Grace Ayoola's first day at elite Glory Crest High
A school full of secrets, cliques, and golden lies
Her first encounter with Adrian Blake, the dangerous, gorgeous student council president
A shocking moment where she witnesses something no one was meant to see
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I'll begin with Part 1 (≈1,000 words) now, continuing in segments until the full 4,000 words are delivered.
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His Crime, My Heart
Chapter One: The First Bell
---
The gates of Glory Crest High were taller than the compound walls in Grace Ayoola's entire neighborhood.
Black steel curled at the edges like it was hand-carved by a god. Behind it, towers of glass and concrete shimmered in the morning sun. The school looked more like a five-star hotel than a place where teenagers were supposed to learn algebra.
Grace's fingers tightened on her faded backpack straps as the security guard waved her through the student entrance. No one greeted her. No one smiled. They barely looked her way, and when they did, their eyes skated over her secondhand uniform like she was a mistake on the page.
She felt it already — the weight of being out of place.
"You don't belong here," her aunt had whispered that morning, stuffing dry bread into her hand. "But go and get that scholarship. Let them choke on it."
So here she was. A Lagos girl with smart grades, a tragic backstory, and a body full of nerves.
The first bell hadn't rung yet, but the school courtyard was already alive — groups of students gathering under the trees and marble steps, sleek cars lining the inner drive. Every kid wore the same uniform, but theirs were pressed like they'd just been dry-cleaned by angels. Glossy shoes, manicured nails, expensive cologne that clung to the air.
Grace had never seen so many perfect faces in one place. They didn't talk loudly. They laughed — small, expensive laughs — like nothing in the world had ever touched them.
She was still standing there, trying not to shrink, when someone slammed into her shoulder.
"Watch it, mop girl."
A girl with perfectly braided hair — golden beads clicking at her wrist — didn't even stop to look back. Her two friends laughed behind her, eyes dragging over Grace like she was mold.
Grace swallowed hard and looked down.
Stained shoes. Wrong socks. A thread loose on her collar.
But her name was in the register now. She'd earned this spot. They would not break her.
She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and stepped inside the building.
---
The hallways smelled like lemon and money.
Marble floors stretched beneath massive skylights, and the walls were lined with lockers that had digital touchpads instead of keys. Her old school had no lockers — just a hook on the wall and prayers your bag didn't get stolen.
Grace glanced down at the paper clutched in her palm.
Class 3A. History. East Wing.
She turned a corner and nearly bumped into a boy carrying a box of files. He blinked at her.
"You're new."
His voice was smooth, polite. His blazer had a silver pin on the collar: Student Council Aide.
"Yes," she said softly.
He smiled. "You're lucky. East Wing's the quietest part. Unless…"
He paused, eyeing her face like he was reading it.
"…you like noise. Because if so, you'll want to see the rooftop. That's where all the drama is."
Grace managed a small laugh. "I think I've had enough drama for one lifetime."
He nodded like he understood, and stepped aside. "Welcome to Glory Crest. Survive it."
The way he said it didn't feel like a joke.
---
3A was already half full when she slipped inside. A few heads turned. Most didn't bother.
She took a seat in the back, quietly unpacking her pen and worn textbook.
A girl with a sharp bob and glossy lips turned around. "Are you on scholarship?"
Grace froze.
"Yes."
The girl turned back without another word, whispering something to the girl beside her, who covered her mouth and giggled.
Grace stared down at her desk, willing the tears not to come. It was only Day One. She couldn't break. She wouldn't.
And then the door opened again — and the air changed.
Every conversation stilled like it had been yanked by a string.
He walked in like he owned the floor.
Black blazer fitted sharp across his shoulders. Dark slacks. A white dress shirt with the top buttons undone like he couldn't be bothered to care. His skin was smooth bronze, and his eyes — black and unreadable — swept the room with practiced boredom.
Adrian Blake.
She didn't know his name yet, but she would.
He didn't sit with the others. He sat alone, by the window, throwing one leg over the other and leaning back like he was waiting for time to impress him.
The girls around her started whispering in low, urgent tones. Grace caught fragments:
"—he's the one I told you about."
