Chapter 7

Avery’s POV

The golden gates of St. Vespresrtan University stood tall, their ornate, baroque surfaces gleaming in the morning sun like guardians of prestige.

It was clear this was no mere institution of higher learning; it was an empire of intellectual brilliance, cold discipline, and inherited style.

Every manicured inch of the campus breathed an atmosphere of intimidating luxury and centuries of tradition. The ivory-colored neoclassical buildings featured soaring glass windows that mirrored the sky, while vast lawns glowed with color.

Legions of students walked with textbooks pressed against their chests. They moved with an air of solemnity, as though rehearsing for a cinematic opening scene.

And then, with a theatrical flourish, came me.

I was the city’s spoiled darling.

The defiant poster child of inherited wealth and unavoidable infamy.

The girl whose name had made its explosive way through every gossip column, every anonymous blog, and every hushed whisper at every high-society cocktail party across the continent—the one and only, Avery Von Carter.

I heard my mother’s proud words in the back of my mind, delivered with imperious conviction: “It was obvious you’d enroll there, Avery. You are a Von Carter, my dear, and Von Carters do not settle for anything less than the best.”

But unlike her, I had no intention of settling for their definition of “best.”

I was here for a purpose far beyond education, far beyond upholding their rigid legacy.

I was here to make noise.

I was here to create an unforgettable, controlled disruption.

The black Mercedes Maybach, my opulent pride and royal chariot, glided past those towering gates.

Heads snapped like startled puppets, jaws dropped, and a wave of raw, electric silence washed over the vicinity.

Some students whispered behind their hands.

Some smirked, anticipating the drama.

Others stared, their eyes locked on the car, as though I had stepped straight out of a high-budget movie screen onto their hallowed grounds.

I loved it.

I savored every second of their rapt, focused attention.

The sharp, distinct sound of my designer heels clicking against the marble pavement as I stepped out of the Maybach rang louder than the resurgence of their nervous chatter.

I tossed my long, styled hair back over my shoulder. The motion was for effect, because every great show needed an opening scene that demanded respect.

A nervous, whispering male voice near the ornate fountain muttered, “That’s her. Avery Von Carter, in the flesh.”

Another female student giggled, covering her mouth, “The notorious playgirl herself has arrived.”

I caught the comment and zeroed in on the source.

I smirked, twisting my lips into that unapologetic expression I had honed over the years. It screamed: Yes, I did it, whatever ‘it’ was, and no, I do not regret a single, scandalous moment of it.

If they expected an arrival colored by shame, demureness, or retraction, they were never going to get it from me.

And then it came—a thunderous, unapologetic hooting and a joyous scream.

“Avery! Avery! Avery!”

I turned, my smile widening into pleasure, and there they were.

My girls.

My glorious, outrageous, unapologetic friends—Victoria Hale and Elize Marrow.

Victoria, with her trademark fiery auburn hair that possessed its own solar energy and those striking eyes that could undress a man with one dismissive glance, stood high on the administrative steps. She waved her long arms like a madwoman who had just spotted her missing diamond.

Elize, her bouncy blonde curls flying, clapped her hands above her head. She laughed so loud that even the stiff-backed professors walking by paused, frowned, and observed the commotion.

I laughed out loud.

For the first time that day, it was not the staged, brittle laugh of a polished Von Carter heiress, but a real one that originated from my stomach, raw and authentic.

“God, you two are insane,” I muttered under my breath, but my stride quickened as I strutted toward them.

Victoria shouted again, cupping her hands around her mouth, her voice cutting through the courtyard’s noise.

“Look who finally bothered to arrive! Miss Queen of Corporate Chaos herself!”

Elize rushed forward, nearly tripping over her own high heels in her haste, and threw her arms around me in a warm, desperate embrace.

“Avery! Do you realize we’ve been waiting for this exact moment since we got our acceptances?”

I hugged her back, my grin wide.

“Oh, believe me, darling, so have I. But did you two need to announce my arrival like it was the presidential motorcade rolling through campus?”

Victoria smirked, sliding her dark, oversized sunglasses down her nose for effect.

“Please, Avery. If anyone alive deserves a royal, unapologetic entrance, it’s you. And besides…”—she leaned in, lowering her voice—”…half the university was already positioned, waiting to see precisely what kind of scandalous chaos Avery Von Carter would stir up on her first day.”

I chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, giving them the show they craved.

“Then let’s not disappoint their high expectations, shall we?”

