Page 2
Moving On
M y heels click against the marble floor as I follow Mrs. Harpsons through the winding corridors of Shark Bay University. The stone walls loom over us, their ancient shadows harboring secrets I’m not sure I want to discover. Everything about this place screams old money and older power—from the elaborate tapestries depicting naval battles to the brass nameplates marking each classroom door. As we walk, a strange feeling settles over me, as if the building itself is watching me, waiting to see how I’ll react to the countless ways it can pry me open and expose every secret I possess. The air feels thick with centuries of whispered confessions and broken promises, each stone seeming to hold the weight of countless students who came before me, their fates sealed behind these very same walls.
One thing is clear: Mrs. Harpsons knows everything about me, starting with the fact that I’m a new student here, fresh off a semester of blending in, pretending to be normal, falling in love with Alex and telling him the truth. In other words, Mrs. Harpsons doesn’t just know who I am; she knows why I’m here. That means every moment of every day, as the president of Shark Bay University, she will be studying and judging me. She’ll eagerly wait for me to fail to punish me.
As if she senses my growing unease, Mrs. Harpsons turns to look at me. Her expression, which had been tinged with sadness, hardens. “By now, you probably understand why you’re here. Shark Bay University has a long-standing tradition of graduating students who later run some of the largest and most important corporations in the nation. Naturally, that means we must be harder on you than your old school was.”
I don’t respond. My mind goes to the photos again, Alex smiling shyly next to his friends Jack and Sarah, whose lives my parents weren’t above threatening too. I can’t stop picturing those vacant eyes, that serene smile, the life escaping him inch by inch. Alex didn’t take their threats seriously, but he doesn’t know them like I do. I’ve only told him parts of the truth, my truth, but not all of it. It’s a good thing too, otherwise, the threats wouldn’t be just that: empty threats.
Mrs. Harpsons clears her throat, oblivious to the thoughts racing through my mind. “Oddly enough, the students still manage to rebel,” she murmurs. “It’s rather intriguing, though sometimes a problem when we’re trying to control their image… and their actions.”
“A problem?” The response escapes before I can think it through. “Your families groom their children from birth and then send them here to learn how to step on anyone who gets in their way. Why else would I be here? You’ve been protecting monsters and making sure their crimes don’t touch any of you for years. If you can’t handle a few rebellious kids, maybe it’s time for you to finally retire.”
For a heartbeat, the confident facade falters, and the terror underneath rears its ugly head. All it took was a few words to threaten everything I’ve been trying to save. The silence continues for an agonizing beat, stretching out so far, I’m starting to wonder if I’m free or in worse trouble than I was before. But I don’t have anything left. This was my last hope of survival. If I can’t make this work, Alex is as good as dead.
“Your room is in the East Wing,” Mrs. Harpsons announces a moment later. There’s no hostility in her tone, nor pity. Nothing. Just cold, clinical efficiency. “Third floor, second hallway on the left. You’ll be sharing with?—”
“I don’t do roommates,” I cut her off, keeping my voice sharp enough to slice through steel. My parents may have forced me into this prison, but they can’t possibly expect me to share space with some stranger. I’m already surrounded by enemies who want nothing more than to see me crack and fail.
Mrs. Harpsons’ lips twitch. “I’m afraid that’s not up for discussion, Miss Queen. Our housing arrangements are final.”
I narrow my eyes, waiting for the slightest crack in her carefully painted expression, the smallest hint that I can find a loophole or argument, but the subtle smile stays. It’s just us, these echoing corridors, and the thick silence filling the space between us.
Before I can argue further, a blur of yellow and navy blue crashes into me from around the corner. My designer suitcase tumbles from my grip, spilling its contents across the polished floor. Luckily, the impact didn’t hurt me. Before I can complain, though, a pair of hands wraps around me. On instinct, I jerk back. I’m so out of it that even Mrs. Harpsons startles, taking a small step backward. At that moment, I know I’m going to fucking hate this place. Even Mrs. Harpsons wants to protect herself from whatever will happen if I snap.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” The human tornado responsible for my scattered belongings drops to her knees, frantically gathering my clothes. Her honey-blonde ponytail bounces as she moves, and her school uniform is perfectly pressed. “I was running late for orientation and wasn’t watching where I was going and?—”
“Stop touching my things.” I snatch a silk blouse from her hands before she can stuff it back into my suitcase. “You already did enough.”
