The room they’d given me was… well, unfairly perfect.
High ceilings. Tall windows draped in soft cream. A bed that looked like it had been made by someone who took military precision personally. I was almost afraid to sit on it in case the duvet swallowed me whole.

The view was straight out of a painting — rolling lawns, sculpted hedges, the lake winking in the distance. My first instinct was to take a picture, but that felt like admitting I was impressed. Which I was. But they didn’t need to know that.

I set my suitcase down and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The meeting had been… tense. Not shouting tense. More the kind of tense where everyone’s smiles were a little too practiced, and every sentence was carrying luggage it didn’t unpack.

House Valmont was clearly its own little kingdom. Seraphine sat on her throne like she’d been born there, Cassia flanking her like the most elegant war general in history. The boys — Lucien, Alessandro — draped themselves over the furniture as if this were all a casual warm-up before something more interesting happened. And the rest of us? We were clearly here on probation.

I had walked into the room assigned to me feeling like a chess piece—a pawn, not the queen—and flopped onto the bed in a starfish sprawl. The mattress was cloud-soft, the furry cream duvet so light it could have been stuffed with feathers. Maybe it was. I could have fallen asleep right there if not for the frustration boiling in my stomach.

My phone pinged. The sound was small, but in the stillness it was deafening. It was buried somewhere in the flimsy carrier bag I’d brought with my suitcase. Giselle had been surprised that was all I’d brought. Charlotte had arrived with three large suitcases and two minis; even Yumi, who seemed minimalist to the core, had two large and one mini.

I sighed, crossing to the bag at the room’s entrance. I hadn’t even wheeled my suitcase in properly, let alone touched the walk-in closet. Yes, my room had a walk-in closet. The whole of ERIA screamed wealth and privilege, but House Valmont cranked it up to another level. My House Sorel room was smaller—though still double the size of my bedroom back in Brooklyn—and Giselle had even apologised for its size and decor, explaining they were only spare rooms for guests. If this was “spare,” I dreaded to imagine the regular rooms. Or Seraphine’s. Probably a palace.

I fished out my phone. Not Mum, as I’d hoped, but:

Group Chat: Interschool Comp HQ
Cassia Wexler had added you, Rafael, Charlotte, Yumi, David, Ariane, Giselle.

Seconds later:

Cassia: Please find attached your assigned roles for the competition prep. These were allocated based on House Valmont’s assessment of your strengths. Let me know if you have any logistical concerns.

My finger hovered over the PDF she’d attached.
Roles? Already? Without so much as a hey, what do you think you’re good at?

I opened it. My name was neatly slotted into “Public Relations: Press Outreach + Media Management.” Which would be fine, if I’d ever done that before. Or if she’d asked.

Ariane: Merci.
Yumi: Noted.
David: Fine with me.
Rafael: All good.

The speed of their replies made me wonder if this kind of autocracy was just… normal here.

I tossed my phone on the bed. Not in anger. Not yet. But the tiny spark was there, smoldering.

By the time dinner rolled around, that spark had grown teeth.

The invitation had called it a “casual dinner,” which in my Brooklyn dictionary means jeans, maybe a nice blouse if you’re feeling ambitious. But here, “casual” apparently translated to silent runway competition.

I’d gone with the only option in my wardrobe that wouldn’t make me look like someone’s underdressed cousin: a loose black silk dress my mother insisted I pack, layered with a cream blazer. It was simple, safe… and suddenly very cheap-looking next to the girls gliding in, dripping designer like it came from the tap.

Yumi and Ariane were already seated, Ariane scrolling through her phone in a way that told me she’d noticed me but didn’t consider me urgent enough to greet. I sat beside her, pretending my chair placement was my choice and not an invisible game of social musical chairs Cassia had already won.

Trying to bridge the gap, I offered, “So… you’re into technology?”

Ariane glanced up just long enough to confirm my existence, then gave a neat little nod before returning to whatever empire she was building on her screen.

Right. Good talk.

The boys arrived next — Lucien, Alessandro, Rafael — moving as a unit, loud and relaxed, their conversation orbiting some exclusive nightclub in Geneva. They had the easy camaraderie of people who’ve never been told they don’t belong somewhere.