"—his father owns half of Lagos."
"—didn't you hear what he did to that prefect last term—?"
Adrian pulled out a silver pen, tapped it against his desk, and looked directly at her.
Their eyes met.
Grace's chest squeezed.
And then he smirked — a lazy, sharp twist of lips — like he'd already decided what to do her
[Grace's POV]
Thanks for the patience, Ema Grace 😄💙
Here's the rewritten Segment 2 of Chapter One of His Crime, My Heart — now fully in 1st-person POV, just like you asked. This section is told through Grace's eyes, full of emotion, tension, and growing danger.
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His Crime, My Heart
Chapter One: The First Bell
I barely heard a word after Adrian Blake walked in.
The teacher's voice kept going — something about kingdoms and ancient trade routes — but all I could feel was the echo of that smirk he gave me. Like he knew something about me that I didn't even know yet. Like I was already a pawn on his board and he hadn't even moved me yet.
I kept my eyes down. Tried to focus. Tried to pretend I was just another student. But every cell in my body was aware of where he was sitting — a few desks ahead, by the window, like he didn't care if the sun touched only him.
The final bell rang, slicing through my thoughts. I exhaled slowly and began packing my books. My hands shook a little. I told myself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just day-one anxiety. I wasn't going to let one pretty boy with a cold stare get under my skin.
I waited until most of the students had cleared out before I left the room.
I didn't look back. I didn't want to know if he was still looking.
---
Lunch break came, and I found the quietest corner of the courtyard — an old stone wall half-covered in ivy near the sports shed. I unwrapped my foil-wrapped rice and stew, the smell strong, the flavor stronger. I didn't care if people stared.
Let them stare. They had no idea what I'd survived to be here.
Still, the whispering got louder. A group of girls passed and one of them laughed, pointing at my food like it was a science experiment. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and kept eating.
That was when a shadow fell across my feet.
I looked up, tense.
"Why do you look like you're planning a prison break?"
A boy stood over me, holding two cans of soda and wearing a kind smile. He looked familiar — the same one I'd bumped into earlier, I realized. Student council aide, silver pin on his collar.
I blinked. "Are you always this friendly to strangers?"
He shrugged and sat beside me like we were old friends. "Only the ones who look like they haven't decided whether to run or fight yet."
That made me smile. Just a little.
His name was Joel. Friendly. Sharp-witted. The kind of guy who could joke about school politics and make it feel like a comedy skit. He asked about my scholarship. I told him the truth — straight from the slums of Ajegunle, three-time spelling bee champ, top of my class, and still didn't feel smart enough here.
"You'll be fine," he said, sipping his drink. "They only bite if you bleed."
I didn't know what that meant, but I nodded anyway.
Then he tensed.
I followed his gaze.
Across the courtyard, standing by the fountain, surrounded by silent, watching boys in tailored uniforms… was him.
Adrian Blake.
He wasn't speaking. He didn't need to. His presence carried weight — like gravity twisted around him. His black blazer was crisp, his shirt slightly unbuttoned like rules didn't apply to his collarbones. His hands were in his pockets, and his eyes — those dark, unreadable eyes — were locked on me.
Not Joel.
Me.
My chest tightened.
I looked away fast, heat creeping into my cheeks.
"He's trouble," Joel muttered beside me. "Stay away from that one."
I didn't reply. I couldn't.
Because for the second time that day, I'd felt something I didn't understand when Adrian Blake looked at me — like a dare whispered beneath my skin.
---
I hid in the library during my free period.
It was quieter than I expected. Everything smelled like old paper and lemon polish. The librarian didn't even look up when I walked past the counter and climbed the spiral staircase to the second level. I didn't want people. I didn't want laughter or stares or Joel's kind warnings.
I just wanted peace.
Rows of thick encyclopedias and heavy reference books lined the upper shelves. I walked slowly, running my fingers across dusty spines, soaking in the silence. For a few moments, I felt normal. Like I was just a girl in a library — not a scholarship case in enemy territory.
Then I heard it.
A sound.
Faint. Like something dragged across wood… or torn.
