"Mmm…"
I woke up and stretched my arms, half-expecting my knuckles to hit the low, splintered wood of the orphanage bunks. Instead, my fingers brushed air. The ceiling was so high it felt like it had its own weather system. I rolled over, sinking into sheets that felt less like fabric and more like a cloud.
"Egyptian cotton," I whispered, rubbing the sheet against my face. "Goodbye, scratchy wool. I won't miss you."
I sat up and looked around. The room was too quiet. The scent of lavender and lemon wax hung in the air.
"Okay, Isabelle," I muttered, slapping my cheeks. Slap. "Ow. Real. You're actually here."
I laughed nervously. A shadow crossed the open doorway. Three girls in tailored blazers walked past, their expressions shifting from bored to disgusted.
"Is that the scholarship girl?" one asked loudly. "The one Genevieve Beaumont hauled out of the gutters?"
"Sounds like she's already having a mental break," the other snickered.
Heat climbed up my neck. I offered a weak wave.
"Good morning! Just… testing the acoustics?"
They didn't respond. I rushed to the door, locked it, and leaned my forehead against the wood.
"Great job," I muttered. "You look like an unhinged squirrel."
A deep chime echoed through the floorboards. The assembly bell.
"Holy Grail, I'm going to be late!"
I showered quickly, nearly slipping twice. The uniform felt like it belonged in a museum. I fumbled with the buttons of the crisp white shirt, my hands shaking.
"Don't tear it," I muttered, smoothing the navy blazer.
I grabbed my bag and schedule slip and bolted out the door. Then immediately realized I had no idea where I was going. I spotted a group of girls near a fountain.
"Um, excuse me?" I tried. "Could you tell me where the—"
They turned in unison, looking me up and down.
"Are you lost," the girl in the center asked, "or just lacking a mirror?"
"I'm looking for the Cathedral," I said, clutching my map.
"Try looking for a tailor first," another giggled. "Your ribbon is crooked."
"Sorry," I muttered, backing away. "My bad."
I turned the corner and glared at the map.
"It's a labyrinth," I muttered. "A gold-plated labyrinth."
I looked up at the white spire.
"I can see the building. Why can't I reach it?"
Thump.
A muffled sound came from behind a stone shed. I stepped into the shadows and stopped. Two girls were holding a student down while the third shoved dirty leaves toward her mouth.
"Eat it," the ringleader hissed. "You like attention so much ? Scavenge for your lunch, you rat."
My stomach twisted.
"HEY!"
They spun around.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" I snapped, stepping forward. My heart was racing but my voice held.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" I snapped, stepping forward. My heart was trying to exit my chest but my voice held. "Ganging up on people is pathetic."
The leader, whose name is Arabella, burst out laughing. "The stray has a bark. What are you going to do, charity case? We know who you are. The girl who played a fiddle for the Beaumonts."
The girl on the ground looked at me, eyes wide. I pulled out my phone.
"I'm calling security. And I'm recording this."
I wasn't but they didn't know that.
"You've got guts," Arabella sneered, poking a branch into my chest. "Do you know who my father is? He sits on the board."
"I don't care if he's the King of France," I snapped, knocking the branch away. "Don't poke me like I'm a dead animal."
"She's feisty," another snickered. "Like your pet fox, Arabella."
"Don't compare my fox to a beggar," Arabella spat.
She stepped closer.
"I want to see her cry. I wonder if those silver eyes turn gray when you beg." She reached out like she was trying to grab my face. I flinched and closed my eyes, waiting for the punch to land on my face, when a voice stopped us.
"HEY."
A cold voice cut through the alley. A girl with perfect brown curls stood there. The atmosphere shifted instantly.
"Emmeline…" one of the bullies whispered.
Emmeline Schuyler.
She walked forward slowly, heels clicking on the stone.
Her uniform looked tailored just for her. Everything about her was flawless. Her posture, hair, the quiet confidence of someone who had never worried about money in her life.
Her gaze landed on the girl in the dirt.
"Bullying again, Arabella?" she said calmly. "Did you forget the Dean's last warning?"