Charlotte swept in with Giselle, mid-discussion about some castle in Scotland like it was a casual weekend getaway. Giselle laughed, and for a second, she seemed… normal. Then Cassia and Seraphine arrived, and whatever warmth was in the room drained away like someone had shut a window in winter.

Seraphine didn’t just walk in — she arrived. People shifted without realizing it, making space the way waves retreat from a ship’s hull. Cassia was right at her side, wearing the smug expression of someone who’d already written the script for tonight and assumed the rest of us would stick to our lines.

And then the seating happened.

Seraphine at the head, Alessandro to her right, Cassia to her left. The rest of us scattered down the table in a pattern that made it very clear who mattered most. My name card was planted halfway down, beside Ariane again, opposite Rafael, as far from the head as possible without being in another room.

I told myself I didn’t care. That it was just a dinner. That I wasn’t here to compete for status points. But as the first course arrived and I fumbled with the delicate silver cutlery, I could feel the edge of something sharper — that creeping sense of being placed in my role before I’d even had a chance to speak.

The first course was salmon with fresh salad — thankfully, something I recognized. I tried to copy Seraphine’s effortless, almost ballet-like knife-and-fork movements. My fork kept losing the salad mid-air. Her gaze drifted in my direction and I immediately looked back at my plate. No need to add salad flinger to her list of my shortcomings.

That’s when the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Giselle giggled — light, genuine — and conversation died instantly. Even Alessandro, mid-flirtation with Seraphine, paused.

Cassia’s eyes sharpened on Charlotte like a hawk spotting prey. “I like your necklace,” she said, her voice sweet enough to rot teeth.

Charlotte touched it. “Thanks. My aunt, the Queen, gifted it to me. Part of the Crown Jewels, apparently.”

It really was stunning — even my untrained eyes could tell — but Cassia’s lip curled.

“Seems you have a habit of taking things. Whether they were given or not.”

Giselle looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. Charlotte just kept cutting her steak, serene as a saint. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alessandro leaned in, voice dripping mischief. “Charlotte, it seems Cassia knows you very well. Well enough to assign your role for the event.”

Lucien, never one to leave trouble half-baked, added, “I don’t think she knows her well enough. Not if she thinks she won’t impress your mentee.”

Cassia bristled. Giselle’s fork paused mid-air. I was just trying not to choke on my salmon.

Seraphine, sensing the spiral, cut in smoothly. “I hear the roles have been assigned?”

Although she had tried to diffuse the tension, it was more of gasoline to fire, as a full blown arguement started.

Charlotte started it, naturally. Her voice was ice when she addressed Cassia. “I don’t recall us agreeing that House Valmont should dictate the logistics for all four Houses.”

Cassia smiled like someone indulging a pet. “We didn’t need to agree, Charlotte. It’s called efficiency.”

Charlotte’s fork clinked against her plate. “It’s called overstepping.”

A ripple went down the table — not quite laughter, not quite tension — and I realized everyone else was enjoying the show.

And that was when the spark in me flared.

I set down my glass. “So… I just have a quick question. Was there a reason our roles were decided without, you know… actually asking us?”

The table went quiet. Eyes swung toward me like I’d just announced I was overthrowing the monarchy.

Cassia’s smile didn’t falter. “It was faster this way. We’re working under time constraints.”

“Sure,” I said, keeping my tone level. “But speed doesn’t always equal better. Some of us might have skills you don’t know about. Or preferences. Or literally any input at all.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught the faintest flicker on Seraphine’s lips — not a full smile, but the ghost of one. The kind you give when someone’s just broken the silence in exactly the way you were hoping they might.

Her gaze locked fully on me then. There was no irritation in it — just interest. Amusement. Like she’d been sitting through a dull performance and suddenly found a scene worth watching.

She leaned back, perfectly poised. “Then we’ll have a meeting tomorrow. Everyone can present their case for what role they should take.”

Cassia’s head snapped toward her, but Seraphine didn’t look away from me.

For the rest of the evening, I could feel her watching — not constantly, but enough to make me aware that I’d moved from background noise to… something else. And I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing.