Prestige College.
Zaria Blake had heard the name since she was ten — whispered in magazines, screamed in headlines, splattered across every socialite's feed. But nothing prepared her for the real thing. The gates alone looked like they could crush someone's ego just by refusing to open.
She adjusted the strap of her backpack and stared up at the towering walls. So this is where the children of the rich and scandalous hide to get educated... or pretend to.
Students glided out of luxury cars — Teslas, Lamborghinis, and at least two matte-black Maybachs. Girls wore designer bags like second skin. Boys tossed keys like they owned the world.
Zaria wore a gray hoodie, faded jeans, and sneakers with character. No one could tell from her look that her mother was British royalty in the academic world or that her late father once built hospitals in Lagos for fun.
But Zaria? She was just trying to survive another semester without strangling someone.
God abeg, no let me slap person today, she muttered under her breath.
"Excuse me?" a girl beside her blinked, looking up from her iced latte.
Zaria smiled, sweet as honey. "Oh, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to my inner demon."
The girl blinked again, then scurried off.
Zaria grinned and stepped into the courtyard like she belonged — not because she felt like she did, but because she refused to feel like she didn't.
The place buzzed like a beehive dipped in champagne. Students laughed too loud, walked too confidently, and acted like they were auditioning for reality TV. It was nauseating and impressive.
She walked past the central fountain — water flowing like it had a trust fund — and caught a few stares. Not the admiring type. The who's-she-and-why-is-she-wearing-Thrift kind.
She ignored them, as always.
Then everything shifted.
Like someone turned down the volume of the world.
She didn't see him at first. She felt him. The air thickened. The hallway, once loud and bright, dimmed around the edges. Conversations slowed.
Zaria followed the ripple in the crowd, and there he was.
Ares Valentino.
Six feet plus of silent authority. Black-on-black-on-black. His expression? Empty. His energy? Violent calm.
He walked like nothing could touch him — not bullets, not words, not guilt.
Students stopped pretending to be busy. Some stared. Others turned away, afraid to be caught looking.
Rumors surrounded him like a second skin:
Son of a tech billionaire with blood money in five countries.
Allegedly had Mafia ties from his mother's side — Sicilian, of course.
Owned a private company before the age of sixteen.
Might have once thrown a lecturer out of a window.
Zaria chewed her gum slowly. Na wa. Dem say this one na human being? Abi na Netflix plot with legs?
Beside her, two girls whispered nervously.
"That's Ares. He owns the top floor dorm."
"They say no girl ever leaves his room the same."
Zaria tilted her head. Shebi this boy dey enter class or na fashion show he come do?
He was coming closer now. His steps precise. Controlled. Like he had measured them before leaving home.
She caught herself staring — not because he was hot (he was), or rich (definitely), or mysterious (certified) — but because everyone else acted like he was made of glass and guns.
Zaria didn't like being told who to fear.
She stepped slightly into his path.
He slowed.
The crowd went still.
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, neither of them moved. She saw no emotion in his. Just... calculation. Cold and deep. Like a person who had seen too much too soon.
Zaria's lips curved. "Nice suit," she said casually. "Who you bury today?"
A collective gasp slipped through the crowd.
Ares didn't blink.
Behind him, a guy in a fitted shirt — tall, alert, clearly security — narrowed his eyes at her.
Zaria's heart raced, but she held his gaze.
Then, Ares did something strange.
He raised one eyebrow, barely. And walked past her.
No smirk. No insult. Nothing.
Just silence.
The hallway exhaled again.
Zaria let out a breath too, rolling her eyes. Na serious James Bond rip-off. Abeg shift.
So is it because of all those rumors that is why he came to school as if he is going to fashion show also he his working with steeze as if he is on top of the world (hissssssssssssss)
She turned and walked away, swinging her bag behind her like nothing had happened.
But she hadn't noticed the subtle movement behind her.
Ares' right-hand man spoke quietly into his sleeve mic.
"We've found her."
---
Zaria was halfway to the admin block when a voice called out behind her.
"Hey! You — hoodie girl!"
She turned.
A tall girl with sleek braids and aggressive cheekbones approached, arms folded.
"You think you're funny?" she asked, tone sharp. "Talking to Ares like that?"
Zaria blinked. "Sorry, are you his lawyer or his girlfriend?"
"I'm someone giving you friendly advice. Stay away from him."
Zaria stared for a moment, then smiled. "Thanks for the warning, mystery helper. But I don't do well with cages."
"You don't know what you're getting into."
Zaria tilted her head. "Neither do you."
The girl blinked, caught off guard.
Zaria turned and walked away again, her smile fading the moment her back was turned. Wetin concern me? Rich boy, dangerous family — na wetin dey pepper these people.
She didn't know she had just drawn a line in the sand.
One she wouldn't be able to step back from.