As we walked inside the main building, my two friends flanked me like loyal, stylish bodyguards.

Students in the hallway parted, creating a wide aisle for us. Their eyes trailed me with open curiosity, as if I were a rare, priceless diamond they could never afford to touch but could not stop staring at either.

Elize whispered, her voice tight with suppressed excitement, “Oh, look at their terrified faces! Half of them are intimidated by your presence, and the other half wants to be you, Ave!”

I tilted my chin up, feigning an ice-cold arrogance I often wore like armor.

“And the other half, Elize?”

Victoria replied, the line coming from years of familiarity.

“They just want to sleep with you, Avery. It’s a well-known constant.”

I burst out laughing, a loud sound that drew even more sharp, unwanted attention, but I did not care in the slightest.

Then came the inevitable confrontation.

A tall, broad-shouldered guy, radiating an overblown self-importance, leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

He was the self-proclaimed campus heartthrob, the golden boy of the upper-class families, if I remembered his tedious reputation.

His smirk was the kind of smug, entitled expression you would expect from someone who believed the entire solar system revolved solely around his shallow needs.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the legendary Avery Von Carter,” he drawled, pushing himself off the wall. “The living legend in the flesh, finally gracing our presence. Tell me, Queen of Chaos, do all the juicy rumors about you live up to the reality of the spectacle?”

Elize rolled her eyes with such force I thought they might fall right out of her head.

“Ugh, ignore him, Avery. He’s just jealous you stole his spotlight and ruined his entrance.”

I cocked my head, studying the boy with a look of mock, intense curiosity, dragging out his discomfort.

“Rumors, huh? Which ones are you talking about? The publicized one about me crashing my father’s brand-new yacht into a pier at seventeen, or perhaps the better one about me stealing a professor’s classic car for a joyride through the city?”

His smug smirk faltered, the light draining from his eyes.

I took one step closer to him, lowering my voice to ensure only he, and possibly my attentive friends, heard the cold, final revelation.

“Spoiler alert, darling—every one of those rumors is true.”

Victoria laughed, clapping her hands once in delight.

“Oh, Avery, you haven’t changed your ways a bit. It’s wonderful.”

And I honestly hadn’t changed.

I was the same, rebellious, defiant product of high society.

By the time our trio reached the central courtyard, the whispers had grown louder, and people were blatantly taking pictures with their phones.

I could already mentally write tomorrow’s predictable gossip headline in the campus newsletter: ‘Von Carter Heiress Takes St. Vespresrtan by Storm: Chaos Queen Arrives.’

I turned to my friends, spreading my arms wide, gesturing to the world surrounding us.

“So, what’s the consensus plan, ladies? Shall we conquer this ancient, stuffy empire brick by brick, or set the entire place ablaze in one glorious go?”

Elize giggled, linking her arm with mine.

“I say we start with the diplomatic conquering of the empire, and save the fire for a more dramatic occasion later in the semester.”

Victoria smirked.

“You’ve already set the entire place ablaze, Ave. You just haven’t realized the damage you’ve caused yet.”

For a moment, I paused, observing the prestigious university environment—the proud spires, the international flags fluttering in the breeze, the hundreds of students hustling by with their heavy books and ambitions.

This was St. Vespresrtan, the university that polished prodigies into respectable legends.

But I was not here just to be polished.

I was here to ensure that everyone, from the lowliest freshman to the stuffiest faculty head, remembered my name—not as a pale shadow of my family’s wealth, not as a scandal etched in the tabloids, but as Avery Von Carter, the audacious girl who turned the most rigid empire upside down and survived the fallout.

I excelled a long, decisive breath, my lips curling into a wide, dangerous grin.

“Well then, ladies… let’s give them a show they will never forget for the rest of their tedious lives.”

Victoria bumped her shoulder against mine, a signal of her full approval.

“Now that’s the Avery I know, and that’s the one I was waiting for.”

And Elize, the cheerful, pragmatic one, jumped up and down.

“First stop on this revolutionary tour—the enormous, overpriced campus café! Because no successful revolution starts without copious amounts of caffeine!”

We laughed together, our bright voices echoing through the marble halls of the silent, waiting St. Vespresrtan University.

For everyone else here, this was the conventional start of a long, predictable semester.

For me, it was the start of a reign.

The immense cafeteria of St. Vespresrtan University was alive with its predictable morning chorus—loud laughter spilling across dozens of tables, the hiss of the industrial coffee machine, the grating sound of plastic trays sliding across the stainless-steel counters.

