Chapter 1: First Impressions Burn

Freya’s POV

I had finally made it.

If I were the type to grin like an idiot or spin in circles just because I saw the gates, maybe I would’ve done it. But I wasn’t built like that.

Instead, I dragged my suitcase across the sidewalk, letting the wheels catch on every crack—my own kind of footprint.

The campus throbbed with first-day frenzy—shouting parents, tangled streams of students, RAs darting past in neon shirts. A too-happy pop song blasted from somewhere, clashing with the heat. It was chaos, pure and loud. But the charge in the air was real, and even I felt its stubborn spark.

The sun beat down hard, baking the pavement and turning the straps of my backpack sticky with sweat. But I didn’t care. I’d walked heavier roads, carried worse things on my back.

Like watching cancer turn someone you love into a shadow. Like holding my mother’s hand through her last breath and walking out of the hospital with grief clenched tight in my throat and a hospital bill in my back pocket.

This? This was nothing.

This was college.

My fresh start.

Even if I had to crawl through it on my knees, I was going to finish.

When I got to the base of Wisdom House, my dormitory, I brushed the hair out of my face and gave it a proper look. Arlington College didn’t do things half-assed. They gave me a proper map upon acceptance, which made it quite easy for me to locate the dormitory building.

Wisdom House wasn’t a new building like the rest of the luxurious ones I saw as I passed by. Its stone walls looked weather-beaten, windows narrow and gridded like a poor imitation of a high-rise building, but it stood tall and solid, almost proud. I liked that.

As if it had survived a hundred storms and still kept standing. We had that in common.

I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle and hauled it up the steps, one thud at a time.

Inside, the air cooled slightly. The scent of floor polish and cardboard boxes clung to the walls. Students moved in clusters, hugging friends, dragging duffels, some already complaining about Wi-Fi. I stood at the edge of it all, alone but not unready.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the room number again. Room 307. Third floor.

Just a few more minutes and I’d finally be able to rest.

I rounded the first corner, head down, and—bam.

Hot liquid splashed across my chest. My arms flew up out of reflex, the suitcase tipping behind me.

“What the hell!” a voice shrieked.

I blinked fast, my favourite dark grey round-neck blouse clinging to my skin, and looked up.

An obviously annoyed girl was standing in front of me. She was a couple of inches taller than me, which was pretty tall since I was 5’10. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, and her outfit looked like it cost three times my monthly rent. The brown stain on her pale pink skirt was spreading quickly, soaking through delicate silk.

She stared at me like I’d just stabbed her. Relatable. If I owned such expensive clothes, I’d also be annoyed if they were soiled.

“You ruined it,” she hissed. “This is custom Chanel.”

“I—I’m sorry,” I said, raising both hands. “I really didn’t see you. You came around the corner too fast.”

She looked me over with narrowed eyes, the kind that calculated cruelty. “Ugh. Obviously, you weren’t watching. People like you never do.”

“People like me?” I repeated, voice cooling.

“Of course. You poor, clumsy people. You’re probably here on a scholarship, right? I don’t understand why the board does charity and lets us mingle with peasants.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Breathe, Freya.

“Look,” I said carefully, “I’m sorry. If there’s a laundry room, I can help you clean it—”

“Do you think this can be fixed with a washing machine?” she snapped. “Do you even have the money to foot my laundering bill? Ridiculous. You want to fix it, then compensate me.”

She was really testing me now. But I was in the wrong this time, so I didn’t act on the bubbling anger.

I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, knowing damn well I didn’t have enough in there to fix anything, much less compensate, but I had to try. One hundred and twenty dollars, twenty cents—that was all I had. I had already planned how I would manage it until I found a part-time job to support me, but now, to fix my wrong, I was willing to give it all away.

I carefully held the money out to her. “Here. I have—”

“You think I’ll accept this measly change?” She didn’t even let me finish.

“This dress costs $6,000! Be sincere if you want to compensate. Oh, right. You obviously don’t have that kind of money.”

She touched her hand to her chin as if pondering for a second, and when she gave me that devilish smile, I knew she didn’t come up with anything good.

“Kneel for me,” she spat, a sparkle in her eyes.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get down on your knees, just like the beggar you are. Oh, and strip naked while you’re at it and beg for forgiveness. If you do it really well, I’ll let you off,” she added after a pause. “Aren’t I generous?”

For a second, I thought I misheard.

My stomach twisted in anger. “Haha. That’s funny.”

“Do you think I’m joking? Funny. I’m damn serious. Now, which one will you do first? Kneel then strip, or strip and kneel? I think you should strip first.”

Everything in me stilled.

I looked at her. Really looked. Not just at the designer bag still hanging on her shoulder or the gold bracelet at her wrist, but the look behind her eyes—an entitlement so thick it could choke a room.

Obviously, she wasn’t looking for an apology. She just wanted to make a show, use me to tell people she was superior.

Too bad I wasn’t built to kneel.

I stepped aside. “I’m not doing this.”

She blocked my path again, arms out. “Did I give you permission to leave?”

I exhaled slowly and tilted my head. “I don’t remember permitting you to order me around,” I said to her face.

