“Done!” Jude declared, placing the last beaker in its rack.

We worked in the school lab to earn money. It was part of a quiet initiative the academy implemented—a way to help scholarship students integrate into a school overflowing with old money and ancient names.

The wages were politely put, obscenely generous. A salary fit for curing cancer, not sorting glassware. Honestly, it felt more like hush money.

I followed Jude out, turning back to make sure the lab door clicked shut. After every clean-up, we were required to return the key card to the supervising teacher.

Today, that was Miss Mae—head of the biology department. We made our way down the corridor toward her office.

Miss Mae was one of the youngest teachers at ERIA and perhaps the kindest. She had a heart of gold, which, in my opinion, was wildly inconvenient for surviving in this school. I liked her. I really did. But sometimes, I wished she’d grow a backbone.

We stepped into her office, expecting to find her at her desk, buried in papers. Instead, she was pacing, her neat bun slightly askew—disheveled by her standards.

“Ah. Noelle.” Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Thank God you’re here.”

She crossed the room and pressed an envelope into my hand. “You might want to sit for that.”

The envelope was ridiculous.

Cream vellum, thick as cardboard, edged in real gold—not gold ink, not shimmer—actual gold. It had weight, like it should come with armed guards. Embossed on the back was a seal I’d only seen in school history presentations and very far away:
a sapphire-studded V, wrapped in a crown of thorns and laurels—House Valmont.

I turned it over, half-expecting it to vanish in a puff of perfume and pretension. Even the calligraphy was arrogant—looped with precision so perfect it felt offensive.

The kind of envelope that didn’t just ask to be opened. It dared you to be worthy.

Jude leaned over my shoulder. “What is that?”

“House Valmont,” I said briskly.

His expression changed instantly—widening eyes, furrowed brows. Panic.

“This isn’t because of me, is it?” he asked, guilt lacing his voice.

I gave him a reassuring smile before taking Miss Mae’s advice and sinking into one of the feather-soft cream sofas.

I opened the envelope.

Inside was an invitation. Or what pretended to be one. A summons from House Valmont, requesting my presence at their residence—more castle than building—during the interschool competition.

I stared at the wax seal like it might bite.

House Valmont didn’t invite. They summoned. And I had no desire to be summoned by anyone.

“Are you alright?” Miss Mae asked, her voice soft, her gaze warm—and unfortunately, pitying.

I nodded, lifting my chin. The last thing I needed was sympathy. The damn invitation already made me feel itchy.

“What was it about?” Jude asked, still clearly worried this was retribution for exposing the Sydneys.

“Just an invite,” I replied. “I’ll decline.”

“An invite to House Valmont?” Jude repeated, his voice equal parts disbelief and suspicion.

I nodded once. As I rose to leave—eager to escape Miss Mae’s eyes that felt too tender, too knowing—she stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

She sat beside me, sighing with that same maddening empathy.

“Declining… would be unwise.”

There it was again. That pity. It was really starting to wear on me.

I turned to her, meeting her gaze with the steadiest voice I could muster.

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll be sure to consider it carefully.”

Fueled by frustration at an invitation I didn’t want but had to accept, I stormed out of the office and made my way toward House Valmont. I would return the letter. I would decline—formally, firmly.

But just as I reached the grand oak doors, guarded by two ever-silent footmen, they swung open.

And there she was. Of course.

Seraphine de La Croix.

She didn’t walk—she glided, like her feet had never touched anything so common as mud. Every step was deliberate, graceful, like the world shifted to accommodate her presence. She emerged from the Valmont estate like she didn’t just own the school—but the sky above it.

My fingers tightened around the envelope.

She looked just as the stories promised.
Sapphire eyes that didn’t just stare—they were evaluated, sorted. Her skin gleamed, sun-kissed bronze, like she’d just stepped off a yacht in Monaco. Her curls were pinned into an impossibly neat bun that defied logic. Not a single hair out of place.

She was petite—slim and dancer-like—but there was nothing small about her. If anything, the quiet poise only amplified everything else. The posture. The poise. The way even light seemed to obey her.

She wore the ERIA uniform like it had been custom-made, her House Valmont crest stitched in actual silver thread.

Perfect. Effortless. Intimidating.

And worst of all?

She didn’t look surprised to see me.
Just… interested. Like she’d been expecting me.

Next to her stood Cassia Wexler, her partner in perfection. All sharp cheekbones and sharp smirks—blonde, glossy, the kind of American money that came with media training and trust funds. She looked me over like a receipt. Then, unimpressed, she went back to her phone.

Seraphine stepped closer. She didn’t say anything, but her raised brow said enough.

Is something the matter?

I raised my chin, tightened my grip, and extended the envelope to her.

She didn’t take it. Just flicked a glance toward it, then looked back at me. Unblinking.

That look… I couldn’t read it. But it made me feel small. Smaller than usual. And in three years at ERIA, I’d had plenty of experience feeling insignificant.

But this?

This was another level.

Still, something in my indignation flared to life. I forced myself to meet her gaze.

“I’d like to decline the invitation,” I said.

A pause.

Even Cassia looked up.

Then—laughter.

I snapped my head toward her.

Cassia was laughing. Soft, amused, almost delighted. Like I’d told a joke.

Then, just as suddenly, she stopped. Apparently, even her laughter had rules.

“That wasn’t an invitation,” she said, tone clipped and condescending. “House Valmont doesn’t invite.”

“Then the summons shouldn’t masquerade as one,” I shot back.

Seraphine finally spoke. Her voice was low and composed. Velvet and ice.

“Is there a reason you're declining?”

I held her gaze.

“Is there a reason I should accept?”

“Excuse you—” Cassia began, but Seraphine stopped her with a single word.

“Cassia.”

Cassia scoffed and went back to scrolling—but not before giving me a look that could curdle milk.

Rumour confirmed: the only person Cassia Wexler listened to was Seraphine de La Croix.

“Yes,” Seraphine said simply.

“Might I care to know the reason?” I asked, refusing to back down.

“You haven’t given me yours.” A tilt of her head. That maddening Valmont calm.

I ignored the bait and asked instead: “Why me?”

She studied me for a moment, then said, voice regal and clear:

“You’re brilliant. Feared. And impossible to ignore. I don’t repeat myself.”

I said nothing. Just let my hand fall, envelope still in it.

That was enough for her.

Seraphine turned and walked past me, Cassia trailing beside her like a perfectly choreographed shadow.

I watched them go, then turned away from the oak doors of House Valmont with my head high and stomach in knots.

Whatever game Seraphine was playing - I had just been placed on the board.