I froze.
It came again — behind me, near the far end of the aisle. I turned, heart suddenly alert.
There was a fire exit door cracked open slightly, just enough to let in a thin slice of afternoon sun.
And there… a hand.
A pale hand — limp, lifeless — hung at the edge of the door frame.
I stopped breathing.
It didn't move. It didn't twitch.
I wanted to believe it was a trick of the light, that I was imagining things.
Then something moved in the shadow behind the door. Fast.
The hand was yanked away. The door shut quietly.
My heart slammed so hard I nearly dropped my bag.
I took one step back… then another.
What did I just see?
Was that… a student? Was someone hurt?
A thousand thoughts crashed into my brain all at once. I should go. I should tell someone. I should run.
But then — footsteps.
Coming up the stairs.
My breath caught.
I backed into the aisle, hiding between two tall shelves, pressing myself against the cold wood.
Whoever was coming didn't speak. Didn't rush.
Slow, steady steps.
I risked a glance between the books.
And saw him.
Adrian Blake.
Alone. Calm. Walking like the world waited on his time.
He moved past the shelves, turned toward the fire exit… and stopped.
His hand reached out and pressed against the exact spot where the door had been left ajar.
He didn't open it. He just stood there.
And then he turned… and looked directly at where I was hiding.
Right at me.
His lips curved into that same knowing smirk.
My blood turned to be
Perfect — let's keep the suspense building. Here's the next 1,000-word segment (Segment 3) of His Crime, My Heart — continuing Grace's POV immediately from where we stopped. The story deepens with mystery, danger, and tension between Grace and Adrian.
---
His Crime, My Heart
Chapter One: The First Bell
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Adrian Blake was staring straight at me through a gap in the bookshelf, like he knew I'd been there the whole time. Like I was expected.
And that smile… it didn't reach his eyes.
He tilted his head slightly. Just enough to say I see you.
Then—without a word—he turned and walked away.
Slowly. Calmly. Like he hadn't just found a girl hiding after glimpsing something she wasn't supposed to see.
My knees buckled once I was sure he was gone. I sank to the floor, clutching my bag like it could protect me. My mind was racing. What did I just witness? A hand, pale and limp, pulled into a dark corner. And then… him.
Why was he there?
Why didn't he open the door?
Why didn't I?
I should've run. Should've told the librarian. Should've done something.
But I didn't. I sat there shaking, pretending none of it happened.
---
By the end of the day, the air in the halls had changed.
Buzzing.
Everyone had heard. Someone was missing.
The whispers flooded the classrooms like smoke.
"Did you hear?"
"I think it was a senior…"
"No one's seen him since first period…"
"They say it was—"
"Shhh. Don't say his name."
The teachers tried to act normal, but we saw it in their eyes. The panic they were trying to suppress. The way Principal Adisa stalked through the halls with clenched fists and a pale face.
Still, no announcement was made. No police. No screaming. Just silence and murmurs that built like thunder before a storm.
And Adrian?
Adrian Blake was nowhere to be found.
---
Joel found me again near the gates after school. His smile was still there, but dimmer this time. Tighter.
"Hey," he said, sliding beside me as we waited for the school buses. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I didn't know how to answer. So I lied.
"I'm just tired."
He studied me. Then gently handed me a wrapped meat pie from a bakery bag. "Eat. You'll feel better."
I tried to thank him, but my voice cracked.
"Grace," he said, voice low. "Listen… if anyone messes with you, especially the big names, tell me, okay?"
I looked up sharply.
"Why?"
He gave a tired chuckle. "Because this school doesn't just run on brains and cash. It runs on silence. The wrong step, and you disappear from the hallway, not just the conversation."
He said it like a joke, but I didn't laugh.
Because I'd seen something today.
And I wasn't supposed to.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay on the stiff mattress in the room I shared with two other scholarship girls in the staff quarters. Mosquitoes danced above the ceiling fan, and my bunk creaked every time I turned.
The image of that hand haunted me. Pale. Still. Real.
And then Adrian's face — cool, unreadable — burned into my eyelids every time I blinked.
