BLINKING HAZILY, I WAS INSTILLED WITH regret and trepidation when I recognized the accustomed furniture. The curtains were left wide open, and I groaned out, attempting to conjure convincing stories that my father would possibly believe. With my bedroom being on the highest floor, I hid beneath the covers after seeing the wrought iron villa gates. Shutting my eyes, trying to calm my irregular heartbeat, I hoped it was a dream. And yet, listening to the vague sound of the fountain shooting water fifty feet in the air, said otherwise. Pushing myself out of bed, I stretched my arms as I looked out the glass balcony doors. My eyes glazed the surroundings to see if my family had made any new changes with the villa while I was away for the past few months. The tennis court, the field for croquet, and the greenhouse garden were still in place. The only thing that seemed to stand out was the gigantic, separate building that my father once talked about constructing for the car collection the family was growing. Oh, God.

Upon hearing hushed footsteps patter up the stairs, I leaped back in bed and dropped like a fish. Squeezing my eyes closed, I pretended to be still asleep. The signature perfume and cologne from my parents naturally triggered my fight-or-flight response. And I was a hundred percent, all about flight. "I know you're awake, my gem," he pinched the tip of my nose until I scowled, slapping his hand away. "I'd like an explanation why I found my daughter drowning. Or, should I proceed to cut billions of dollars worth of business deals to anyone present yesterday?" And he and I both knew that he could easily recover the loss in less than two years. With the number of business deals and rising corporations, it was very much doable.

"I slipped," my voice remaining steady, "I was curious about the waterfall pool and got a bit too close. I wanted to incorporate its ideas into the villa." It was a plausible half-lie, considering that I had wandered the gardens barefoot, and August could verify that if it came down to that. I might have been an excellent liar, but I also learned from the best. I was like a replica of my father, which meant that as great at lying he was, he was also good at telling it apart. "I'm really, really sorry about the dress, la mère. I know you spent a lot of time designing it."

Clicking her tongue curtly, she crossed her arms with a sour look, swiftly slapping the back of my head. "Idiot," she scorned, an accent peeking through. "The dress is the least of my concerns. You could've drowned! What were you thinking?!" Then gushed, "You're lucky that cute boy saved you."

"Absolutely not, Stasia," he pursued his lips in a thin line. "Over my dead body will you date August Laurent. Hell, I'll even haunt you," with a placid expression, he added. "By the way, if you're lying, you're moving back to France. No ifs or buts. And before my interrogation ends, what did Zahara mean when she said you're dating him, hm?"

Spewing bullshit was a skill that I mastered. "Unlike Zahara, I value my life. She's only speaking nonsense. There's no way I would date him," I had to stay sharp since my father was perceptive and overly protective. "I only attended the gala with him because it was convenient to travel there."

"I never asked about the two of you attending together," he mused dryly. I was positive that it was no secret. The rumour would have travelled to my father faster than any blog. August and I were seen together at the academy more than I would like to say, and we publically attended two events. But the only reason why I tolerated him was that my stubborn nature wanted to win. Now, if my father found out that I had met his parents, it would be chaotic. "Mentorship starts in a few days, but for the rest of the duration of this trip, you'll be staying here."

Smugly, I crooned, completely lost in my own thought. "I'm going to be five-hundred-thousand dollars richer."

My father chuckled with a tease, "You're getting pocket-change?" And before I could retort back, his phone began ringing. Without bothering to check the caller ID, he answered it and put it on speaker.

"TMZ, now," the voice stated in excitement as if he had just won the lottery. There was a faint sound of rummaging of papers in the background, "Mauve Diaz has returned. She's taking legal action against Nolan Hayes, hopefully, to bankruptcy."

I snickered, fully expecting and seeing this coming from a mile away. But it was an absolute shame that I happened to miss the show last night. I would have killed to see Daniel's insufferable face turn to outright shame. It was entertaining to think about how humiliating he would feel. And then, in realization, I kicked around in bed, punching my pillow in defeat. If Daniel's father went bankrupt, there was no possible way that I would get paid from our bet. For some reason, I couldn't help but think I had played myself instead. "Mauve makes this much easier for us. Should we prepare to buy her out?"

Snapping my head in his direction, I gasped, shaking my head repeatedly. "No way! I did not clear him out for you to buy it. I already indirectly helped you with the Montgomery's."

The world-renowned investor that played a large portion of Montgomery's downfall, Elijah Sullivan, withdrew all investments and announced in an interview that he was no longer supporting the family. He happened to also be the man who pulled my father out of debt over twenty years ago and has continued to openly support my father today.

My father had an above-average IQ, leading him to believe that he could be successful when starting with nothing. Having no educational and physical experience in the real world, he became a high-school dropout and was homeless by fourteen. After fooling around and getting my mother pregnant at sixteen, he went out to find work at a small rising corporation as a window cleaner until he was nineteen. And one day, perhaps out of luck, he had overheard a large-scaled business deal take place. My father thought it was irrational, stupid, and a lousy scam. In return, he snuck into the conference room and had secretly rewritten the entire proposal letter. Fortunate as it was, he was caught by Elijah, and the man saw indefinite potential in my father. Offering him a chance to change his life, he took it and began being mentored by a famous investor.

