Monday morning arrived with a crisp chill in the air, sunlight streaming through the towering windows of the Allard estate. Damon stood in his room, staring at the uniform laid out neatly by the maid—a blazer, tie, and trousers bearing the insignia of St. Bastian's Academy, one of the oldest and most prestigious schools in the country. The institution had molded generations of leaders, magnates, and luminaries, its halls steeped in tradition and privilege.
Damon absently ran a hand through his slightly overgrown hair, the ends curling over his collar. He'd been meaning to cut it, but a small part of him resisted. It felt like the last bit of freedom he had left—a minor rebellion against the rigid expectations of his family and the institution.
As he adjusted the blazer over his shoulders, his mother Arna's voice echoed from the doorway. "You look handsome, as always," she said with a warm smile, stepping inside.
Damon turned, offering her a faint smirk. "Handsome enough to get away with skipping the first day back?"
She gave him a pointed look, though her tone remained gentle. "You know better, Damon. St. Bastian's isn't just a school—it's your future. Make the most of it, and try to be cheerful. It's a new term, a fresh start."
Cheerful. Damon bit back a sardonic comment, instead nodding. "I'll do my best."
As he picked up his bag, she added, "The driver is waiting out front. Don't keep him too long."
Damon paused at the door, glancing toward the garage. "Actually, I was thinking I'd take the Mercedes today."
Her brows lifted slightly in surprise, but she nodded. "Your father won't mind. Just be careful with it."
"Of course," he replied, his tone light. "Wouldn't dream of denting his prized possession."
The Mercedes-Benz 300SL sat in the garage like a piece of art—its silver curves gleaming under the soft overhead lights. A car built for both beauty and performance. Damon ran his hand over the cool metal before opening the door and sliding into the seat. The leather interior, aged to perfection, carried the faintest scent of vintage polish.
With a twist of the ignition, the engine roared to life, the throaty purr filling the space around him. Damon felt a small thrill as he adjusted the mirrors and pulled out of the estate, the gravel crunching beneath the tires before he hit the open road.
The drive to St. Bastian's was a study in contrasts—the car's timeless elegance against the winding modern roads that led to the academy. With the windows down, the cool breeze ruffled his hair.
As the academy's ivy-covered spires and sprawling courtyards came into view, Damon slowed the car, drawing more than a few glances from students and faculty alike. Parking the Mercedes in a prime spot, he stepped out with a casual air, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His tailored uniform and nonchalant demeanor gave him an air of effortless superiority that he knew people noticed—and often envied.
The day ahead was already a blur in his mind, but Damon's thoughts weren't on classes or professors. They were on the mysteries he'd begun to unravel back home and the secrets he suspected were waiting for him here, too. Adjusting his tie, he strode toward the main building, his smirk faint but knowing.
In a luxurious private room tucked away at the heart of St. Bastian's, five students gathered around a polished oak table, the surface gleaming under the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. The room, exclusive and insulated from the usual academy chaos, felt like a sanctuary for those who knew how to navigate their world of wealth and influence. It was where they could speak freely, no judgments, no rules—just like they were all used to.
Nicholas lounged in his chair, his posture a perfect mix of casual arrogance. He was recounting his vacation adventures with the same bravado that he always carried, drawing the attention of the others.
"The French Riviera's not what it used to be," Nicholas said, his voice smooth, the faintest smirk on his lips. "The yachts are smaller, the parties are duller I spent most of my time on my yacht, though. Perfect place to get a tan... and some sleep."
Julian, the group's unashamed playboy, laughed loudly, his voice carrying the same reckless energy that he was known for. With his wild eyes and casual swagger, he fit the stereotype perfectly—drunk on his own sense of importance, always the life of the party, and rarely without a drink in hand.
"Come on, Nicholas," Julian slurred, taking another sip from his glass.
"You're missing the point of a vacation! It's not about the places or the people. It's about how much you can drink, how many drugs you can do, and how much trouble you can cause before the hotel staff gets involved." He raised his glass, gesturing with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Trust me, it's a science. And I've mastered it."
His words were followed by a lazy chuckle, but there was an edge of arrogance to the way he spoke, as though he was untouchable in his world of excess.
Celeste, sitting opposite Julian, gave a small smile, though there was no real amusement in her eyes. She had never been drawn to the chaotic lifestyle of people like Julian. His reckless partying and disregard for the consequences were well known, and while it didn't disgust her, it certainly didn't attract her either.
Her focus, as always, was elsewhere. "So, when's this 'party of the year' happening, Julian?" she asked, her voice calm but carrying a subtle undertone of skepticism. "It's not like you to let something like this slip."
Julian shot her a grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ah, you know me too well, Celeste. The party's set for this weekend—an absolute blowout to kick off the school year. I'm pulling out all the stops. Private venue, DJs flown in from Paris, a guest list that's strictly elite. It's going to be legendary."
"You're going to spend half the night high out of your mind, aren't you?" Layla, another woman at the table, teased, eyeing him with the kind of casual disdain that only people like her could afford. "Don't pretend like you actually care about the event itself, Julian. You care about the chaos."
Julian laughed, leaning back in his chair, throwing his arm over the backrest. "What's wrong with that? It's not a party unless it's a mess. Plus, the chaos? That's what makes it fun. Nothing's off-limits. You're all coming, right? We can drink, dance, maybe do a little... experimenting. It'll be like old times."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. She was used to Julian's antics—his disregard for limits, his obsessive need for indulgence—but she wasn't about to let his antics overshadow her own thoughts. "I'm sure it'll be... entertaining," she said, her gaze briefly flickering over the group. "But don't expect me to be your distraction while you act out."
Julian waved her off, already bored with her comment, and looked to the others. "Anyway, I'm looking forward to it. It'll be good for everyone to let off some steam after the summer, and who knows, maybe Damon will make an appearance. It's not a party until the Allard heir shows up to cause some drama, right?"
The mention of Damon's name shifted the mood subtly. While most of the group shared a collective disdain for the Allard family.Celeste remained oddly composed. It wasn't that she agreed with the group's dismissive attitude; in fact, she saw Damon in a completely different light. But she wouldn't speak her mind to them, not now.
"Don't get too excited," Nicholas said, his voice tinged with derision. "The Allards might have money, but they don't have the kind of power that gets them invited to the really interesting parties."
Julian, however, seemed unfazed. "Power? I don't care about that. I just want to see how Damon handles himself when he's back in the mix. The kid's always been a wildcard, and if he's here to reclaim something, it'll be fun to watch."
"Sure, as long as he doesn't mess with my vibe," Layla added, leaning back and looking lazily at the others. "We don't need another Allard getting all high and mighty at the party."
Celeste's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Damon's return was more complicated than they realized. She knew that. But for now, she would let them have their fun, their talk of parties and excess. She wasn't interested in their view of Damon or the Allards. Not yet, anyway. She had other plans—plans that didn't involve mindless partying or indulgence.
As the conversation shifted back to the party, Julian continued to laugh and boast, already picturing the scene in his head. For him, this year would be just like every other. Wild, messy, and full of distractions.