The heat of Dubai hit differently. Even with the luxury of glass towers, AC vents, and pools that looked like slices of heaven, the air outside pressed against skin like a velvet furnace. Goldridge Academy's final years had arrived in one of the most extravagant hotels the city had to offer. Their parents' money was everywhere—executive suites, private butlers, infinity pools, and shopping bags stacked like trophies in every corner.
But underneath the glitter, something else was brewing. Something darker.
It started small. A whisper in the lobby, a careless comment in the elevator, a smirk over dinner. By the second day, rumors had spread like spilled perfume, thick and impossible to ignore. Kevin. That was the name on everybody's lips.
The Whispers Begin
"Wait—that's Kevin?" a girl from the Paris branch whispered too loudly by the pool. "The one who—like—literally exposed Zion's trauma during exams?"
Her friend gasped so hard she almost spilled her mocktail. "No freaking way. That Kevin? He's here?"
"Dubai, baby. And in the same hotel."
The shock waves didn't take long to hit the London kids. They already knew the story, of course—they had lived it. But gossip was currency, and the UK branch had the biggest stack to spend.
By lunch, entire tables were buzzing.
"Yeah, he was like Zion's closest friend once."
"And then he totally flipped—publicly."
"No, listen, he wasn't just any friend. He was the guy who could've had it all. Top of the rankings, good with people, untouchable. Until…"
They always left the sentence hanging, letting imaginations fill the gaps. Betrayal, humiliation, rage—whatever version of the story people wanted to believe.
By evening, the name Kevin wasn't just gossip. It was a storm cloud.
Zion Feels the Weight
Zion knew. He wasn't stupid. The sideways glances, the sudden hush when he walked by, the not-so-subtle smirks—it all told him what he already expected. Word had gotten out.
And though he sat by the pool in dark shades and an open linen shirt, pretending he couldn't care less, the tension around him was sharp enough to cut glass.
Mabelle noticed first. She slid into the lounge chair beside him, towel draped over her shoulders. "You look like you're about to break the armrest."
Zion unclenched his fist immediately. "I'm fine."
"You're not." Her voice was soft but firm. "The whole hotel is buzzing about him. And—"
"Let them," Zion snapped, a little too sharply. Then, softer: "Let them."
Mabelle studied him for a long moment before sighing. "You don't always have to carry it like you're bulletproof, you know. It's allowed to sting."
Zion didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his gaze toward the elevators, as if half-expecting Kevin to appear any second.
Lucian Joins the Picture
Meanwhile, Isla had her own storm to deal with. Lucian.
He wasn't exactly what she expected—her childhood friend had grown taller, sharper around the edges, with that Dubai confidence that came from living in the middle of luxury. He had the kind of smile that could flip a room upside down, and Isla… well, Isla was not immune.
They walked the hotel's rooftop gardens that evening, neon Dubai glittering below like a galaxy.
"You're quieter than I remember," Lucian teased, nudging her shoulder lightly.
"I'm just—taking it in," Isla admitted. She wasn't lying. Everything about him, from the way he carried himself to the casual way he leaned on the rail, felt like déjà vu and something entirely new all at once.
Lucian grinned. "Or maybe you're distracted by all the chaos with your classmates. This Kevin thing?" He raised a brow. "Wild. Half the people in the hotel are acting like he's Voldemort."
Isla blinked. "You know about Kevin?"
"Everyone does." His smirk was easy, but his words weren't. "Word spreads fast when it's that juicy."
Something about the way he said it made Isla hesitate. He was loyal, yes—he had always been—but the fact that even he was already caught up in the gossip made her uneasy.
Teachers on Edge
It wasn't just the students. The teachers had started to circle the rumor mill, too.
At dinner, Ms. Rowe, the ever-composed head of the UK branch, kept glancing over her shoulder like a shadow was about to pounce. Mr. Carlisle, usually carefree, had a permanent frown etched across his face.
"Why does it feel like the staff's more stressed than we are?" Mikey muttered to Celeste as they sat with their plates of shawarma and fries.
Celeste leaned in. "Because they know. The second Kevin shows up, it's not just a student problem—it's an academy-wide problem."
Mikey blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Celeste whispered, eyes flicking around to make sure no one else was listening, "Kevin isn't just a name. He's a reminder. If the students don't behave, if the school's image takes another hit, all these donations and luxury trips? Gone."
Mikey whistled low. "Yikes. So… Zion vs Kevin isn't just personal anymore. It's political."
Mabelle the Coordinator
While the storm brewed, Mabelle still had a job to do. She had been tasked with coordinating their branch's activities during the excursion—managing schedules, making sure everyone actually showed up for cultural tours, and keeping tabs on who was wandering too far into Dubai's nightlife.
"Why does it feel like I'm babysitting grown toddlers?" she muttered, half-dragging a boy back from sneaking out toward the mall.
"Because you are," Isla replied dryly, helping her herd the stragglers.
Mabelle groaned. "This is supposed to be fun. Instead, I feel like I'm managing chaos with a clipboard."
But deep down, she knew she liked the responsibility. If she didn't step up, who would? Certainly not Zion, who was too busy playing the stoic "I'm fine" card. And Mikey—well, Mikey was still in shock that he had ranked in the top ten.
So, Mabelle kept pushing. Coordinating. Trying to pretend the storm of Kevin's return wasn't pressing closer with each passing hour.
The Rumor Turns into a Warning
On the third night, the tension snapped.
Two boys from the Tokyo branch cornered Zion in the lobby. They weren't hostile, exactly, but their voices carried enough to catch attention.
"You should be careful," one said. "If half the stuff we've heard about Kevin is true…"
"Then what?" Zion asked flatly, lifting his chin.
The boy hesitated. "Then you're in for more than just a fight. You're in for a war."
The words hung in the air long after they walked away.
Kevin's Arrival
And then, as if summoned by the weight of his name, Kevin finally appeared.
It was almost anticlimactic—the glass doors of the hotel lobby slid open, and there he was. Dressed casually in a fitted tee and sneakers, luggage in hand, his family trailing behind him.
But the effect was immediate. Conversations froze. Forks clinked against plates. Heads turned.
Kevin didn't rush, didn't acknowledge the whispers. He just walked, calm and unbothered, eyes sweeping the lobby like he owned it. For a second, his gaze locked with Zion's across the room.
The tension was electric.
And then Kevin smiled. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.
The storm had arrived.