Vendetta: Throne of Betrayal

Chapter 3: The First Warning

The tiny recorder felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in Aiden’s pocket. He could feel it pressing against his thigh as he sat in Mr. Calloway’s office, the Dean of Student Conduct. 

A severe man with wire-rim glasses and a pinched mouth, Calloway tapped a pen against his desk rhythmically, staring Aiden down like he was a roach on fine marble. 

“So you’re accusing Bryce Maddox of assault,” Calloway said at last, voice flat.

Aiden didn’t flinch. “Yes, sir.”

He pulled out the recorder, placed it carefully on the desk, and pressed play. The tiny machine crackled to life.

“Hey, charity case, got you a little welcome gift. You don’t belong here, trash. Maybe you should go back to the slums before something bad happens.”

The room went cold. Calloway listened, face unreadable. His fingers tightened around the pen until his knuckles whitened.

When the recording ended, there was a long, heavy silence. Finally, Calloway leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "You understand the seriousness of what you're accusing the Vice President's son of?"

"I'm not accusing," Aiden said steadily. "I'm presenting evidence."

Calloway smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Son, this school has a long tradition. It’s about more than just grades. It’s about reputation. Legacy. Do you think one scholarship kid crying foul is going to ruin that?"

Aiden’s stomach twisted, but he held his ground. "Are you saying you're going to ignore this?"

"I'm saying," Calloway said softly, "you have two choices. Forget this happened, or find yourself expelled for... disciplinary issues."

It was like a slap across the face. "I didn’t do anything wrong," Aiden gritted out.

Calloway leaned forward, voice a low growl. "Wrong doesn’t matter here, boy. Power does."

He pressed a button on his intercom. "Ms. Parker, escort Mr. Cole back to class."

The door opened almost immediately. A security guard stood there, large and unsmiling. Aiden pocketed the recorder and stood up, chest burning with helpless rage.

As he stepped out into the hallway, Calloway’s final words followed him: "Consider this your first and only warning."

The corridors blurred around him as he walked back toward his next class. The betrayal stung more than the coffee on his skin. 

He had known the system was rigged. He just hadn't realized how deep the roots ran. He thought of his father’s words: "Crush the head."

This wasn’t about a few spoiled rich kids anymore. It was the whole damn tree that was rotten.

At lunchtime, Aiden sat alone at the farthest table, picking at a stale sandwich from the vending machines. 

Across the room, Bryce and his cronies laughed loudly, tossing around food like children.

Isabelle caught his eye once, briefly, a flash of guilt crossing her face, but she didn’t approach. Being seen with him now would be social suicide. A shadow fell across his table.

Aiden looked up, expecting another round of mockery. Instead, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered boy with dark hair and a faint scar over one eyebrow. 

The kid looked older, maybe a senior, and definitely not part of Bryce’s crew. “You're Cole?" the boy asked.

Aiden nodded warily. The boy dropped into the seat across from him. "Name’s Marcus."

"And?" Aiden said, suspicious.

Marcus smirked. "And I like people who don't roll over when the wolves come sniffing."

Aiden said nothing, but a small ember of hope flickered inside him. "You're smart," Marcus continued. "Real smart. Smart enough to know you’re alone right now. But maybe... you don't have to be."

Aiden narrowed his eyes. "What are you offering?"

"Information," Marcus said, leaning in. "Calloway’s just the tip of the iceberg. This school? It’s run by more than just the administration. There’s a hierarchy. A hidden one. A club. The sons and daughters of the real elite. The ones who make sure nobody from 'the outside' ever climbs too high."

Aiden's pulse quickened. "And you know this because?"

Marcus’s smile was grim. "Because I used to be one of them."

That afternoon, while the golden kids lounged on the manicured lawns and the teachers turned blind eyes, Aiden met Marcus again behind the maintenance sheds.

The older boy pulled out a crumpled notebook. Inside, names. Symbols. Meetings. Deals.

Bryce's name was everywhere, always protected, always cleaned up after.

"So you’re telling me," Aiden said slowly, "there's an actual conspiracy keeping kids like me down?"

Marcus laughed humorlessly. "Conspiracy’s a fancy word. It’s just business, kid. Family name. Money. Power."

"And you want to help me... why?"

Marcus shrugged. "Maybe I’m bored. Maybe I want to see Bryce fall on his pretty face."

He clapped Aiden on the shoulder. "Either way, you’re not getting out of this school alive if you don’t start playing smarter."

Aiden felt a chill. The way Marcus said it, not getting out alive, it didn’t sound like a joke.

That night, Aiden sat at the tiny kitchen table at home, staring down at the lists Marcus had given him.

His sister, little Mia, plopped into the seat beside him with her math homework. "You look tired," she said.

Aiden smiled wearily. "Just school stuff."

"You’re gonna beat them," Mia said brightly. "Because you're the smartest."

He ruffled her hair. "Hope you're right, kiddo."

Across the table, his mom set down a steaming plate of pasta, their "fancy dinner" for special occasions.

"Don’t let them change you, Aiden," she said softly, her hands rough from years of cleaning houses. "Promise me."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I promise."

But deep inside, he wasn’t so sure, because change wasn’t coming. War was, and he was about to walk straight into the fire.