So, there happened to be a reason why entitled rich kids got on my nerves easily. Money clouded judgements. And I always kept my father's words in mind, to remain humble. As wealth may come, it may disappear too. The moral of the story, be humble or end up like Natalia Montgomery and Daniel Hayes.

"Leave Mauve be, Preston," my father eyed me, replying to his secretary as he collapsed on the armchair across the room lazily. Opening his laptop out and typed hurriedly, he cleared his throat, lifting a brow, "Breaking news! Mauve Diaz has returned, and she's out for blood! Last night, Nolan Hayes was accused of illegally creating false documentation, accounting fraud, sending several death threats, and now, sources confirmed that he has hired hitmen in the past." My father paused with blatant interest from the news article. "The out for blood is a little extreme," idly playing with the ring on his finger, he added, "But, Jesus, he might as well tell the world he's also in the Mafia."

My mother, standing next to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, tapped her lip in deep thought. "Thirty-eight, twenty-seven, and forty. Not bad. Perhaps I should have my secretary contact Mauve. She would be an excellent model for one of my dresses." Only mother dearest would think about measurements and modelling while a scandal broke out. There was a playful look as she shifted her eyes onto me, "Now that you'll be staying with us for two weeks, you have no choice but to be my model, darling. Thirty-two, twenty-four, thirty-five? Darling, have you been eating properly? Your hips went down an inch."

"Stasia, it went to her chin," he nudged my mother, in which I hastily covered my neck with a choke, "I'm only kidding with you, my gem. Sort of." He let out a deep laugh, then put his ear to his phone again. "Preston, you'll have a heart attack when I say this, but I'm telling you anyway. I never finished the paperwork. I'm relying on my daughter to pick up the slack for me."

Suppressing an eye roll, I scoured through the bedroom to find my phone. I had received fifty missed calls and texts from Asra and Zavian alone. Seven from August, three from Rosaline (of which I assumed to be the good news about Nolan Hayes), and three calls from Nicolas and a text.

After replying to my two best friends and letting them know I was in tip-top shape, I also let August know that I would be away from the remainder of the trip. And contemplating for a moment, I decided to open Nicolas' message. I know your secret. We need to talk, I read.

A sense of panic rose through me, the colour draining from my face. I rubbed my eyes, skimming over the contents in case I misread it. There was a fluttery and uneasy feeling in my stomach as I hesitantly replied. Whatever he supposedly knew, I needed to shut it down. It needed to remain a secret, at least for now. I'll meet you at The Coffee House in twenty. "Is it okay if I go down to the café and grab a coffee?" I asked.

"No, I can have Landon get it for you," he answered, still on the phone with Preston. Crossing my legs, I slouched down with my jaw in my hands, squinting. When he glanced up, I pouted with pleading eyes. He huffed, and I knew he couldn't resist it. I was his favourite child, after all. "Fine, Landon will drive you. You'll be back in an hour, no questions asked."

Scrambling out of bed, I skipped my way to his side, kissing him on the cheek. Then pivoting, I kissed my mother's cheek. "Thank you! I promise to help finish your paperwork! Say hi to Preston for me!" And I was out the door.

AFTER LEAVING THE VILLA, Landon insisted that we switch cars three times, which I changed clothes three times as well. Along the way, we had stopped at several busy locations to make sure the paparazzi would be unable to follow us. He parked by the back alley of the café where the trees hid the matte black Lamborgini Urus. "Was all of this really necessary?"

"Your father's orders," he shrugged, turning up the air-conditioning as he shooed me out the door. "Forty minutes left."

"This isn't fair," I interjected, wondering how conspicuous I looked wearing a hoodie in twenty-degree weather. Jogging around to the front of the café, I pushed open the adorable mint green doors as it jingled. I had spotted Nicolas immediately sitting in the far back with a mask on.

I must have looked ridiculous, but Nicolas looked more out of place than I did. "Are you not sweating?" He asked when I sat down, taking another look at my surroundings.

"I am, but besides the point," I rushed, "I have thirty-five minutes left, so talk."

Confused, he decided against asking. "I remembered that you liked hazelnut lattes," Nicolas sheepishly said, pushing the mug into my hands.

"Thanks," I beamed, taking a sip. It threw me off how he managed to remember. Not only was it my favourite drink, but it was also the codeword Landon and I used. Fiddling with my fingers, I sighed before getting straight to the point. There was no use in prolonging this conversation. "What secret do you happen to know?"

Seconds before I could explain my circumstances, he blurted, "I know you're fake dating August. I apologize for getting you involved. I didn't think a bit of flirting would make him direct his attention on you. I'm also sorry about confessing drunk and embarrassing myself. My pride was crushed when I remembered the next morning."

