The silence in the assembly hall was absolute, heavy with the stench of a rigged game. Dean Shawn’s hands trembled slightly as she took the microphone, her eyes skimming the list with a visible lack of conviction."The following students have been cleared for the Summit delegation," she announced, her voice strained. "The criteria for selection were verified by the board of trustees and the newly appointed event overseer, Mr. Austin."As she read the list, the names were a roll call of the campus elite—children of oil magnates, venture capitalists, and legacy political figures. With every name called, the resentment in the room grew into a palpable, vibrating anger."Finally," Dean Shawn concluded, her voice barely a whisper, "the last delegate is... Nathan Walters."Before the applause could even start—or the boos, for that matter—Jeffrey Epstein stepped back to the podium, his presence casting a long, dark shadow over the stage. He didn't look at the students; he looked directly at

For a second, there was silence. Then, it broke.It wasn't just clapping; it was a physical force. The students surged to their feet, the chairs clattering against the floor. Leo was the first to start the chant, his voice cracking with excitement.Jeffrey Epstein’s face remained a mask, but for the first time, a flicker of genuine irritation crossed his eyes. He realized then that he hadn't just lost the argument—he had lost the room. He had lost his students. Nathan had effectively turned the student body into his own private army, and there was absolutely nothing the board could do to stop the momentum without looking like villains in front of their biggest donors.Austin stood at the podium, trembling with rage, his attempt to isolate Nathan having spectacularly backfired. He looked at the Principal for help, but Epstein simply stepped into the shadows, his eyes locked on Nathan with a new, dangerous level of interest.Mark didn't scream. He didn't argue. He turned around and wal

"And what did the principal do?" Martha asked.Austin snarled, throwing his hands up so violently that his champagne nearly spilled over the crystal rim of his flute. "He fucking let him! He had absolutely no choice. His own students turned against him and practically formed a riot line to protect the kid!"Austin was pacing the length of the sprawling, open-concept living room. He was barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of dark, tailored shorts. His chest was bare, a thin sheen of sweat glistening across his collarbones despite the air conditioning working quietly in the background. He couldn't stop moving. The nervous energy was eating him alive.Lounging on a plush, emerald-green velvet chaise just a few feet away was Martha Delano. She was supposed to be wearing an orange jumpsuit. She was supposed to be sitting on a metal bench inside a freezing, high-security holding cell, waiting for a magistrate to officially charge her with the attempted murder of the Governor and the cold-bl

Austin stared at her, the frantic panic in his eyes slowly dulling, replaced by a dark, simmering heat. The way she looked at him, the way she validated his broken ego—it was exactly what he needed. She didn't look at him like a failure. She looked at him like a king.He took my dignity, Martha," Austin whispered, his voice rough and bitter. "He humiliated me in front of the entire fucking school.""Then we will take his life," Martha replied smoothly, without a single ounce of hesitation. "We will find out where his money comes from, we will sever the cord, and we will watch him bleed out in the dirt where he belongs."She leaned in closer, the scent of her expensive, intoxicating perfume wrapping around his senses."You are going to take back everything that belongs to you," Martha whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips. "And I am going to be right here by your side when you do."Austin didn't say another word. The burning frustration inside him twisted seamlessly into a dark, rave

The man doing the screaming was somewhere north of late fifty, dressed in a cream-colored suit that probably cost more than the salaries of most of the workers, with the kind of tan that only came from yachts and other people's misfortune. His hand was raised over the counter, not quite striking distance from the girl cowering behind it, but close enough that she'd flinched twice already.The girl — her name tag read SASHA, the letters slightly crooked, like she'd applied it herself in a hurry that morning — had both hands pressed flat against the counter, white peonies scattered in front of her, her eyes wet and darting toward the back room like she was hoping someone older would materialize and save her.Nobody did."Mr. Castellan, I promise you, I ordered exactly what was on the invoice," Sasha stammered, her voice trembling so hard the words nearly fell apart. "The supplier said the peony shipment got delayed because of the frost upstate, so I substituted with the …""I don't care