The Queen of Hearts
Description
The Blackthorn Academy is a private boarding college for the children of high society-heirs of corporate giants, European aristocratic families, politicians, and celebrities. Despite growing up in a single-parent household, Andrea Riley worked tirelessly to secure a coveted scholarship, earning her place at the academy with hopes of a brighter future. The academy's mission is to prepare its students for admission to the world's most prestigious universities, but the social environment among its students trains them for the harsh realities of life-realities the academy's leadership remains blissfully unaware of. At Blackthorn, a student's social rank isn't determined by their family's influence or the number of zeroes in their bank account but by a high-stakes card game held at the start of every semester. Andrea has no choice but to participate, as refusal means being automatically assigned the role of the class scapegoat. When she receives her role, however, she unintentionally captures the attention of the Sinclair brothers - heirs to a powerful arms manufacturing empire with operations frequently linked to the mafia. Andrea didn't plan to let romance distract her from her studies and dreams of success, but everyone at The Blackthorn Academy knows damn good at least this one thing: when one of the "kings" wants something, he always gets it.
Chapter 1
Aug 1, 2025
"Oh no."
Victoria Sterling cooed, pressing a manicured hand to her chest in mock horror.
"I must be getting so clumsy." Her glossy lips curved into something just short of a smirk. "You don’t mind anyway, do you? I mean, it’s not like that uniform cost anything in the first place."
The coffee was still hot when it hit me.
Not scalding, not enough to burn—but enough to seep through my uniform, enough to stain the crisp white of my blouse with an ugly brown blotch.
Enough to make the watching crowd gasp before they laughed.
I took a slow, steady breath. Don’t react. Don’t give her what she wants.
“Though I suppose that’s what happens when you’re just a... what do they call scholarship students here?”
She turned to her entourage, her lips curling into a smirk.
“Oh, right. A Leftover.”
The laughter spread like wildfire. Around me, the sea of red ties—the wealthy elite of Blackthorn Academy.
Victoria Sterling was Blackthorn’s queen bee, untouchable and ruthless. And I was just another white-tied scholarship student, part of the bottom-feeders, the so-called Leftovers—the students who got in because of brains, not bloodlines.
I should have lowered my head. I should have muttered an apology, scurried off to clean myself up like every other scholarship student before me.
I didn’t.
Instead, I looked up and met her eyes.
“Funny,” I said, voice smooth and steady, despite the rapid thrum of my heart. “I’d think someone of your... status would have better manners. Or at least better aim.”
The laughter died instantly. Victoria’s face froze, her perfect lips parting slightly, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
I could practically feel the shift in the air—the stunned silence from the crowd, the sharp inhalation from her group of lackeys.
Then, her shock snapped into rage.
"Well, look who thinks she’s special." Her voice was softer now, more dangerous. "You think just because you got lucky with a scholarship, you belong here?"
She took a step closer, and I held my ground. A few people shifted uncomfortably, sensing the danger.
"You don’t. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that."
Then, in one swift motion—her hand flew across my face, snapping my head to the side. A sharp crack echoed through the hall.
Pain bloomed across my cheek, sharp and sudden, but I refused to stumble. Refused to show even a flicker of weakness.
Victoria leaned in, voice a whisper meant only for me. "Nobody will help you, filthy Leftover. If I decide to destroy you, you're done."
With that, she turned and walked away, her followers trailing behind her like obedient shadows. The crowd around us slowly broke apart, some still whispering, others casting me wary glances.
A few looked almost… impressed. Like they hadn’t expected me to stand my ground.
By the time I made it back to my dorm, I was seething. I yanked off my ruined blouse, tossing it in the sink with a hiss of frustration.
"That bad already?"
I turned to see my roommate, Sophie Turner, leaning against her bed, arms crossed. She was also a scholarship student, but unlike me, she looked completely unbothered by Blackthorn’s social hierarchy.
She eyed the coffee stains on my uniform, then let out a low whistle.
