PRESTIGE ACADEMY

Chapter Seven: The House of Silence

Alexander’s POV

It started with a knock on my dorm door. Three sharp raps. Precise. Purposeful.

The driver didn’t speak when I opened it. He simply handed me a sealed envelope, nodded once, and stepped aside so I could read it.

My father’s signature was embossed in gold at the bottom. Just one line of text above it:

“You are expected at the estate. Tonight.”

No explanation. No time given. Just expected. Because that’s what being a Ford was obedience without question. Presence without protest.

By the time I packed a few things and stepped outside, the black Bentley was already idling in the drop off zone, sleek and ominous under the twilight sky.

I slid into the back seat without a word. The driver nodded at the rearview mirror, then pulled away from Prestige, the school's golden lights disappearing behind us.

The Ford Estate

It was almost midnight by the time we reached the gates.

The estate stretched like a fortress over the hills of Constantia land so vast, even the stars seemed to bow to it. Guarded. Untouchable. Designed to intimidate.

Inside, everything gleamed. Glass, stone, metal. Cold perfection. No family portraits. No warmth. Just curated wealth.

The butler opened the door before I could ring the bell. “They’re waiting in the east wing, sir.”

Of course they are.

I walked through the endless corridors, past rooms that hadn’t been touched in years. Past echoes of a childhood I barely remembered.

When I entered the meeting room, they were already seated.

My father at the head of the long mahogany table, perfectly composed in his tailored black suit. His face unreadable, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel.

My mother sat beside him, lips pressed in that familiar, polite line. Regal and unreadable.

My siblings Avery and Lucian flanked the other end of the table. Avery, poised and alert. Lucian, bored and scrolling through his phone.

I took the only empty seat, the silence pressing down on my chest like a weight.

Father spoke first. “There’s been movement. Media speculation. About you.”

My jaw clenched. “I’ve kept my head down. Like always.”

“It’s not what you’ve done,” Avery cut in smoothly, “it’s who’s watching.”

Lucian smirked. “The scholarship girl. From Ixopo.”

My fingers curled into fists on the armrest.

They knew.

Of course they did.

Nothing escaped the Ford machine. Not even a glance. Not even silence.

“She’s a risk,” Mother said gently, though the cold in her voice wrapped around the words like ice. “Not because of who she is but because of what she reminds you of.”

My father’s stare locked onto mine. “Emotion is a liability, Alexander.”

I wanted to say you don’t know her. I wanted to say you don’t know me.

But I said nothing.

Because that’s how we were raised. Emotion was for the weak. Curiosity was dangerous. And connection? That was suicide.

“You will stay away from her,” Father said finally, voice heavy with finality. “We cannot afford exposure. Not now.”

They moved on after that. To mergers. To fund expansions. As if my life my thoughts had been dealt with in full.

I sat there, heart silent, face unreadable.

But inside, something had shifted.

Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel fear in this room.

I felt resistance.