Chapter 1
Irritating: The only way to describe a Monday morning at Sterling Manor where Evie Sterling is concerned. As usual, she is draped dramatically across her oversized bed, the morning sunlight streaming in through the grand windows doing nothing to accelerate her pace.
Oliver leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, exuding the frustration of someone who’s been at this game far too long. “You’re going to be late.”
Evie yawns, as if the mere mention of time is too exhausting. “Late is a state of mind, Ollie. Fashionably delayed is a statement.”
“Delaying what? Spanish class? I’m sure Señora Vargas will be thrilled when you waltz in with an essay ‘inspired by’ last night’s Netflix binge.”
“I’ll have you know my essay is a masterpiece,” she says, waving him off. “And anyway, I’m adding the finishing touches. Perfection can’t be rushed.”
Oliver checks his watch and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for patience. “Micah’s waiting in the car, which means he’s either going to start blaring the horn or leave without us.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re giving him ideas just by existing,” Oliver retorts. “Now move.”
Reluctantly, Evie swings her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping on her designer shoes with the air of someone heading to the Met Gala rather than a private school. “Fine. But only because I’m in the mood for public adoration.”
They descend the grand staircase of Sterling Manor as though stepping onto a runway, Evie leading the way with her chin held high, her blazer impeccably tailored and perfectly fitted. The golden tray of macarons from her room is now in her hands, one delicately perched between her fingers.
Micah is waiting in the SUV, engine idling. He leans halfway out of the driver’s seat, grinning like the troublemaker he is. “Oh good, royalty has graced us with her presence. Shall I roll out the red carpet?”
“Only if it matches the interior,” Evie quips, tossing him one of her macarons as she slides into the back seat. Oliver follows her in, a resigned expression etched on his face as he clutches her Spanish essay like it’s a ransom note.
Noah takes his place in the passenger seat, already bracing himself by gripping the door handle. “Don’t encourage her.”
Micah, still grinning, catches the macaron mid-air and pops it into his mouth. “I live to serve,” he says around a mouthful, shifting the car into gear.
Oliver clears his throat pointedly as the SUV takes off. “Micah. Drive normally.”
Micah glances back in the rearview mirror, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Define ‘normally.’”
“Without pretending you’re in an action movie,” Oliver snaps, his knuckles tightening around the essay as the car lurches forward with a screech of tires.
Evie giggles, entirely unbothered as she dabs at her lipstick. “I trust Micah implicitly. He hasn’t killed us yet.”
“Yet,” Noah mutters under his breath, his tone as dry as the desert.
By some miracle—or sheer recklessness—they make it to school with a handful of minutes to spare. The SUV screeches to a halt in the parking lot, drawing the usual mix of amused glances and eye-rolls from their classmates. Evie steps out first, tossing her hair with the precision of someone who knows exactly where every pair of eyes is aimed.
“Punctuality is just another form of art,” she declares, adjusting her blazer and swinging her bag over her shoulder.
Micah snorts, hopping out after her and straightening his tie, which still looks deliberately askew. “Art that required expert stunt driving, but sure. Let’s call it that.”
Oliver exits last, his expression screaming patience-on-its-last-legs as he double-checks the folded essay in his hand. “You’re lucky Señora Vargas hasn’t banned you from her class.”
“I’m her favorite,” Evie says lightly, starting toward the school building as her entourage falls into formation behind her. “She just hasn’t admitted it yet.”
The three bodyguards follow her as naturally as shadows, their uniform tweaks subtle but enough to set them apart from the crowd—Micah’s untucked shirt, Noah’s rolled sleeves, and Oliver’s perpetually crisp and pressed appearance that screams responsibility. Together, they form an orbit around Evie that neither invites nor allows disruption.
As they step through the main doors of the school, heads turn. Whispers ripple across the hallway as students part to make way. The undisputed king of the school, Xavier Ashbourne stands near the lockers with his girlfriend Victoria, his polished appearance a perfect contrast to Micah’s casual defiance. His eyes flicker briefly to Evie, his expression unreadable, while Victoria’s lips curl into a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Oh look, the queen has arrived,” Victoria says with a touch of venom as the group passes.
Evie flashes her a brilliant, almost-too-sweet smile in return. “Good morning to you too, Victoria. How’s it feel being a runner-up?”
Micah barely stifles a laugh, Noah looks away to hide his smirk, and Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose as if already predicting the chaos that will follow.
As Evie and her entourage continue down the hallway, Victoria’s expression twists into a mask of barely contained fury. She whirls on Xavier, her voice a sharp hiss that’s loud enough to draw curious glances from a few nearby students. “Did you hear her? The nerve of that spoiled little—”
Xavier cuts her off, his voice smooth and deliberate as he places a calming hand on her shoulder. “Victoria, don’t.”