I needed answers.
I couldn't tell anyone. Not yet.
I'd barely survived my first day. I couldn't become the crazy girl on top of being the poor one.
But I knew what I saw.
And tomorrow, I would find that door again.
---
The next morning, the school atmosphere was tenser than ever.
Guards stood by the front gates. Teachers moved like their shoes were full of needles. Students whispered between classes. Still no official word — only rumors.
But one name kept surfacing, whispered like it might summon something.
Daniel Akinyemi.
A final-year science student. Bright. Kind. Never missed a class.
Until yesterday.
He was the one missing.
And I remembered that pale hand — the one near the fire exit — and suddenly it had a name.
Daniel.
I stood in front of the same fire door during third period, pretending to be searching for a book in the library. My fingers trembled as I reached for the handle.
Locked.
Not just locked — bolted from the other side.
Something cold twisted in my stomach.
Then I heard it.
The sound of breathing.
Behind me.
I turned so fast I almost tripped.
Adrian Blake stood at the end of the aisle, his hands in his pockets, watching me like a predator studying a nervous animal.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. His voice dropped into a whisper. "That door hasn't been opened in years. Broken lock."
I swallowed. "But yesterday—"
"Yesterday," he cut in, "you looked through a shelf and made up a ghost story."
I flinched.
He moved closer. I could feel the heat of his presence now, see the way his lashes curled over those unreadable eyes.
"You saw nothing, Grace," he said.
"How do you know my name?"
That stopped him. Just for a beat.
And then he smiled.
"Because I make it my business to know everything that enters my world."
I didn't know if it was a threat or a promise.
Maybe both.
---
Later that day, Daniel's disappearance was officially announced.
A simple statement over the PA. No drama.
"Any student with information is advised to report to the principal's office."
But no one did.
The school moved on like nothing had happened.
Another day. Another lesson. Another ghost.
I sat through my last class with shaking hands and a pounding head. Every time the door creaked open, I jumped. Every time a shadow passed the window, I held my breath.
Because deep down, I knew the truth.
Daniel hadn't just disappeared.
Someone made him disappear.
And Adrian Blake?
He knew something.
[Adrian's POV ]
They always look away when I look back.
But she didn't.
That girl—small, plain uniform, wide eyes like glass caught in light—she stared right at me. No flinch, no shy lowering of lashes. Just her and that look, curious and unsure if she was safe.
She isn't. But I didn't tell her that.
I don't like new people. They don't know the rules. They don't know how much we cover up here. Who we protect. What we bury.
And this girl—Grace, I heard a teacher whisper—didn't walk in like a background shadow. No. She walked in like a mirror. One I didn't ask for. One I didn't want.
I felt her eyes on me in Chemistry. I felt them again in the hallway. And now, even here on the rooftop, alone and calm, I feel her in my mind like a humming I can't mute.
The blood on my sleeve hasn't dried yet.
It's not much. A drop on the inside of my wrist. Hidden well beneath the edge of my blazer. I didn't have time to wipe it properly. He came at me fast. Should've known better. Should've stayed quiet. But threats only work when you don't pull them like leashes. And he tugged too hard.
I warned him. They always get warned.
Still... I shouldn't have used my hands.
I lean against the rooftop railing, eyes fixed on the skyline. Glory Crest High stretches below like a perfect lie. Clean halls. Shiny tiles. Laughter echoing from spoiled mouths. But this place is rotting. From the inside. Like me.
And now Grace is here.
She saw something. I'm sure of it. The shadows shifted behind the auditorium, right after I walked away. And then, I felt it—that heavy pause in the air. That quiet click of eyes meeting mine from somewhere unexpected.
Her breath hitched. Her fingers trembled. She was watching me.
I turn the silver ring on my finger slowly, like I always do when I'm thinking too fast. It's not just any ring. My father's initials are carved on the inside. A reminder. Of where I come from. Of who I am when no one's watching.
Especially when no one's watching.
My phone buzzes once. Liam. "It's done?" the message reads.
I text back one word:
"Clean."
I slide the phone into my pocket and exhale.