She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, clearly not used to being rebutted.

“You dare?!” she screamed, drawing a few glances our way.

“What are they doing? Professor Finerman will be here soon.”

“Oh my God. I hope he doesn’t see this.”

…

…

The whispers caught my attention. Professor Finerman? Seemed like they were scared of him. Might as well use that to my advantage.

“Are you trying to make a scene here? On the first day of term?”

“I’ll scream if I have to,” she shot back, daring me with her eyes, too caught up in her own anger to notice the growing unease around us.

“You might want to hold that off,” I said, glancing past her shoulder.

Her head whipped around. “Why?”

“The professor’s coming,” I murmured.

She stiffened. “Which professor?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just heard someone say Finerman was doing welcome rounds.”

The arrogance in her face changed immediately, and she took a step back, glancing around—probably to see if the said professor was near.

I took that as my cue and left.

****

Room 307 was at the end of the hall.

After double-checking the number on the door, I knocked lightly to announce my presence, then pushed it open, hoping it wasn't another entitled vixen waiting on the other side.

It was a small room, but a clean one. It had two single beds, two desks, and two narrow closets lined on either side. The blinds were already pulled halfway up, letting sunlight slant across the tiled floor in soft golden streaks.

A girl stood near the window, hanging up a string of fairy lights. Her hair was a deep auburn, pulled into a loose braid that swayed when she turned.

“You must be Freya!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Hi, I’m Grace. Grace Jensen.”

She sounded happy to see me—which, for some reason, didn’t seem fake—but still, I hesitated in the doorway. After what had just happened downstairs, I couldn’t help but brace myself.

“Hi,” I said cautiously. “Nice to meet you.”

She bounced over and helped pull my suitcase inside without asking. “I picked the left bed, hope you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, sure.” I tried to smile as I tugged the suitcase toward the other bed.

Grace didn’t seem like she was going to insult me over what I wore or where I came from, but my guard stayed up anyway. I’d learned the hard way that girls who smiled the widest could still stick the sharpest knives in your back.

“You from around here?” she asked, sitting cross-legged on her mattress.

“No. I come from a small town. It’s about three hours north.”

“I’m from Brighton,” she said. “Born and raised there. My parents were shocked when I got into law school. Not because I’m not smart, just because it’s so competitive. And they always say I talk too much.”

I let out a small laugh before I could stop it. “You kind of do.”

“I know, right?” she grinned. “At least I admit it.”

I turned back to unpacking, slowly starting to relax. Grace had an easy way about her, and being quite the chatterbox, there was no awkward silence. She didn’t even seem to mind when most of my responses were occasional hums.

By the time I was done unpacking, I even knew about how she once got her head stuck in the school’s fence trying to impress a boy in the fifth grade. I had even been roped into taking instant noodles with her.

Now we were seated on her bed, legs crossed, sharing the noodles straight out of the pot with plastic forks.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” she said between bites. “Finally, I get to be in law school with Professor Clarence Finerman.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

Her jaw dropped. “You don’t know Finerman?”

“Nope. I don’t think hearing people whisper his name counts, right?”

“Of course not. He’s basically a celebrity in the legal world. The youngest attorney to win three federal cases back to back. Now he’s a visiting professor here. And—get this—he’s a legal advisor to Jack Ramaswamy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The billionaire?”

She nodded like she’d just revealed a royal family secret. “If we impress him, we might get a recommendation letter. And that could land us anywhere. Top firms. Corporate jobs. Anything.”

“Sounds like you’ve already planned your entire future.”

Grace laughed. “I’m just excited. I worked my butt off to get here. I want to make it count.”

 “Yeah,” I said, but my voice came out quieter.

Because while she was dreaming of letters and firms, I was calculating my debt down to the penny. My mother had only been gone three months, and her hospital bills still clung to me like a second skin. Grief didn’t come with a payment plan. Everything I had left went to tuition, textbooks, and keeping a roof over my head. If I didn’t find a job soon, I wouldn’t make it through the semester.

I had better go job hunting tonight.

As planned, when it was night, I changed into some decent semi-formal clothes and made my way downstairs, planning to go job hunting. The aim was to come back with a waitress position secured. It didn’t matter whether it was a club or a restaurant. All I needed was the job and the money.

When I got back to the dorm hallway, it was mostly quiet. Most students were still settling in—some laughing through open doors, others talking on speakerphones. I moved past them all, down the stairs, and out into the warm evening air.

The pale curve of the moon had already crept into the sky, looking down at me. I adjusted the strap of my bag and headed toward the front gate.

That’s when I heard it—Grace’s voice.

I stopped mid-step. It wasn’t loud, but something about the way she said, “No, Stella, I—” made my pulse jump.

 I followed the sound around the corner.

There they were. A small group of girls gathered beneath the streetlamp, half-hiding Grace from view. She stood in the middle, arms tight to her sides, looking small despite her usual spark. 

The others circled her like they were performing.

 And right at the center of them stood the girl from this morning—perfect blonde hair, arms crossed like a queen bored at court.

My stomach dropped.

So her name’s Stella.

Of course it was.