The girl freezes, then slowly raises her head. Despite my cold tone, her smile remains bright enough to power a small city. “I’m Leyla Clark,” she chirps, extending her hand. “I’m actually supposed to be your student ambassador! What are the odds, right?”
She gets to her feet, one hand curled around the straps of a backpack covered in dolphins and the other offered to me to shake. I stare at her outstretched hand until she awkwardly withdraws it. Everything about her screams “perpetual optimist”—from her eager smile to the way she bounces slightly on her toes. She’s exactly the type of person I need to avoid. Which means she’s perfect for an entrance test, to see exactly how determined I am to see this through.
“Excellent timing, Miss Clark,” Mrs. Harpsons says, checking her watch. “Please show Miss Queen to her room and help her get settled. I have other matters to attend to.” With that, she clicks away down the hall, leaving me alone with Little Miss Sunshine. She watches me as I gather the rest of my clothes, biting her lip in an unspoken question.
“Need something?” I snap.
“This is going to be so much fun!” Leyla exclaims, hefting my suitcase despite my protests. “I can show you all the best study spots, and introduce you to everyone, and?—”
“I don’t need a tour guide,” I interrupt, snatching my suitcase back. “Just point me to my room.”
“But it’s my job to help you adjust! Besides, you’ll love it here once you get to know everyone. We’re like one big family.” Her happy-go-lucky attitude puts me on edge.
“Maybe we can skip the introductions,” I grit out, ignoring her blatant flinch. Even Leyla can see that her enthusiasm will come to nothing with me. But she keeps smiling, as if she isn’t fazed. What’s she trying to do? Family has never meant anything good in my experience, and there’s nothing she can do that will make me change my mind. “Just show me where I’m sleeping.”
Leyla’s smile seems plastic, brittle, as if she can barely hide how false it is. Despite my attitude, she soldiers on. “This way! The East Wing has the best views of the ocean. And wait until you see the common room—we just got new furniture last semester, and there’s this amazing window seat where you can watch the storms roll in…”
I tune out her cheerful chatter as we wind through the maze-like halls. Every corner we turn reveals more evidence of wealth and privilege—gilt-framed portraits of stern-faced founders, elaborate stained glass windows, and antique furniture that probably costs more than most people make in a year. It’s all designed to remind us of our place in the hierarchy. From the moment I set foot on this campus, I have known that I didn’t belong. This isn’t the real world, I remind myself. It’s the stage we use to entertain ourselves while we play cruel tricks and carry out unnecessary tests that, ultimately, mean nothing.
We climb three flights of stairs before Leyla finally stops in front of a heavy wooden door marked 314. She produces a key card from her pocket with a flourish. “Home sweet home! Well, for the next year at least. I know it seems a bit old-fashioned, but?—”
The door swings open before she can finish, revealing a girl lounging on one of the twin beds. She’s gorgeous in that carefully cultivated way that screams old money—perfect blonde waves, manicured nails, designer jewelry that probably cost more than a car. Her uniform skirt is rolled just high enough to be noticeable without technically breaking the dress code. Dark eyeliner surrounds her deep blue eyes, and when she meets my gaze, they remind me of the night sky just before a storm—hiding something terrible.
For a moment, the three of us stand silently, frozen. Then, with a loud sigh, the stranger rolls her eyes. “You must be the new girl,” she drawls, not bothering to get up. Her eyes rake over me with calculated precision, taking in every detail from my windblown hair to my slightly wrinkled dress, which would soon be replaced by their horrid yellow and navy-blue uniform. “I’m Belle Gallagher.”
