Chapter 1 — Arrival at Golden Skies

Reid

The gates loomed ahead, intricate black iron twisted into the shape of climbing ivy, crowned with an ornate golden crest. Golden Skies Private School. The name alone promised perfection, exclusivity—the sort of thing Reid Maxwell despised. Perfection was a lie, and exclusivity, a weapon.

The cab idled at the edge of the circular driveway, its sputtering engine loud and out of place against the pristine silence of the estate.

The driver glanced back at Reid, his brows lifting in silent judgment. "You sure this is the place?" the look seemed to say.

Reid didn’t answer. He swung the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, the familiar weight grounding him like a chain to his past. His leather jacket creaked faintly as he moved, the scuffed edges brushing against his arm, a tangible reminder of home. His scuffed boots hit the smooth stones of the driveway with a finality that sent a faint echo through the chilled air. He shoved a crumpled wad of bills into the driver’s hand and slammed the door, the sound jarring in the eerie calm.

The air smelled of damp leaves and clipped grass, sharp with the first bite of autumn. Ahead, the campus stretched out like a painting—sprawling stone buildings cloaked in ivy, their windows catching the late afternoon sun like polished glass. Walkways bordered by geometric hedges, fountains murmuring in the distance, and an unnatural perfection that set Reid’s teeth on edge.

He paused at the gates, letting his gaze trace the scene before him. This wasn’t for him. Never was. This was his father’s last, desperate attempt to “fix” him. As if ivy-covered walls and designer uniforms could scrub away the years of grit that had forged him. The thought twisted into a smirk, bitter and fleeting. His father thought this place would save him. But Reid wasn’t here to be saved.

A faint chill snaked up his spine, and his fist tightened around the strap of his bag. He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the gravel, and entered enemy territory.

The stares began almost immediately. Students in tailored blazers and immaculate loafers turned to look, their whispers trailing after him. Reid could imagine what they were saying: a guy in a worn leather jacket, ripped jeans, and boots caked with dirt—he didn’t belong.

Good. He wasn’t trying to.

His shoulders tensed under the weight of their judgment, but he kept his stride steady, his expression fixed in disinterest. The leather of his jacket seemed to grow heavier, a shield against the suffocating perfection closing in around him.

He clenched his jaw as he crossed into the Grand Courtyard. The marble tiles gleamed so brightly they almost looked wet. A massive, multi-tiered fountain dominated the space, the water spilling over its edges in perfect arcs. Around it, clusters of students lounged on benches or leaned against hedges, their laughter light, calculated.

Reid’s boots left faint dirt marks on the pristine tiles, a detail he noticed with grim satisfaction.

A shrill, deliberate laugh cut through the air. "Oh, look," a girl’s voice drawled, honeyed and poisonous. "A stray wandered onto the grounds."

He turned his head, locking eyes with her. She stood near the fountain, golden-blonde hair catching the light like a halo. Her icy blue eyes pinned him in place, sharp and unyielding. Lianna Kingsley. Queen of Golden Skies. She didn’t need to introduce herself. Everything about her—the tilt of her chin, the way her entourage hovered close—announced her dominance.

Her gaze swept over him, taking in every detail of his appearance, from his scuffed boots to his messy black hair. A smirk curved her lips, faint and razor-sharp.

"Did someone forget to tell him this isn’t a public park?"

Her friends laughed, their amusement cold and rehearsed. The sound grated against Reid’s nerves, but he let it roll over him, unflinching.

Reid stopped walking. He stood his ground, fixing her with a look that dared her to keep going.

"Did someone forget to tell you it’s rude to talk about people like they’re not standing right in front of you?" His voice was low, cutting, and carried just enough edge to make the laughter falter.

For a split second, surprise flickered across her face. Then it was gone, replaced by an icy stillness. "Bold," she said, tilting her head slightly. Her tone was silk-lined steel. "But boldness only gets you so far here, new boy."

Reid shrugged, letting a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "Good thing I’m not planning to go far."

A ripple of uncertainty passed through the group around her. They exchanged quick glances, like they weren’t sure how this was supposed to play out. Reid allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction at the slight crack in their otherwise polished façade.

Lianna took a step forward, her heels clicking against the marble. Up close, she was almost too perfect—her features aristocratic, every detail polished to gleam under the golden light. And yet, as she leveled her gaze at him, he caught the faintest crease between her brows, a crack in her seamless composure.

"You’ll learn," she said softly, her voice almost intimate in its quiet menace. "Everyone does."

"Maybe," Reid said, his smirk widening. "But I’ve never been much of a fast learner."

The space between them seemed to narrow, the tension sharp enough to cut. For a moment, he thought she might push further, but then she turned on her heel, her golden hair swinging behind her. Her entourage fell in line, their hurried steps a pale echo of her own.

Reid exhaled slowly, flexing his hands at his sides to release the tension that had taken hold. His pulse pounded in his ears, though whether it was from anger, adrenaline, or something else entirely, he couldn’t say.

He leaned against one of the towering stone archways at the courtyard’s edge, letting the cool surface steady him. His eyes followed the fountain for a moment, but Lianna was gone. Still, the whispers lingered, fragments of reactions he couldn’t quite make out. The entire courtyard had taken note of their interaction, and the weight of their stares pressed against him like a challenge.

A sound—a faint trickle of water, or maybe the cold bite of the air—pulled him under, into the memory.

He was twelve again. The apartment had always smelled like stale cigarettes and too much time spent indoors. His mother’s voice drifted faintly from another room, singing a lullaby in her soft, worn voice.

He remembered the faint hum of her melody, how it would blend with the static from the old television. He remembered the way her laughter used to sound—light and fleeting, like the slivers of sunlight that barely broke through the heavy curtains.

And then came the silence. That crushing, suffocating quiet. The kind that left a hole too deep to fill.

Reid blinked hard, forcing the memory away. His hands curled into fists, the worn leather of his jacket brushing against his skin, grounding him in the present. Not here. Not now.

The scuff of sneakers against the marble broke through his haze. A boy with sandy blonde hair and a lopsided grin approached, his graphic T-shirt and ripped jeans out of place amidst the courtyard’s perfection.

"Well, that was something," the boy said, his voice light with amusement, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss the tension coiled in Reid’s posture.

Reid raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Carson Hayes," the boy replied, offering a hand. "Professional pain in the ass. And you, I’m guessing, are Reid ‘I-Don’t-Give-A-Damn’ Maxwell."

Reid hesitated a beat before shaking his hand. "Yeah, and?"

Carson’s grin widened. "Just wanted to let you know you’ve officially pissed off the Queen. That’s either the worst mistake of your life, or the start of something way more fun."

Reid snorted, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess we’ll see."

Carson leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "Word of advice? Watch your back. This place might look pretty, but it’s a viper’s nest. Especially for guys like us."

Reid glanced at him, taking in the mismatched sneakers, the easy grin, the way Carson seemed to wear his outsider status like armor. "Guys like us?"

"Outsiders," Carson said simply. "The ones who don’t fit the mold. But hey, don’t sweat it—you’re not alone."

Reid didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t sure he trusted Carson yet, but there was something about the boy’s easy confidence that didn’t feel entirely unwelcome. For the first time that day, the iron weight of isolation eased slightly.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, stretching shadows across the courtyard, Reid adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder. "Thanks for the warning," he said, his tone dry but not unkind.

Carson gave a lazy salute. "See you around, Maxwell. Try not to get yourself killed."

Reid watched him disappear into the shadows, the faintest smirk still tugging at his lips. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t here to play by anyone’s rules.

And if Golden Skies wanted a fight, he’d gladly give them one.