapped in a hoodie.
“She’s got guts,” Liam Callahan muttered beside him, flipping through his laptop. Liam was Zayden’s childhood friend, but way less... Zayden. He was the thinker. The chess player. Still rich, but subtle about it.
“She’s got no clue,” Zayden replied, biting into a steak sandwich made from imported Wagyu. “She’s new. She’ll learn.”
Liam smirked. “Or you’ll teach her?”
Zayden’s eyes glinted.
“She made me look stupid.”
“To be fair, the lighting in that selfie—”
“Liam.”
“I’m just saying.”
Zayden leaned back in his chair. “Let’s see how long that confidence lasts.”
Meanwhile, Anastasia had already mapped the school’s social ecosystem like a general plotting war.
She knew who dated who, who cheated on their SATs, who ran the underground vape cartel in the art wing. She took notes, mentally filed every name, and smiled to herself when she saw that even the elite had cracks in their designer facades.
She wasn’t here to make friends.
She was here for something else entirely.
And if Zayden Wellington thought he scared her?
Well… he wasn’t paying enough attention
- Writer
