Chapter 8: The Price of a New Beginning
Morning After The Scandal
Fred didn't sleep.
How could he?
His mind replayed every cruel laugh, every falling coin, every fake smile from teachers who were supposed to protect him.
By 5 AM, he was still sitting on the broken balcony chair, his hood pulled low over his face, shivering in the cold morning air.
His phone buzzed weakly — battery at 2%.
A message.
From a number he didn't recognize.
> Unknown: "Come to CoffeeStone Cafe. 7 AM. Alone. Opportunity."
Fred hesitated.
He thought of ignoring it.
But... what did he have to lose?
---
CoffeeStone was the only decent place near the school.
It smelled of burnt espresso, cheap pastries, and fake dreams.
Fred stepped inside, his worn sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished floor.
The waitress, Luna Grace — 22, caramel-skinned with deep, tired eyes and dark curly hair pinned messily under a cap — gave him a pitying look.
> "Sit anywhere, honey," she said softly.
Fred tucked himself into a corner booth.
Waiting.
Minutes crawled by.
He tapped his fingers nervously, studying the customers:
A businessman in a cheap grey suit arguing loudly over a Bluetooth headset.
A couple making out shamelessly in public — girl wearing a neon pink hoodie, guy wearing a beanie and ripped jeans.
An old woman knitting furiously, muttering to herself.
No one looked like Opportunity.
Then... the door creaked.
In walked a man in a navy blue suit, polished leather shoes, dark sunglasses even indoors.
Tall. About 40s. Salt and pepper beard.
Beside him, a woman — Ms. Katherine Wilde — slim, late 30s, silk scarf around her neck, lipstick blood-red against pale skin, carrying a sleek silver laptop bag.
They looked... expensive.
Dangerously expensive.
The man scanned the room, spotted Fred, and smiled.
Like a wolf finding a wounded rabbit.
---
He slid into the booth opposite Fred.
The woman remained standing, coolly surveying the cafe.
The man introduced himself as Mr. Callum Hart — representative of a "talent acquisition agency."
> "We've been watching you, Fred. You have... potential."
Fred blinked.
> "You saw the show," he said bitterly.
Hart chuckled.
> "Everyone saw the show. But we saw you. Not the failure — the fire. The humiliation. The hunger. You're perfect for what we need."
Fred frowned.
> "Which is...?"
Katherine spoke up, her voice silky but sharp:
> "We offer scholarships to... promising students. Special contracts. You help us, we help you. Connections. Exposure. Money."
She leaned in, her perfume sharp and expensive.
> "Imagine never worrying about rent again. Imagine your mom in a private hospital, top floor. Imagine stepping into Royal Crest with designer shoes, not hand-me-downs."
Fred's heart hammered.
It sounded too good.
> "What's the catch?" he whispered.
Mr. Hart smiled wider.
> "Nothing's free, son. You'll sign exclusive rights to any music you create for the next ten years. Attend all sponsored events. Wear what we tell you. Smile when we say. Play the part."
Fred swallowed.
Ten years.
A lifetime.
> "What if I say no?"
Katherine's red lips curled.
> "Then you walk back into that school today with empty pockets and broken pride. And stay there."
She dropped a sleek contract on the table.
A golden pen beside it.
Fred stared.
His mother's tired face flashed in his mind.
The eviction notice.
The way Mila cried, fighting for him.
He picked up the pen.
Hand trembling.
And signed.
> Frederick Marlowe.
There was no applause.
No angels singing.
Just a quiet click as Katherine closed the folder.
Fred had sold a part of himself.
And it would haunt him longer than he could ever imagine.
--
At Royal Crest High, another storm brewed.
In the chemistry lab, Miss Adriana Voss — 29, gorgeous with golden skin and a slim waist, often dressed a little too "fashionably" for a teacher — nervously argued with David Kane, her secret 18-year-old "boyfriend" and a senior student.
> "You promised!" David hissed. "After prom, you said we'd go public!"
> "Shh!" Miss Voss glanced around. "You idiot, you want to ruin me?"
But someone was already listening.
Hiding behind the lab door was Samantha Blake, 17, strawberry blonde hair, head cheerleader, secretly obsessed with David.
Her hand trembled as she recorded everything.
> Send to principal's office? Or... post it online?
She smirked.
Royal Crest was about to explode.
And Fred had no idea that even bigger scandals were unfolding around him.
---
As Fred left the cafe, fresh contract burning in his pocket, a shiny black Cadillac pulled up to the curb.
Out stepped Sebastian Holt, 19, senior, captain of the football team, son of a senator.
Perfect tan, perfect teeth, $10,000 watch glinting under the sun.
And a perfect hatred for Fred.
Sebastian smirked as he saw Fred.
> "Well, if it isn't Royal Crest's charity project."
Behind him, a group of elite kids — sons and daughters of billionaires — laughed cruelly.
Sebastian walked up to Fred, clapping a heavy arm over his shoulder.
> "Hope you enjoyed your fifteen minutes, bro. Because guys like you? You stay trash forever."
Fred didn't respond.
Didn't flinch.
He just smiled.
> "Watch me."
And for the first time... Sebastian looked uneasy.
Because behind Fred's brokenness now burned something new.
Something dangerous.
Something unstoppable.
---
Back in his broken apartment, Fred locked himself in his tiny room.
He pulled the contract from his pocket.
And cried.
Cried for everything he had lost.
Cried for the dreams he had just sold.
Cried because deep inside, he knew...
> Freedom had a price. And he had just paid it.
But the world?
The world was about to meet a Fred Marlowe they would never forget.
And it would regret underestimating him.
--