Pinebridge Academy

Chapter 1-Arrival + Trouble

"Rosemary, they can't be serious." I stared at the heavy oak doors of Pinebridge Academy. My suitcase felt like lead. "This place looks like a prison."

My best friend nudged me, her smile tight. "Rich kid prison. With ivy." She pointed at the creeping vines strangling the wrought-iron gates. "At least we'll suffer together."

Inside, the headmaster's office smelled of lemon polish and something sharper—disinfectant. His eyes scanned our files. "Eliza Sinclair. Rosemary Vance." He didn't look up. "Your parents paid extra for our... traditional discipline methods. I trust you'll benefit."

A door creaked open behind him. A tall boy leaned against the frame, arms crossed. His gaze pinned me—cold, assessing. "New recruits, sir?" His voice was low, rough. I shivered. Rosemary's knuckles brushed mine. Too late to run now.

"Louis," the headmaster said, still shuffling papers. "Show Miss Sinclair to the west dormitory. Miss Vance, you're east wing." He finally looked up, a thin smile on his lips. "Separate houses. Minimizes... distractions."

Louis stepped forward. His hand closed around my suitcase handle, knuckles white. "Follow me." He didn't wait. I scrambled after him down a drafty corridor lined with stern-faced portraits. The air smelled of dust and old wood. He stopped abruptly at a narrow staircase. "Rules are simple," he said, turning. His eyes flicked to my skirt hem. "Disobey, and you bend over. Understood?"

My throat tightened. Rosemary was already gone, swallowed by another shadowed hallway. Louis's stare didn't waver. I nodded, once. His smirk was a blade. "Good girl." He took the stairs two at a time, my suitcase banging against each step. The sound echoed like a drumbeat. My palms were slick. Somewhere above, a door slammed.

The west dormitory was a long, cold room lined with iron bedsteads. Girls in identical grey uniforms glanced up, then quickly away. Louis dropped my suitcase at the foot of the last bed. "This is yours. Curfew's at nine." He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Break it, and I find you." His knuckle brushed the back of my thigh, light as a threat. Then he was gone, leaving the scent of rain and leather.

I sank onto the thin mattress. The springs groaned. Across the room, a girl with sharp eyes watched me. "Louis, huh?" She snorted. "He's a prefect. Likes making examples." She nodded toward the window. Outside, a boy with messy brown hair was laughing, tugging Rosemary toward the gardens. "That's Brendon. Your friend's already got his attention." Her smile was thin. "Lucky her."

The bell for dinner clanged, harsh and sudden. Girls filed out silently. I stayed, staring at my hands. A bruise was forming where Louis's grip had been. Downstairs, a sharp crack echoed—wood on wood, followed by a muffled cry. My stomach twisted. Rosemary was out there somewhere. And Louis knew exactly where I slept.

In the dining hall, long tables scraped against stone floors. I spotted Rosemary near the back, wedged beside Brendon. He whispered something that made her giggle, but her knuckles were white around her fork. Louis slid onto the bench beside me without a sound. His thigh pressed against mine, solid and inescapable. "Eat," he murmured, nudging a bowl of watery stew toward me. His finger traced the edge of my collar. "You look hungry."

Later, under the flickering hallway lights, Rosemary pulled me into a broom closet. "Brendon's sweet," she breathed, eyes wide. "But he showed me the Prefects' Lounge. They have a ledger, Eliza. With names. Times. Reasons." Her voice cracked. "They call it 'corrective sessions.'" Outside, footsteps paused. We froze. Louis's shadow stretched under the door, motionless. Then he moved on, his boots clicking down the corridor like a ticking clock.

The next morning, I spilled ink on my Latin workbook. Sister Agatha's cane tapped my desk. "Carelessness requires correction, Miss Sinclair." The class fell silent. Louis stood in the doorway, watching. My face burned as I bent over the desk. The cane whistled—once, twice. Pain bloomed hot and bright. Behind me, I heard Louis's low chuckle. When I straightened, his eyes held mine. Not pity. Approval.