Twisted Chains

Ivy Monroe never belonged in a place like this.

The wrought-iron gates of Ravenwood Academy loomed ahead, towering over her as if daring her to turn back. They curled into intricate patterns of thorns and vines, their iron edges sharp as if meant to keep intruders out perhaps, to keep something else in. Beyond them, an estate of dark stone and whispered secrets stretched across the mist-covered hills, its spires stabbing into the gray sky. The very air here felt different, thick with something unspoken, something that coiled around Ivy's ribs the moment she stepped forward.

Her hands clenched around the strap of her duffel bag, knuckles whitening. This was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to outrun the shadows of her past. The scholarship had been a miracle, a golden ticket into the world of the elite. She had studied harder than anyone and fought tooth and nail to earn this. But standing here now, in the presence of something so vast, so utterly foreign, she felt like an insect crawling into the den of lions.

A black town car purred past her, the tinted windows concealing the occupants within. It came to a smooth stop near the grand entrance, where a set of marble steps led up to massive double doors carved with the academy's crest. A moment later, a student emerged-a girl with cascading blond hair, draped in designer perfection, her polished boots clicking against the stone as she stepped onto the pavement.

Ivy barely had time to take in her surroundings before another car followed, then another, each more expensive than the last. The students who exited were pristine, poised, and utterly untouchable. Dressed in tailored uniforms with an air of effortless wealth, they belonged here. She did not.

The weight of their gazes found her instantly, raking over her like she was something unfortunate that had drifted in on the wind. The whispering started almost immediately.

"Who's that?"

"She doesn't belong here."

"Scholarship girl. You can tell."

Ivy squared her shoulders, forcing herself to keep walking. She had spent a lifetime learning how to ignore the whispers, how to pretend she didn't hear the ridicule, didn't feel the eyes that tracked her like she was an anomaly in their perfect world.

But then she felt something else. Not just the casual curiosity or disdain of passing students. This was different.

A presence.

Cold. Heavy. Watching.

Her gaze snapped up, and that's when she saw him.

Damien Vale sat lazily on the front steps, his long legs stretched out in front of him like he owned the very ground beneath them. There was something unsettlingly graceful about him, a quiet, self-assured confidence that made the others around him fade into the background. The breeze ruffled his dark hair as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke from between his lips, his cigarette dangling between elegant fingers. But it wasn't the smoke or the careless posture that made Ivy's breath catch-it was his eyes.

A slow drag up her body, appraising, before settling on her face. The intensity behind that gaze was enough to make her skin prickle. But it wasn't lust. It wasn't even curiosity.

It was something far more dangerous.

Interest.

Amusement.

A decision has already been made.

Ivy swallowed hard but refused to look away. She knew instinctively that showing weakness here, in front of someone like him, would be a mistake.

The silence stretched between them, an invisible wire pulled too tight. Then, slowly, Damien tilted his head, his lips curling at the corners in something that wasn't quite a smile. A flicker of challenge, of dark amusement, like he was daring her to speak first.

She didn't.

She forced herself to keep moving, walking past him as though he were no different from the others, as though his gaze hadn't just pressed against her like a warning.

Behind her, she swore she heard a chuckle.

The feeling of unease coiled tighter in her stomach, but she didn't let it show. Not yet.

The dormitory was a towering structure of old stone and ivy-covered walls, as intimidating as the rest of the academy. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and expensive perfume.

Ivy found her room easily enough, a modest space compared to what she assumed the wealthier students had. A single bed, a desk, a closet-just enough. She dropped her duffel onto the mattress and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She could do this.

She had to.

But the unease from earlier still lingered, settling deep into her bones.

A knock at her door made her jump.

When she opened it, she was met with a striking girl with dark auburn hair, her uniform crisp but her posture far too relaxed to belong to someone who cared about authority. She smirked.

"You're the scholarship girl, huh?"

Ivy hesitated before nodding.

"Name's Sloane," the girl said, leaning against the doorframe. "You're either really brave or really stupid for coming here."

Ivy frowned. "And why's that?"

Sloane's smirk deepened, but there was something almost pitying in her eyes. "Because you've already caught the attention of the wrong person."

Ivy's pulse stuttered. She didn't have to ask who she meant.

Damien Vale.

The first day of classes was uneventful, except for the stares. No one tried to speak to her beyond the occasional sneer or whispered remark.

That was fine. She had expected this. She could survive this.

What she hadn't expected was the note.

It was waiting for her in her locker, a small folded slip of paper tucked between her books. The handwriting was elegant and slanted.

You should have looked away.

No signature. No need for one.

Her fingers tightened around the paper, her pulse hammering in her ears. She should have ignored it, should have crumpled it and thrown it away.

Instead, she turned her head slightly, scanning the hall.

There, at the far end, leaning casually against the wall, was Damien.

He wasn't looking at her directly, but the smirk on his lips told her everything she needed to know.

This was a game to him.

And she had just been chosen as his next plaything.