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water. Belle Gallagher—daughter of Senator James Gallagher, heir to one of the oldest banking fortunes on the East Coast. I’ve heard whispers about her family at my parents’ parties, usually accompanied by knowing smirks and raised eyebrows. They’re players in the same sick game as my parents.
The Gallaghers are masters of the public facade —their name appears on hospital wings and charity foundations, their faces grace magazine covers touting their philanthropic efforts. The world sees their millions flowing to disaster victims and veterans’ organizations, hears their earnest calls to combat disease and human trafficking. But I’ve seen the steel behind those camera-ready smiles, heard the calculated discussions at midnight galas where they plot which communities to “save” while lining their own pockets. When tragedy strikes, they’re the first to hold press conferences from their mansion’s manicured lawn, but behind the scenes, these monsters are gleefully counting the spoils of the world’s misery.
My fingers tighten around my suitcase. “Luna Queen,” I reply, matching her bored tone. “But you already knew that.”
A slight smile curves her lips. “Of course I did. Your… departure from Ebonridge University caused quite a stir in certain circles.”
In other words, my entire family wants her to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t step out of line, and report to them if I do anything suspicious. It’s all perfectly orchestrated, another neat little trick by the people who ruined my life.
Leyla’s head swivels between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “Oh, you two know each other?”
“Not exactly,” Belle says, examining her perfect French manicure. “But everyone knows about the Queen family’s black sheep daughter. Tell me, Luna, did Daddy finally get tired of cleaning up your messes?”
I force my face to remain blank even as rage burns through my veins. She has no idea what really happened—what my parents are capable of. “Careful, Belle. Your desperation to prove yourself relevant is showing.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did you just threaten me?”
I’m so fucking done with these games. Leyla can sing my praises all she wants, but Belle has caught me on a bad day, and if she had any sense, she’d be hiding in a corner by now. Instead, she’s trying to provoke a fight she can’t possibly win. “Take it however you like. But tell me, how does it feel knowing you’ll never actually earn anything in your life?”
Belle sits up slowly, her casual pose transforming into something more predatory. “You might want to watch yourself, Queen. You’re not at Ebonridge anymore. Things work differently here.”
“Is that what you call a threat?” I ask, letting a hint of amusement color my tone. “How quaint.”
“More like a friendly warning. Shark Bay has a very specific pecking order, and right now, you’re at the bottom of it.” She brushes a nonexistent piece of lint from her skirt as she stands. “Try not to become a problem we’ll be forced to fix.”
I laugh, the sound sharp enough to make Leyla flinch. “Oh, sweetie. If you think your little high school power games scare me, you clearly haven’t done your research.”
Belle’s eyes flash with anger, but before she can respond, Leyla steps between us. “Okay! How about I show Luna where everything is? The bathroom is just down the hall, and the laundry room is in the basement…”
“Don’t bother,” Belle cuts her off. “I’m sure Luna can figure it out herself. After all, she seems to think she’s so capable.” She grabs her purse, shooting me one last venomous look. “I have a study group to get to. Try not to destroy anything while I’m gone.”
She sashays out of the room, leaving behind the lingering scent of expensive perfume and unspoken threats. Leyla watches her go with visible relief. “She’s not so bad,” she offers hesitantly, smoothing her palms against her skirt. “Belle just doesn’t take well to change, is all.”
I snort, dropping my suitcase onto my bed. Leyla is so different from Belle. One clearly holds ambition and ambition alone, and the other is desperately trying to fit in, but I can only care about protecting myself right now, and since her family is undoubtedly tied to mine, there’s no use getting too close. Getting hurt again is the last thing I need right now, not with Alex’s life on the line. I have to stay detached, or they’ll tear me apart.
Leyla chews on her lower lip, eyeing me carefully. “I know Belle can come across a bit rude, and I agree that she can be a bit... intense sometimes. But she’s not always like this! She actually does a lot for the school—she’s student body president, and she organizes all these amazing charity events?—”
“Save it,” I cut her off, dropping my suitcase on the empty bed. “I don’t need you to make excuses for her, and I definitely don’t need you to try to make us friends.”
