The black Maybach rolled to a stop in front of Ashford Elite Academy.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the driver's side door opened, and the chauffeur—a middle-aged man who had seen enough of Paradise's elite to be professionally unshockable—stepped out and moved to open the rear passenger door.
He'd done this a thousand times.
This time, his hand trembled on the handle—like even the hired help knew the rules had changed and the new king was about to step out.
Phei stepped out first.
The morning sun caught him like a spotlight operator who'd been waiting their whole career for this exact moment—bathing him in golden light that turned his pale skin luminous, that made the sharp planes of his face look carved from marble and moonlight, that set those impossible violet eyes blazing like twin amethysts lit from within.
He was wearing the Ashford uniform.
Technically.