"Emmeline, wait! She started it!"
Emmeline raised a brow.
"Do I look like an idiot?" Emmeline stepped closer.
Silence.
"Go to Student Affairs," she said. "Tell them I sent you."
The girls didn't argue. They hurried away. They scrambled away, throwing looks at me that promised a very short lifespan. My knees started shaking.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"What are you still doing here?" Emmeline replied, checking her watch. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"
"The girl on the ground—"
"The medical team is on their way," she said, looking at her watch. "Leave."
She turned to leave.
"Wait!" I called out as she turned. "Could you... Tell me how to get to the Cathedral? I'm hopelessly lost."
She paused, raising a brow. "You're the violinist. The one my mother mentioned."
"I guess so."
"Turn left and walk straight."
"Turn left and walk straight," she said. She took a step, then stopped. "And Isabelle? Stay out of trouble. This isn't an orphanage. People here don't play by the rules of a church."
She was gone before I could even say thanks.
"The assembly!" I gasped. "I'm going to be expelled on day one!"
I ran. Past fountains. Past the library. My lungs burned as I reached the Cathedral doors. I grabbed the handle.
Click.
Locked.
"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned, leaning my forehead against the cold wood. I yanked again. "No... no, no, please. Open the door. Not today."
"Are you trying to get in?"
The voice was soft, masculine, and actually sounded... nice. Which was a first for this school.
I froze. I turned around slowly and found myself looking at a boy whose hair actually seemed to glow in the sun. His eyes were a bright, startling blue-green, and he was watching me with a tilted head.
"The doors lock automatically when the Director starts speaking," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "You must be new."
I couldn't move. I couldn't even remember my own name. I just stood there in the shadow of the door, staring at the most beautiful person I had ever seen.
And that moment, in the shadow of the cathedral was how everything truly began.
Dmitri's POV (The Study)
The air in my father's study always felt cold, a thick, suffocating blend of old leather, copper, and the stale bitterness of cigar ash. I stood there, my spine felt like a rod of frozen iron while father steepled his fingers behind the desk.
"The Beaumont gala," he said, the words dry and precise. "Give me a report."
"It was posturing," I replied. I kept my breathing shallow, trying not to let the tremor in my chest reach my voice. "The Beaumonts wanted to remind everyone they still have a checkbook. There was nothing actionable."
His gaze sharpened like it was trying to dissect me. "And the girl? The one Genevieve called a prodigy."
I forced my expression to stay flat, a mask I'd been carving since I was fifteen years old. "Average talent at best, a shiny toy for the Beaumonts to parade around for a tax write-off. She's irrelevant, Father."
His phone buzzed. He answered it, his face was unreadable until the person on the other end spoke. Then, I watched the impossible happen. The color didn't just leave his face; it drained out, leaving him looking like a sickly, grey corpse.
"Isabelle Duval," he whispered and the way he said her name made the hair on my arms stand up. "You gave her a seat at St. Aurelia? Without my signature?"
My stomach dropped into a cold, dark void. Rousseau had gone over my head. He'd signed the papers before I could stop him.
"I couldn't care less about her violin," Father snarled. He stood up, his fist slamming into the wood with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. "If she's who I suspect, if that face isn't a coincidence, she's a loose thread and I pull loose threads. She's a ghost that should have stayed buried in the dirt where she belongs."
He leaned over the desk, fixing those black-pit eyes on mine.
"She is in your world now, Dmitri. You will be her shadow. Watch every breath she takes. Every student she speaks to. Every note she plays. If she becomes a problem for this family..."
He let the sentence hang in the air, a silent, lethal promise. He didn't need to finish it. We both knew what happened to "problems" in the Volkov house.
"I understand," I said, the words feeling like lead in my mouth.
I turned and walked out, my shoes clicking too loudly on the hardwood. I didn't let myself breathe until the heavy oak door was shut between us, cutting off the scent of his cigars. My pulse was a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs.
Isabelle thought she'd found a way out. Stay out of the light, little ghost, I thought, my hands finally starting to shake. Because once my father looks at you the way I'm already looking at you... There won't be enough of you left to save.