“Let the person who suggested this meeting open it,” I said to the blank faces staring back at me.

Cassia turned to me with a sharp, disapproving glare that clearly communicated her feelings. I ignored her. I was curious to hear what Noelle would propose. There was something about her—interesting, unpredictable—that made me want to give her a chance.

I glanced toward her and caught a flicker of surprise, discomfort, then acceptance. Her back straightened, and in that moment, she looked as though she could command the room as effortlessly as I could.

“The main reason I suggested this meeting,” she began, “is so that we can share our strengths and interests, and assign roles accordingly. That way, everyone contributes equally to the success—or failure—of the upcoming competition.”

Cassia gave her a look that could curdle milk. But I understood Noelle’s logic. If the interschool competition failed, Cassia and I would shoulder the blame. If it succeeded, we would be celebrated. Cassia likely disliked the idea because she believed she could control every variable and guarantee victory. Even I knew that wasn’t possible—which was precisely why I agreed to this meeting in the first place.

Alessandro stretched lazily, reclining in his chair like a panther awakening from its slumber. “I know my strength,” he drawled. “I could seduce the girls on the other team into giving up their tactics.”

Rafael burst into laughter. The one person I expected to join in—my brother—was the one least amused.

“Alessandro, this is quite a serious matter we’re discussing,” Lucien said, disapproval tightening his tone.

Alessandro blinked at him in surprise before turning to Noelle with an apologetic smile. He straightened in his chair.

Noelle shot him a look that promised he wouldn’t be forgiven if he tried that again. I noticed her and Lucien exchange glances—a fleeting moment of gratitude on her part, a quiet acknowledgment on his. His gaze lingered a little too long.

After much discussion and genuine input from everyone, the roles were nearly assigned. Cassia, ever meticulous, had been entering suggestions on her tablet. She informed us she needed ten minutes to organize the final version. While she worked, I called for a short break.

Although I wanted to sit beside her and help, Cassia assured me she had everything under control. I walked to the end of the room, already contemplating how best to present our plan to the board—to secure their approval and ensure the event ran seamlessly.

Absentmindedly, I took a book from the bookshelf, one that was more decorative than functional, when I heard a soft call of my name.

I had expected Noelle to approach me, though not so soon. Still, as always, I revealed nothing. I turned toward her calmly, the book still in my hand.

“What do you think of this bookshelf—and every other one in this school?” I asked, turning the book over before meeting her gaze.

She hesitated, so I added gently, “Your opinion will be received without judgment.”

She smiled, reassured. “In that case, I think they’re more decorative than functional. Though I suspect that’s the wrong answer, isn’t it?”

I smiled, already anticipating it. “It’s more functional than decorative—but not in the way you think.” I replaced the book on the shelf.

“In the nineteenth century, when my great-aunt was a child, she was told that a girl must not read too much. But my aunt was defiant. She would sneak into her father’s library and read until she was caught and forced to play the piano instead. She swore that one day, when she had her own home, she would fill it with books.”

Noelle’s eyes widened slightly. “That great-aunt is Duchess Valmont, isn’t she?”

I nodded. “Which is why, even though the books here aren’t meant to be read, the shelves are more than decorative. They stand as a symbol of defiance—of autonomy—for generations.”

Noelle studied me for a few seconds. “So, by asking me to lead the meeting, you weren’t creating an illusion of equality. You meant it. For those who don’t agree with you, it may look like illusion—but that’s only because that’s all they’re willing to see. In reality, we all hold real power.”

I smiled, impressed that she understood me so completely without needing an explanation.

Noelle was about to speak again when Cassia called out to the group, announcing that the final role assignments were ready.

Cassia read aloud from her tablet, her tone crisp and businesslike. “All right, the final assignments.”

Everyone leaned forward—some with interest, others with the wary caution of people waiting to see who would end up with the heavier burden.

“As agreed,” Cassia continued, “Seraphine will oversee communications with the Board and the Governors.”

A murmur of assent rippled through the room. It was expected.

“She’ll ensure all plans align with the Academy’s policies—and that the competition remains in good standing with the press.”

I inclined my head slightly. This had been my proposal from the beginning: a competition to unite Houses and divert attention from the disciplinary chaos that would otherwise lead to an expulsion. It was a careful balancing act between diplomacy and control.

“Cassia,” I said softly, “you’ll handle media visibility. Press releases, social media presence, and all external communications. You’re the only one I trust to shape the narrative properly.”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Gladly.”

“Lucien,” I continued, “you’ll oversee the budget. Every franc accounted for. Keep it lean but dignified.”

He gave a short nod, half-amused. “You just don’t want me near the journalists.”

“Precisely.”

A few chuckles followed, softening the atmosphere.

“Charlotte,” Cassia resumed, “will take charge of event logistics—venue scheduling, invitations, and ensuring every round of the competition runs smoothly.”

Charlotte, immaculate as always, inclined her chin. “Consider it done.”

That left the rest of them—the unpredictable cluster that made House Valmont both formidable and chaotic.

“Rumi,” I said, meeting her gaze, “I want you to coordinate the creative elements—the theme, the aesthetics, and presentation design. Your eye for detail is unmatched, and this competition must look as refined as it sounds.”

Rumi brightened instantly, bowing her head slightly. “I’ll make sure it dazzles.”

“Alessandro,” I continued, “you’ll be in charge of diplomacy and outreach. Establish communication with the rival school, keep their representatives at ease, and ensure no friction develops before the event.”

He smirked. “So I get to charm our enemies. I can live with that.”

“Try not to enjoy it too much,” I replied dryly, earning another ripple of laughter.

“Rafael,” Cassia said, picking up the thread, “you’ll handle technical coordination—sound systems, lighting, and performance logistics. Anything that could collapse at the wrong moment is your domain.”

He saluted lazily. “I’ll make sure nothing explodes.”

“Noelle,” I said, “you’ll act as liaison between the Houses. Gather feedback, mediate disagreements, and ensure everyone feels represented. You’ve proven you can bridge gaps where others cannot.”

Noelle looked surprised for a heartbeat, then nodded, gratitude flickering across her face.

“And finally, Ariane,” I concluded, “you’ll oversee hospitality—guest reception, refreshments, and the welfare of our visiting teams. Presentation and courtesy will matter as much as performance.”

Ariane smiled, ever the perfectionist. “They’ll leave impressed.”

I allowed a small smile. “Then we have our team.”

Cassia glanced down at her tablet one last time. “Efficient, balanced, and foolproof,” she said.

“Let’s hope so,” I murmured, looking over them all. “Because this competition won’t just decide which school wins—it will determine how the world remembers this Academy after the crisis.”

Silence settled—a quiet acknowledgment of the weight behind my words. And in that stillness, I felt it: the fragile but genuine sense of unity that had been missing for far too long.

The meeting was adjourned and everyone left the common room, lighter than they entered.

“That went surprisingly well,” Cassia said as we walked back to our rooms.

I nodded. “Better than I expected.”

“Sera,” she called softly.

I turned toward her, curious at the sudden change in tone.

She gave me a genuine smile—not the kind she usually wielded like a dagger. “I trust you.”

I allowed the corner of my lips to lift slightly, not in triumph, but in acknowledgment. Trust was a rare currency—one I valued even more when earned.