The air smelled of burnt espresso, stale pastries, and aggressive ambition, and for me, it was just another crowded, necessary stage on which to perform my role.

Victoria, Elize, and I had, of course, claimed the prime, center table.

It was not just a random act of arrogance—it was a calculated strategy.

Everyone who entered saw us, everyone knew who we were, and everyone was made aware of our presence.

If St. Vespresrtan possessed a social heartbeat, we were, by force of presence and reputation, pulsing through its rhythm.

I brought the hot, bitter coffee to my lips, feeling the warmth ignite my veins and sharpen my focus.

I closed my eyes, letting the jolt of the caffeine curl into my system, preparing me for the battles ahead.

Elize sighed, lifting her cup in a theatrical gesture.

“Our first sacred caffeine ritual as the crowned St. Vespresrtan Queens.”

Victoria spiked her heavy cup against mine, her eyes glittering with excitement.

“To Avery’s unforgettable reign. May it be more scandalous than the tabloids promised.”

I smirked, raising my own cup high.

“To chaos—and to the poor, unsuspecting souls who will never see my ambition coming.”

We clinked cups.

Laughed.

Sipped the dark brew.

When the cups were drained, we rose in synchronized motion, leaving behind the silent, envious stares of half the cafeteria audience.

I was mid-step, my strut carrying me toward the main exit door, when it happened.

A forceful impact.

My entire body jolted forward.

The remnants of the hot, forgotten coffee in my cup sloshed forward, spilling in a dark plume over the front of my light-colored silk blouse.

A sharp heat bit into my exposed skin, stinging and burning beneath the soaked fabric.

Before I could formulate an instinctive, expensive curse word, a voice cut through the shocked silence of the cafeteria.

It was not a shrill, nervous student voice.

It was not a placating, subservient tone.

It was a voice that was low, firm, and commanding.

“Can’t you see where you are going, young woman?”

I froze, my whole body locking in place.

The simple words hit me harder, more painfully, and more surprisingly than the physical collision itself.

Slowly, I looked up, ready to unleash the force of my inherited, intimidating temper.

She was not a student.

Not even close.

She was a woman—poised, sharp, mid-thirties at the very least, radiating a professional, untouchable aura.

Her defined jawline, her neatly pulled-back, dark hair, and her tailored, immaculate blazer screamed professional authority and control.

Her eyes, cool, piercing, and unimpressed, regarded me with clinical detachment, as if I were nothing more than a reckless, entitled child who had dated across a busy street and inconvenienced her time.

My lips curled in venomous disbelief.

“Excuse me? Did you just—?”

“Yes,” she cut in, her voice clipped, sharp, and devoid of patience, as though she could not spare the seconds for my nonsense. “I said, can’t you see where you are going, or do you have a visual impairment?”

The entire sprawling cafeteria had gone silent.

Students turned in their seats, forks and spoons hanging motionlessly, fascinated and riveted by the unfolding scene of conflict.

Elize nearly choked on an undigested laugh of disbelief.

Victoria’s brows shot up to her hairline, her eyes alight with intense scrutiny.

I steadied myself, forcing my own voice into a sharp, sarcastic calm, attempting to regain control of the narrative.

“You, dear woman, violently collided with me. You are the one who should be apologizing.”

The woman tilted her head, her expression remaining flat, unmoved by my accusation or my reputation.

“Are you certain of that fact? Because as far as my recollection takes me, you were walking from the wrong, designated side of the walkway.”

I blinked, momentarily thrown off balance.

I glanced behind me at the flow of the cafeteria traffic.

Damn it.

She was right—I had cut across the designated lane where the crowd was funneled in the opposite direction.

But that inconvenient fact was not the core issue here.

The issue was that no one in my life dared to publicly correct me, not like this, not with this level of clinical superiority.

Before I could find the cutting words to launch my counter-attack, she added briskly.

“So, are you going to offer a belated apology for your carelessness, or what? My meeting starts in five minutes.”

My jaw dropped, a bitter, incredulous laugh escaping my lips.

“I’m sorry, what? You spilled hot coffee on my brand-new blouse—hot coffee—and you are expecting me to offer you an apology for your clumsiness?”

She did not flinch.

Not a muscle in her face moved.

“Very much so. The traffic laws of a public space apply even to the spoiled elite.”

Gasps rippled through the stunned cafeteria crowd.

Some students leaned forward over their tables, consuming the scene like an unexpected, glorious dessert.

“Are you being serious?” I demanded, my tone rising, shedding the façade of calm.

