The shopping trip was a blur, a maze of boutiques with sleek mannequins and polished floors. Ms Harper, all calm authority, guided Eve through the process like a trainer with a prize horse: evaluating, selecting, rejecting. Sometimes the shop assistants looked perturbed—whether by Eve’s tattered clothes, her skin, or Ms Harper’s directness was hard to say. Either way, they obeyed, even as Eve felt the weight of the credit card she hadn’t earned.

  The school covered her expenses, but that didn’t mean she deserved them. Each swipe felt like a mistake waiting to be caught. Any moment now, someone would take her aside and tell her there’d been an error. That she didn’t belong here. That someone like her shouldn’t be draped in silk and cashmere.

  The stares weren’t open. Not quite. But she caught the glances. She always did.

  Mia, quiet and efficient despite her nerves, was there whenever Eve needed to change—helping her in and out of one expensive outfit after another. A flurry of fabric. The scrape of a zipper. The press of unfamiliar hands: clinical, but inescapable.

  "I can dress myself," Eve said, stiffening as Mia reached for another set of buttons. "I’m not a child."

  Mia’s hands froze mid-motion. "But Ms Harper—"

  "I said I can do it." The sharpness in her own voice startled her. Mia only flinched, glancing at the curtain as if checking for witnesses.

  "Miss Carter... please..." she whispered.

  "Is there a problem?" Ms Harper’s voice was level, just beyond the changing room door. "We’re under time pressure."

  Mia’s fingers fumbled with Eve’s blouse.

  Eve sighed. "Fine. Do what you have to."

  "Thank you, Miss. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable."

  Eve’s hand shot out, gripping Mia’s shoulder before she even thought about it.

  "Don’t. Apology accepted," she said, quieter now. "Don’t kneel."

  Mia trembled, then stilled, her breath catching before she gave a small, understanding nod.

  "Oh, no, Miss. I wouldn’t do that. That’s only for formal apologies."

  Great. Only.

  What sort of place was Phoenix Academy to have workers like this?

  "Miss Carter?" Ms Harper called.

  "Coming."

  Eve tried to convince herself it wasn’t so bad. But the careful, almost surgical way Mia dressed and undressed her left a knot in her stomach that wouldn’t go away.

  By the time they boarded the suborbital rocket to Tahiti, Eve was already wishing the whole ordeal would be over. But the spacecraft itself was a distraction: sleek, silent, impossibly smooth. There was a detached thrill in being launched skyward, watching the blue deepen into black as the world shrank beneath them. The engines hummed, the vibrations settling into her bones.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Mia sat beside her, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes flicking between the control panels and the Academy insignia glowing on the cabin walls. Eve kept her gaze forward, trying to ignore the weight pressing in.

  The interior gleamed—polished surfaces, red accents, the Phoenix crest hovering in quiet perfection. It wasn’t just a ship, but what it signified. Leaving one world behind and stepping into another. Eve knew she’d have to find her footing. She always did.

  Ms Harper, still working, barely glanced up from her tablet. "Once we arrive at Phoenix Island, you’ll be given a full introduction to the campus. I regret it will be brief. I have an academic board meeting immediately upon arrival."

  If she regretted it, it didn’t slow her.

  Eve nodded, pondering. An island built for women, power tended like a garden flower. Every detail engineered.

  Mia sat straight-backed, immaculate in her uniform. Her posture was perfect. Eve’s worn leather jacket and jeans felt rough by contrast. She shifted slightly, self-conscious—aware not just of the difference in wealth, but in who was allowed to belong. A girl from nowhere, dressed like she’d stolen her seat.

  "Any reason you haven’t changed out of... that?" Ms Harper asked. "First impressions are valuable."

  "Precisely," Eve said.

  Ms Harper’s lips twitched. She nodded. Got back to her tablet.

  "You’ll be sharing a room," she went on, not looking up. "We’ve matched you based on your profiles. Miss Lila Monroe will be your roommate. Her family has... considerable influence."

  The word considerable hovered just a second too long.

  "Lila," Eve repeated, testing the name.

  "You’ll also be in close quarters with Miss Sophie Cazeneuve and Miss Maya Chen. I’ll introduce you later, though you’ll likely meet them at orientation."

  The engines changed pitch. They were descending.

  Eve’s stomach fluttered—not from the motion, but from everything waiting below.

  The Academy didn’t do anything by accident.

  Even roommate pairings were calculated.

  And she had no idea what role she was meant to play.

  The hum of the rocket faded.

  Outside: lush green and impossible blue under a bright sky. The contrast hit hard.

  The submarine ride was silent, but not peaceful. Eve sat stiffly, watching the water darken as they descended. The Academy wanted its students displaced before they even arrived. Wanted them disoriented. Softened up.

  Phoenix Island rose ahead: gleaming buildings, manicured paths inviting exploration, a dream in the middle of the ocean conjured just for them. Princesses in a fantasy world.

  Too good to be true?

  As they neared the main building, Eve caught sight of two girls ahead. The shorter one—dark-haired, delicate—looked poised. A little too polished. The other was harder to ignore. Tall, blonde, magnetic. Confident in a way that didn’t need to prove itself.

  She didn’t even glance at Eve.

  Didn’t have to.

  That kind of power didn’t bother with girls like her. Not until she had something to offer. Right now, she didn’t.

  Ms Harper passed them, ticking names like a checklist. "Monroe. Cazeneuve. Chen. Carter."

  Monroe—her roommate?

  The girl barely met Eve’s eyes, fingers fidgeting at her jacket hem. Eve had seen that before. The second-guessers. The over-thinkers.

  Inside the hall, Ms Harper turned to her. "You’ll be assigned to your room shortly. Let me introduce you to your future roommate."

  The blonde—Cazeneuve—tilted her head. Her gaze flicked to Eve. She smiled. It wasn’t warm.

  Monroe looked at Eve, then away again.

  Cazeneuve leaned in, murmured something to Monroe. Monroe nodded.

  "Look at you two. Aren’t you lucky?" Cazeneuve said. "How absolutely charming. Try not to let the leather girl rub off on you, Monroe."

  "Of course," Monroe said quietly.

  Eve said nothing. She didn’t have to.

  She’d seen this kind of power play before.

  Cazeneuve didn’t need to be cruel. She just needed to be the centre. And Monroe was already in orbit.

  Ms Harper’s voice cut clean through. "Let’s move on."

  The awkwardness lingered.

  She hadn’t even unpacked, and already, the hierarchy was forming around her.