"Let me guess. Victoria?"
"Bingo."
Sophie sighed dramatically. "You’re officially marked for death. Congrats."
I scoffed, shaking my head as I pulled out a clean shirt. "She doesn’t scare me."
Sophie’s grin faded slightly. "Yeah. That’s what Emma said too."
I frowned. "Who’s Emma?"
Sophie hesitated for half a second before brushing it off. "No one important. Not anymore."
Something in her voice made me want to ask more, but before I could, she flopped onto her bed, stretching.
"Anyway, just a heads-up—you might wanna keep an extra set of clothes in your locker. Victoria’s the type to hold grudges."
"Noted," I muttered, buttoning up my new blouse.
Sophie watched me for a moment, then smirked.
"You’re different," she mused.
"Gee, thanks."
"No, I mean it,” she chuckled. “Most white-tied stay out of sight, keep their heads down. But you? You went toe-to-toe with Victoria fucking Sterling on day one."
I shrugged, pretending like my pulse wasn’t still racing from the encounter. "What’s she gonna do? Drown me in more coffee?"
Sophie snorted. "You really have no idea how things work around here, do you?"
I gave her a pointed look. "Why don’t you enlighten me?"
Her smirk widened. "Gladly." She sat up, voice lowering slightly. "There’s a game at Blackthorn. A system. Every semester, a new Royal Draw begins."
I raised an eyebrow. "Royal Draw?"
Sophie nodded. "A game that decides who rules and who serves."
"Like some kind of social hierarchy?" I guessed.
"Yeah," she said. "Where you rank in the Draw determines everything—who gets power, who gets crushed."
I scoffed. "That sounds like some elitist bullshit."
"Oh, it is,” Sophie grinned. “But it’s real. And it’s how Victoria gets away with treating people like dirt. Because she’s always ranked high."
I folded my arms. "And where do people like us rank?"
Sophie’s smile faltered slightly. "Nowhere good," she admitted. "But this year? That’s gonna change."
I tilted my head. "And how exactly are you planning on doing that?"
Her smirk returned. "By getting a higher card."
I blinked. "You’re talking about this game like it’s an actual deck of cards."
She just winked. "You’ll see soon enough."
* * *
I was still thinking about her words when I headed to class later that afternoon. The hallways were packed, the air buzzing with the usual Blackthorn energy—casual wealth, whispered gossip, the subtle tension that came from being surrounded by people who had too much power and too few morals.
I was too wrapped up in my own head to notice anything else. That was my mistake.
A hard shove from behind. I barely had time to gasp before my foot slipped.
The next second, my balance was gone, the world tilting as I tumbled forward, knees slamming against the edge of the marble steps.
A sharp sting shot up my leg, pain blooming fast, but before I could hit the rest of the stairs, my fall was broken by something. Or rather, someone.
I hit solid muscle, knocking the breath out of both of us as I tumbled straight into a broad chest. A pair of strong hands grabbed my waist, steadying me even as the impact still jarred through my body.
My leg throbbed where I’d banged it, the pain sharp and immediate, but at least I hadn’t broken my neck.
Dizzy, heart hammering, I looked up—and froze. I knew exactly who he was.
I knew that face. I’d seen it before.
In the students’ photos Sophie had shown me when I first arrived. On gossip blogs that whispered about Blackthorn’s most infamous family. In hushed conversations from students who spoke their names like they were either gods or devils.
And in that one specific photo, the one that made Sophie practically sigh with longing, when she pointed at this exact guy and said, “Trust me, you want to stay far, far away from that one.”
Liam Sinclair.
One of the five Sinclair brothers. Blackthorn’s untouchable princes. Heir to an empire built on war, weapons, and dirty money.
And now? I was on top of him.
His smirk was lazy, like I hadn’t nearly just face-planted to death in the middle of the academy.
"Well," he drawled. "That was dramatic."
The Queen of Hearts
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