In the heart of Sweden, a luxurious black SUV glided smoothly down a winding road flanked by towering pines, its tinted windows shielding the tension brewing within. Inside, two teenage girls sat in silence—one with raven-black hair, her jaw set tight, and the other with fiery red locks, leaning casually against the window, indifferent to the palpable hostility.
"See," the black-haired girl snapped, breaking the silence, "once we get to the school, don't talk to me. Don't act like you know me. It's because of you we're already weeks late into the term. Because of you, Mom had to beg the school and donate more money." Her words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade as she directed her anger towards the red-haired girl.
The red-haired girl, undeterred, shrugged with a nonchalance honed over months of similar encounters. She had long since grown accustomed to this treatment. Ever since her father, a humble driver, had remarried her stepmother—a multimillionaire and owner of a chain of five-star restaurants around the globe—her step-sister, Veronica, had made it her personal mission to remind her of their difference in status.
"Whatever you say, Veronica," the red-haired girl, Clara, replied lazily, her green eyes scanning the passing landscape. Her thoughts drifted back to the day her stepmother announced that she would be attending a new boarding school—a school designed for the rich and powerful. Clara had protested, not wanting to leave her friends and the familiarity of her old life behind. But her stepmother's words still echoed in her mind: "This school is the ultimate springboard. If you want to get into MIT and become the coder you dream of being, this is your chance. It has a 100% acceptance rate into the world's top colleges."
The SUV slowed as they approached a massive, gothic-style castle—a series of ancient buildings that exuded both grandeur and intimidation. The car came to a halt at the entrance to a heavily guarded parking lot, where men in uniforms meticulously scanned each vehicle. Clara frowned, voicing her thoughts aloud. "Why are there so many guards here?"
"Some of the most powerful people in the world send their kids here. What did you expect?" Veronica replied, rolling her eyes.
The car stopped at a designated drop-off point. Veronica stepped out first, her designer boots clicking against the cobblestones. Clara followed hesitantly, taking in the imposing surroundings. She reached for her bags, but Veronica waved her off. "Leave it. The attendants will carry it for you."
As they walked towards the main building, Clara couldn't help but gape at the sheer opulence around her. Marble statues adorned the courtyards, fountains sparkled in the sunlight, and every corner seemed to hum with the weight of history and privilege.
After signing in and completing her registration, Clara received her schedule. She scanned the list of activities and classes, her eyes widening at the offerings: polo lessons, fencing, advanced robotics, international diplomacy workshops. "This is insane," she muttered under her breath as she exited the office.
Veronica was waiting for her outside. "Thanks for showing me the way," Clara said, attempting a rare moment of gratitude.
"Mother asked me to watch over you. Don't mention it," Veronica replied curtly.
Clara glanced around the quiet grounds. "Where is everyone? It feels like a ghost town."
"It's still early. Most people are in their dorms. Classes don't start until ten," Veronica explained. "Come on, I'll show you to your dorm."
They began walking towards Crystal Hall, Clara's assigned dormitory. As they approached, the distant sound of rotor blades filled the air. Clara looked up, startled, as a sleek helicopter descended onto a nearby landing pad.
"I thought vehicles weren't allowed past the gates," Clara said, confused.
"For us, they aren't. But that's Montgomery Hall. They have different rules," Veronica said with a smirk. She pointed at the helicopter, where two girls emerged, flanked by a team of men in black suits. "See the one with the long black hair? That's Daphne Morgan."
Clara frowned. "Should I know her?"
Veronica's jaw dropped. "You've heard of JP Morgan, right?" Clara nodded. "Well, she's his descendant. Her dad, Patrick Morgan, is the head of the family now. Forbes says they're worth about a 10 billion dollars, but trust me, they're worth way more than that."
Clara's gaze shifted to the other girl, a striking blonde. "What about her?"
"That's Caroline Blackwell. Daughter of Alexander Blackwell."
Clara's breath hitched. "The richest man in the world? CEO of Blackwell Investments?"
"The very same," Veronica confirmed. "And since you know who he is, you can imagine the kind of wealth we're talking about. Just stay away from the Montgomery kids. They live in a world so far removed from ours, it's not even worth trying to bridge the gap."
Clara nodded absently, her mind racing with the implications of her new environment.
Meanwhile, back in New York, the storm of the lawsuit had only intensified. The date for the lawsuit had been set, and chaos was brewing. The Blackwell family's secrets were about to be dragged into the light, setting the stage for a battle that would shake the very foundations of their empire.