The Heir's Ruthless Obsession

lin. I could not. Every time I looked at the dark wood, I remembered the way his eyes had searched me, predatory, hollow, an

of my performance at the gala had spread through the dormi

the common room. She kicked the bucket, sending the black stones clattering across the floor. "You think you a

aire," I whispered,

I gasped. "You are still ours, Isabelle. You are still trash. They only invited you for the novelty, li

ng against my ribs. I was a girl po

alls. I was tidying the common room when Sister Marianne appeared. She lo

y, "Director Rousseau is h

n in a charcoal pinstripe suit waited with impeccable posture. This was Director Alexandre Rousseau, the man wh

ls of history, not in the shadows of an orphanage. I am here on behalf of St. Aurelia's Academy

alls or the girls watching from the upstairs windows.

ord a desperate plea for

s, the girls were waiting for me. They lined the hallway, t

rl shouted as I carried my

off the stone. "People like us don't belong in palaces. They are going to b

lt like a shroud being draped over my shoulders. I thought I was esca

ri's

d in front of my father's desk, my spine a rigid line of steel. Father was

began, his voice like the e

, my voice flat and controlled. "It wa

the lie he was certain I was hiding. "And the performance? Gene

red the way she had looked at me, brave and

tasting like ash. "A scholarship stu

drawer. But a dark, instinctive protectiveness flared in my gut. If my fat

academy. Father answered with a curt bark, listening in silen

dropped to a lethal whisper. "Is

to ice. Rousseau

ogany desk, the sound like a crack of thunder. "If she looks like her.

Aurelia, Dmitri. You will watch her. Every breath she takes, every person

I said, my voice

of war. She was coming to my world. She was walking str

ht, a ruthless smile tugging at my lips. B

elle

e through the gates, I stared at the students moving with effortless grace across the cobblestones. They were vibrant,

and old paper. A prefect showed me to my room, and when the door opened, I gasped. It was larg

azer embroidered with the gold crest of the academy. I ra

d shadows across the room. I thought of Sister Marianne's tears and Clair

h. I was not a student here. I was a target.