I blinked, taking a moment to regain my composure. I had nearly thrown my arms around him in relief. I could have cared less that August and I weren't really dating. Rather than it, it felt like he and I were just close friends (who he liked to flirt with, of course). "No worries, August and I get along anyway. Now, onto more important matters, since I'm pent up with curiosity. Who was that girl you were talking about? I think you owe me an explanation after you wiped your snot on my shoulder." I laid my elbows flat against the table, tapping the table silently with my fingers. Tilting my head, I made sure to seem more approachable as I lifted the corner of my lip into a small, warm and earnest smile.

His cheeks tinted pink, "We met as children. She was timid and quiet, but it made you want to become friends with her," I knew a girl like that too. "August and I were good friends, always competitive, but it was on friendly terms. We were careless, and things got out of hand. She ended up in a mental institution."

"Were Liana and her friends, by chance?"

He confirmed with a nod, "Liana and Arias were close friends. We were around ten at the time when she introduced a few other of her childhood friends. I'm not sure when she started to change, but she did. Then the whole episode happened. August and I both feel responsible. We visit her all the time together because she wants it that way. It's hard to forget, and sometimes, I don't know what to do."

"Normally, when someone says it's their fault, nine out of ten times, it's not. It's a misconception. You feel unable to face reality because you weren't able to help, and instead, find that the next best thing, which is to blame it on yourself. If you didn't intentionally put her in that situation, it's certainly not your fault," my thoughts converted to words before I could stop myself. "And while I have no idea what may have happened, blaming yourself won't change anything. Truthfully, facing reality is the only thing you can do." Was I talking to him or to myself?

Nicolas seemed at a loss for words. After all, I was giving him the harsh reality. Holding back and spouting gentle words weren't going to help. "I've never had anyone be this candid with me," he replied seriously. "Thanks, I needed that," checking his watch, he teased, "You have twenty minutes left."

"Don't remind me," I frowned, "Did everyone find a mentor already?"

"The majority, but the rest will be decided this evening. Have you found one?"

I smirked, "Of course. What's there not to like about me?"

"About that. Calista, I–"

"This is where you were?" The female hissed, striding to his side. "With this slut? I certainly didn't raise my son this way."

I laughed, but there was nothing comical about it. Observing her, I bit the side of my cheek to prevent the splutter of laughter threatening to escape. His mother was in her mid-forties, and contrary to the grey hairs that peeked through her dark brown curls, she looked quite young. Lips painted red, her eyeliner was as sharp as her smile. Refined and posh, a black silk Hermes scarf around her neck paired nicely with the beige suit—one from Stasia Storm's last year's business collection. If only she knew just how ironic it was.

"How did you know I was here, ma?"

She scoffed, "I keep track of all your whereabouts. Natalia may have been a whore, but she had a reputable family. Now you're seeing random ones? Do you not have any self-respect, Nico?"

Yes, pretend as if I'm not sitting across your son, I thought flippantly. "How pretentious," I murmured under my breath, knowing very well that Nicolas had heard it.

Her slim five-foot-nine figure was the last thing that could intimidate me. Her gaze was condescending, grimacing at the sight of my attire. Pulling out two blank cheques and a pen, she pompously slammed it in front of me. "Go ahead. Don't be shy."

I waited for a moment, fully anticipating Nicolas to defend me. What I hadn't expected was his cowardly silence. Never bothering to correct her or explain that we were friends, or that he initially asked to meet. In fact, perhaps we were never friends from the start. In his eyes, maybe I was a scholarship girl that could be walked upon. Maybe he had only seen me as a Humilis, as Liana often called it. And fully aware of it, if I was a Royal or if I hadn't been accepted through a scholarship, things would have been notably different. How pitiful, Nicolas.

Picking up the pen, I scribbled down, You should get that dry-cleaned. Turning it, I pushed it back. Lifting myself out of my seat, I firmly held onto the mug. "What nonsense–" she began derisively. Dumping the contents of my coffee over her head before she could finish her sentence, I complacently shot a grin. Watching her infuriated expression was worthwhile, and frankly, I would do it again.

I placed the cup down with bright eyes, slipping past the barista that had a bewildered expression. I exited through the back doors, feeling like a weight had been miraculously lifted off my chest. Entering the passenger seat, my knee bouncing up and down, I realized that the advice I supposedly had given Nicolas was something I needed to accept myself. They were the words I needed to hear but refused to.

It was time I started to face reality myself, to stop running away from the past. Bits and pieces of my childhood memories were forgotten, a defence mechanism of my brain per se. Tired of playing pretend, that was what I was. I had attended the academy wanting a fresh start, using the excuse of digging for information while I also wanted to escape it all. It seemed that I should be listening to my own advice instead. "Hey, Landon?" I uttered, pinching the inner skin of my wrist to calm my nerves. There was no going back after this.

He turned his head, intently listening. "You look pale. What happened?"

"After this trip, I think I'm done acting now. Sure, I liked being a scholarship student, but I think I'm doing running away. And although I won't accept what happened, I'm willing to move on from it. So, I'm just going to go back to being me—Calista Lockhart Storm."