Her reply was unnervingly calm.

Too calm.

“I am always serious in a professional setting. But it’s fine. I’ve decided my time is too valuable to waste on a public, immature scene with you.”

She straightened her posture, dismissing me with a single, cold glance, as if I were a speck of dirt.

I felt my heart race, my fierce, guarded pride flaring, demanding retaliation.

“I didn’t even formally say sorry to you yet!”

She gave a small, cold, condescending laugh.

“I was not expecting you to. In fact, in the past two minutes of this interaction, you have shown me exactly how irresponsible, ill-mannered, and careless you are willing to be in a public setting, all because you believe your family name grants you immunity.”

Her calculated words struck me, like sharp, stinging slaps.

Not because of their content—people, usually out of earshot, had called me much worse things in my life—but because of the detached, superior way she had spoken them.

Detached.

Certain.

Absolute.

Final.

“Now,” she finished, her tone snapping sharp as broken glass, a final, unappealable dismissal. “Say anything else that proves your point, or simply gather your friends and get lost. I have work to do, young woman.”

And with that statement, she turned and walked away.

Leaving me standing there—coffee-stained, furious, and for the first time in my remembered adult life, speechless in front of an audience of hundreds.

Elize burst into loud, unrestrained laughter the instant the woman’s retreating form disappeared down the hall.

“Oh my God, Avery, did you just—did you just get schooled like a nervous, clueless freshman?! That was the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed!”

I turned, my eyes narrowed into a dangerous, cold glare.

“Shut. Up, Elize.”

Victoria raised her brows, her lips twitching with genuine amusement.

“Well… that was a new experience for the legendary Avery Von Carter.”

“New?” I hissed, the memory of the cold dismissal burning in my chest.

“That was professionally, unforgivably humiliating.”

Victoria sipped her own coffee, unbothered by my rage.

“To be fair, Ave, the woman wasn’t incorrect in her basic assessment. You were walking from the wrong, designated side of the flow.”

“Whose side are you on right now, Victoria?!” I snapped, my voice laced with venom.

“Yours, always, darling,” she said, never breaking eye contact.

“But Avery, darling… maybe she’s not just another random, unimportant woman you can swat away. Did you notice her unshakeable confidence? The authoritative way she spoke, her utter lack of fear? She was not some ordinary, timid passerby or professor.”

I hated that my loyal friend was right.

The woman had exuded something rare… something unshakable.

Like pure, raw, professional authority wrapped in cool, calm steel.

Elize leaned forward, lowering her voice, whispering like it was a piece of gossip too dangerous to be spoken at a normal volume.

“Who on earth do you think she is, Avery?”

I shook my head, brushing the dangerous thought off even as it lingered, refusing to be dismissed.

“It does not matter to my plans. Whoever she is, she is going to regret the arrogance of underestimating me.”

But the cold truth was—she had not truly underestimated me at all.

She had not even considered me a worthy opponent.

And that brutal, crushing realization… that stung more than the hot coffee ever could.

Back in the luxurious confines of my private campus suite—because Von Carters did not demean themselves by living in common dormitories—I paced the thick, expensive velvet carpet, unable to settle.

My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror showed a silk blouse stained from the incident, a painful reminder of the indignity I had suffered.

I tried to laugh the whole incident off.

Tried to imagine tomorrow’s gossip columns gleefully spinning it as just another manufactured Avery Von Carter drama, another piece of fuel for the fire.

But instead of the comforting feeling of satisfaction that my antics generated, I felt something else.

Her face would not leave the confines of my tormented mind.

The precise, clinical way she had spoken to me, the heiress.

The complete lack of concern she had shown for who I was, for my powerful name.

The brutal, final way she had casually dismissed me, as though my name, my generational wealth, my curated presence—meant nothing of consequence to her busy life.

For the first time in years, someone powerful had not played along with the convenient, fabricated legend of Avery Von Carter.

And she was not a silly, insecure student, or an easily vanquished rival heiress, or some jealous admirer looking for a handout.

She was a woman.

Older.

Sharper.

Experienced.

She was, I realized with a sudden, cold jolt, operating in a different league of authority and control than I was accustomed to.

I sank onto the expensive couch, my lips curling into a cold, dangerous, determined smile that held no amusement, only promise.

“Well,” I whispered, my voice low and certain, an immediate vow to the empty room. “Whoever you are, you’ve just made the single biggest, most expensive mistake of your professional life.”

The game had begun, and I was ready to play.