"We warned you about this," my father said calmly. He had a magazine in his hand – probably monitoring the stock market. He didn't even bother to look at me as he said it, but I could tell he wasn't paying attention to what he was reading. His anger was silent, and that's what made it scary.
Guillaume, our chauffeur, drove the limo through the polished iron gates of our estate as if nothing had happened. As though his seventeen-year-old passenger hadn't just been expelled from her third elite high school.
The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of our mansion's grand front steps, flanked by towering marble pillars. A butler opened the door. My father stepped out first, followed by my mother, graceful as always in her navy silk blouse and diamond brooch. I trailed behind, my limbs heavy with dread.
Dinner was already set when we entered. The dining room glowed with golden chandelier light, the long mahogany table gleaming with silverware and wine glasses. The staff moved around us in silence, serving a six-course meal like it was a funeral feast. And that's exactly what it felt like – my funeral.
I sat across from my father, whose eyes hadn't met mine since we left the principal's office.
My mother maintained her usual poise, slicing into her lamb rack like we weren't about to have the most uncomfortable meal in history. I stared down at the crystal plate in front of me, not the least bit hungry. I moved to pick up a knife anyway.
"You'll need to start packing tomorrow," my father said suddenly, in between bites.
My hand froze on the knife. "Packing?"
He didn't look up. "You won't be staying here."
I blinked. "I just got back."
My mother dabbed her lips with her napkin and opened her mouth to speak but my father raised a hand to silence her. "Celeste," he warned. She bit back her words and returned to the lamb.
I leaned back in my chair. "So what, I'm being kicked out of my own house now?"
"Don't be dramatic," my father said mildly, still not sparing me a glance. "These schools aren't helping you. We've tried over and over again," He pointed a fork at me. "We need a change."
"We?" I echoed, my voice rising. "So this is mutual now? Since when do I have a say in anything that concerns my life?"
He set down his fork and knife carefully, like he was defusing a bomb. "I'm not going to argue with you over dinner, Laura. It's decided."
When on earth did they have time to decide that?!
"I haven't even done anything wrong!" I protested then paused. "Well, okay, maybe I have. But what do you expect from me? You send me to schools full of snobs and robots and expect me to just play along!"
My father finally looked up at me. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp. "You made your choices, Laura. Now you live with the consequences."
My mother's voice was soft. "Victor—"
"No, Celeste. She needs this." He looked back at me. "You don't want a boring school? That's perfect. The next one would really give you the chills."
I stood up so fast my chair screeched backward. "I'm not going to another school. Not now, not ever. Maybe I'll just stay home. Homeschool, or…I don't know. Take a gap year."
Victor Trident exhaled slowly, like I was testing the last threads of his patience. "You're going. That's final."
"Going where exactly?!" I all but screamed the words at him. His response made my blood run cold. Two words that would haunt me forever.
"Balth High."
I gasped as he said it. No. There was no way he was sending me there. I'd heard of Balth High – a place for demons and outcasts. What an irony. I really was never going to be bored again.
"I hate you," I said at last when I could speak again, and stormed away before he could say another word.
I ran up the wide staircase, past the tall windows and endless portraits of long-dead ancestors glaring down at me, and didn't stop until I slammed my bedroom door shut.
My room was the only place that felt like mine. It overlooked the garden, had its own fireplace, and was full of soft things: velvet curtains, plush pillows. But even here, I didn't feel safe. Not really.
I paced like a caged animal. What was this new plan? Where were they sending me? Some military school in Switzerland? A finishing school for wayward heiresses?
A soft knock came at the door. I didn't answer.
Celeste stepped in anyway, moving as gracefully as always. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, watching me.
"You don't have to hate your father," she said gently.
"Then tell him to stop trying to control my life."
She sighed and walked over, sitting on the edge of my bed. "He worries about you, in his own way."
I scoffed. "Right. His way includes exile."
Celeste patted the spot beside her. Reluctantly, I sat down.
"Laura," she said after a pause, "there are things you don't understand about yourself. About our family."
I turned to look at her. For once, her calm exterior cracked slightly. Her eyes shimmered with something unspoken.
"What do you mean?"
She opened her mouth as if to say something important. Then, she stopped. Closed it. Looked away.
"Never mind that," she said with a small, practiced smile. "All will be clearer soon."
I frowned. "That's not cryptic at all."
She stood and walked to the door, her fingers grazing the frame.
"Goodnight, darling. Try to get some rest."
"But you were going to say something."
She smiled again, but this time it didn't reach her eyes. "Not tonight."
And just like that, she was gone.
I lay back on my bed, heart pounding, head swirling. What was she talking about? What didn't I know about myself?
I stared up at the ceiling, my thoughts dark and tangled.
Balth High.
I shivered.
Sleep would not come easily tonight.