Leyla’s perpetual smile finally falters. “I just thought… maybe if you gave her a chance…”
“Let me make something very clear,” I say, turning to face her fully. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m not here to join your little social circle or participate in your charity events or whatever other wholesome activities you have planned. I’m here because I have to be, and the sooner everyone accepts that, the better off we’ll all be.”
“But—”
“Thank you for showing me to my room. You can go now.”
Leyla scurries from the room, her eyes still glazed over. Only when she’s gone does the guilt sink in. Part of me wants to run after her, to apologize or explain, but I can’t give in now. My first glimpse of Shark Bay has proven I’ll be surrounded by people who’d enjoy watching me die just as much as they enjoy pretending to be saviors, and I have to be ready.
I sink onto my bed, letting out a shaky breath. The mattress is too soft, and the room is too quiet except for the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs. Everything about this place feels wrong. There are too many secrets lurking behind those stone walls, and just one false move could lead to ruin, for me, and worse, for Alex.
I pull out my phone, fighting the urge to check for messages I know won’t be there. Alex’s number is probably already disconnected—my parents would’ve made sure of that. Still, my fingers hover over the keyboard, muscle memory wanting to type out the words I can never send: I’m sorry. I miss you. I did it to protect you. And most importantly, please be okay. The words feel hollow now, meaningless against the magnitude of what I’ve done. Each letter would be another betrayal, another crack in the careful wall I’ve built between us. Because the truth is, the moment I chose to leave, I gave up the right to miss him, to worry about him, to love him. My concern is just another weapon that could be used against him, and I won’t—can’t—give them any more ammunition.
The longer I stare at the empty message box, the stronger the pressure becomes. It builds and builds until there’s nothing left but a muted sort of dread, cold and suffocating. I don’t have the right to miss him, to hope, to act like any of this is even remotely my fault. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been lying to him since the day we met, doesn’t matter that his life is in danger, hurt because of me. I’m used to this world and its constant shittiness, but he isn’t. He doesn’t understand that doing the right thing isn’t an option here, not in the real world, not for someone like me. It was a risk bringing him in, but I thought I could protect him. I thought, if I played by their rules, stayed hidden, did what they said…
A notification pops up—an email from an unknown address. My heart stops when I open it. Inside is a single photo: Alex walking across a familiar Ebonridge’s college campus, backpack slung over one shoulder. The timestamp shows it was taken yesterday.
The message below contains just four words: Remember why you’re here.
I delete the email with trembling fingers, but the image is already burned into my brain. They’re watching him, just like they promised. One wrong move from me, and… I force the thought away. This is my life now, and I have to accept it. The rest of the world will bend around me, or I’ll break until there’s nothing left. The choice is mine, and either way, it isn’t one I really have.
A knock at the door makes me jump. “Luna?” Leyla’s voice calls through the wood. “We have a floor meeting in five minutes. Everyone’s required to attend…”
I close my eyes, forcing down the panic threatening to overwhelm me. I can do this. I can play their game, be the perfect student they want me to be. I can survive this place. Anything less isn’t an option, not after what I’ve done. With a final glance around the bare, unfamiliar room, I open my suitcase and take out the uniform. I ignore how constricting the navy jacket is, how wrinkled the white button-down shirt is. Instead, I hold my head high as I walk to the door, pulling on the facade I’ve worn so many times. My mask is perfect—cold and untouchable, exactly what they expect from Luna Queen. Time to keep up appearances.
Leyla hovers outside my room, an eager grin plastered on her face. She seems nice, but I’ve dealt with enough fakeness in my life to recognize it for what it is. I’m ready to face whatever fresh hell this school has in store for me.
After all, I’m a shark too. But not the mindless predator they expect—something far more dangerous. While they circle in their familiar waters, content in their supremacy, I’ll be the shadow they never see coming. Because real sharks don’t just swim—they evolve, adapt, and survive. And I’ve had years of practice playing dead while planning my next move.