Chapter 1 - The Target on the Back
Julian smoothed the collar of his generic, off-the-rack denim jacket. It was stiff, scratchy, and deliberately devoid of any designer insignia. To the passing eye, he was a nobody. A phantom. A "charity case" allowed into Kingston Academy to fulfill some administrative diversity quota.
That was exactly how he wanted it.
He walked up the sweeping marble steps of the Sterling Hall of Humanities, keeping his head down. Around him, the air buzzed with the toxic currency of Kingston.
"Did you see Chloe’s new Birkin? Himalayan crocodile. Her dad flew it in from Paris." "Whatever. Tristan just pulled up in a matte-black Pagani. Custom interior."
Tristan. The name made Julian’s jaw tighten. Tristan Sterling was the undisputed monarch of Kingston Academy. His family practically owned the land the school was built on, and Tristan ruled the student body with the cruelty of a medieval despot.
As Julian reached the top step, a heavy shoulder slammed into his chest, sending his textbooks clattering onto the pristine marble floor.
Julian looked up. Tristan stood there, flanked by three identically dressed sycophants. Tristan’s eyes, a cold, calculating blue, swept over Julian’s worn sneakers and unlabeled jacket with unadulterated disgust.
"Watch where you’re walking, scholarship," Tristan sneered, the word dripping from his lips like venom. "These steps are imported Italian marble. We don't need your cheap rubber soles scuffing them up."
A crowd had already gathered. At Kingston, humiliation was a spectator sport. Julian felt the familiar, hot prickle of rage at the back of his neck. With a single phone call, he could buy Tristan’s entire bloodline and sell it for spare parts.
But Julian took a breath. He forced his hands to unclench. "My mistake," he said, his voice maddeningly calm.
He knelt to pick up his books. Tristan’s perfectly polished Prada loafer stepped squarely onto Julian’s notebook, pinning it to the floor.
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"I don't think you belong here," Tristan whispered, leaning down. "I think you're a glitch in the system. And I fix glitches."
Julian looked up, meeting Tristan's eyes with a gaze so chillingly empty that the reigning king of Kingston instinctively took a half-step back. "We'll see," Julian murmured, pulling his notebook free.