I should be calm. I usually am. After all, nothing ever sticks to me. I've got perfect scores, teachers who love me, a seat on the prefect board, and enough money to disappear a body if I needed to.
But Grace…
Grace Ayoola.
There's something off about her. She doesn't walk like she belongs, but she doesn't shrink either. She watched Monica and her vultures with a blank face. And when she looked at me in Chemistry—it wasn't fear I saw. It was calculation. Curiosity.
She's already trying to figure me out.
And that makes her dangerous.
I push away from the railing and run a hand through my hair. I should leave it alone. Let it slide. There's no way she saw anything... right?
But I don't believe in accidents.
I never have.
I'll find out how much she knows. I'll get close, if I have to. Close enough to see what she's hiding behind those innocent eyes. And if I have to break her trust to keep my secret?
So be it.
She looked me in the eye.
[Grace POV ]
---
I couldn't breathe when our eyes met.
Not because he was handsome, although he was — in that cold, expensive, untouchable kind of way. Not because of his reputation either. No, it was something deeper than gossip. Something real. I looked into Adrian's eyes, and I saw—
Danger.
He didn't smile. He didn't look away. He just stared, the way you'd look at a puzzle you didn't expect to find in your own room. Like I was an intrusion. A mistake.
And yet... I couldn't move.
Even now, sitting in the quietest corner of the library after classes, I still feel him. The coldness of his stare. The way his fingers flexed like he was hiding something beneath them. Something violent.
I shouldn't care. I didn't come here to get involved with anyone. Especially not boys like him.
But my brain won't let it go.
That flash of red behind the auditorium.
That silver ring twisting around his finger.
That bloodstain.
I saw it. Just for a second, but it was there. Dark. Wet. Bright against his cuff. And the boy lying behind the science block... Liam said he "fell." But he didn't look like someone who tripped. He looked like someone who'd been silenced.
Someone who crossed the wrong person.
The librarian's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Fifteen minutes till closing."
I packed up slowly, even though I'd barely read a page. I just needed to be alone. I needed air. My heart was beating too fast, and it wasn't from caffeine.
The school was mostly empty by the time I slipped out. The evening sun painted the glass windows orange, and shadows stretched long across the tiles.
I took the long hallway past the prefect board, half curious, half foolish.
Adrian's face was up there, center spot, next to Monica's. Top of the school. Model student. Rich kid. Royal blood.
But something was wrong.
His picture looked too perfect.
The kind of perfect you edit after something ugly.
I stepped closer... and that's when I noticed it.
Scratched into the glass — so faint I had to tilt my head — were words someone had carved with a blade or pin.
"He smiles. Then he kills."
My throat dried. My spine stiffened.
I looked over my shoulder.
No one.
I should leave. I should walk away and pretend I never read that. But as I turned, a paper fluttered out from the crack beneath the board. Folded. Crumpled. Hidden.
I crouched and picked it up.
The paper was stained with something brownish-red. The edges torn like it had been shoved somewhere fast. My fingers shook as I unfolded it.
There was a photo.
A blurry shot of Adrian standing over someone — a boy? — crumpled on the floor. Blood. His fist clenched. His face calm.
There was no date. No name.
Only a message scribbled in frantic handwriting beneath the image.
"One more girl and I'm next. Tell no one. He knows who sees."
I froze.
A sound echoed behind me — light footsteps, soft, quick.
Someone was coming.
I shoved the paper into my bag and backed away, heart slamming into my ribs. I was near the east staircase. I could slip down, get to the gate. I just had to move.
But then—
A whisper cut the silence.
"Grace..."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't familiar.
And it came from above.
I glanced up the stairs and saw nothing — only shadow. Only a shape moving behind the frosted glass of the third floor. Watching.
Waiting.
I ran.
I didn't stop until I reached the gate and nearly tripped over the step. The guard barely looked up as I pushed past him, panting like I'd outrun a ghost.
I didn't sleep that night.
Not just because of the photo.
Not because of the blood or the whisper or the scratch on the glass.
But because… when I closed my eyes…
…I saw Adrian.
Smiling.
Right before everything turned dark