She spins to face him fully, her irritation bubbling over. “Don’t? She’s insufferable! Always throwing her name and her little circus around like she owns the place.”
Xavier arches an eyebrow, his tone remaining steady. “And you reacting like this only makes her look more right.”
Victoria’s lips press into a thin line, her perfectly manicured fingers clenching around the strap of her designer bag. “You’re defending her now?”
“I’m not defending her,” Xavier replies calmly, though his gaze flickers down the hallway where Evie has already disappeared into the crowd. “I’m saying she thrives on this. The more you react, the more power you give her.”
Victoria huffs, crossing her arms. “It’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with her constant digs.”
“No,” Xavier says, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I just have to deal with yours.”
That earns him a glare, but it also draws a reluctant smirk from her as the tension between them softens. She exhales sharply, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll let it go. But if she says one more thing—”
“You’ll let it go,” Xavier repeats, his tone firm but light enough to keep things from escalating again. He steps past her, heading toward his next class with an air of quiet control that leaves Victoria trailing after him, muttering under her breath.
The day has begun, and Evie is firmly in her element. As the youngest Sterling and the crown jewel of her family’s billion-dollar empire, Evie Sterling knows her worth and ensures everyone else does too.
She strolls toward her locker with the kind of grace that makes her presence impossible to ignore, her guards trailing behind her like shadows. While the rest of the school barely spares them a second glance these days—such is the power of the Sterling name—they still manage to stand out, blending in just enough to avoid being questioned but not enough to be forgotten.
“Tell me again why they need to sit through Señora Vargas’ love of verb conjugation,” Maia drawls, leaning against Evie’s locker. Her sharp green eyes flick toward the trio of bodyguards. Her blazer is draped over her shoulders like a cape, and her navy pleated skirt sits just slightly higher than regulation. “Honestly, I’d use them as an excuse to skip.”
“They’re here to blend in, Maia,” Evie replies, spinning her locker combination effortlessly. “You know, in a subtle ‘don’t-mind-us-we’re-just-adults-lurking-in-the-back-row’ kind of way.”
Maia snorts. “Oh yes, so subtle. Especially Micah, who looks like he’s one daring comment away from moonwalking down the hallway.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Micah calls from his spot against the wall, grinning as he leans casually with his hands in his pockets. Maia rolls her eyes, muttering something about “overgrown children.”
“Leave them alone, Maia,” Ari chimes in, adjusting his tie with a practiced air that suggests he’s never really tried to wear one properly. His sandy brown hair is artfully tousled, giving the impression he’s just stepped out of some high-end catalog shoot. “They’re part of the aesthetic. Besides, who else is going to carry Evie’s bag when she’s too busy reigning over us mere mortals?”
“Thank you, Ari,” Evie says with a dazzling smile, turning to face her friends. “You’re the only one who truly understands me.”
Maia groans. “That’s because he lives to kiss up to you.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Ari teases, nudging Maia with his shoulder. “You’re still Evie’s favorite pot-stirrer.”
Their banter is interrupted by the arrival of Isaac, who emerges from the crowd with the confident stride of someone who knows he belongs by Evie’s side—or at least thinks he does. His hair is perfectly styled, his uniform crisp, and his smile dazzlingly white, but his overly polished appearance can’t quite hide the fact that his role in Evie’s life is more about image than substance.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, leaning in to kiss Evie’s cheek. She tilts her head slightly, allowing him to do so with the practiced indifference of someone playing her part.
“Isaac,” she replies smoothly. “You’re looking... symmetrical as always.”
“Symmetrical?” Maia snickers. “That’s one way to keep things interesting.”
Isaac either doesn’t hear her or chooses to ignore her, turning his attention to the guards. “And how are the watchdogs today?”
“Wonderful,” Oliver says dryly, not looking up from the folder he’s reviewing. Noah stays silent, his usual stoicism firmly in place, while Micah grins and gives Isaac a mock salute.
“They’re my entourage, darling,” Evie says airily, swinging her locker shut with a flourish. “You know that by now.”
“And we’re honored to serve,” Micah adds with exaggerated sincerity, earning a laugh from Ari and a shake of the head from Maia.
Evie glances at her friends and Isaac, her usual confident smirk firmly in place. “Shall we? The day waits for no one.”
She strides toward the classroom wing, her friends falling in step beside her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Behind her, Oliver, Noah, and Micah maintain their quiet but steady presence, their eyes scanning the hall as though every high schooler might secretly harbor ill intent. It’s a delicate balance—blending in while staying vigilant—but they make it look effortless.
