The 4 Heirs!?
Chapter 3
SOPHIA
James's laugh explodes across the cafeteria, loud enough that several heads turn in our direction and a fork clatters somewhere behind me. Two girls at the next table pause mid-conversation.
"Keep your voice down," I mutter and sink lower in my chair.
"You walked into the boys' lockeroom" he says still grinning, "and ran into...okay, wait. Describe him."
"I was not planning to" I empathize again and try to describe him.
Tall, handsom and a well trained body .
Are the first words popping up in my head and as soon as they appear as soon I try to pull myself together and try to focus on the main point again so I say instead ?nothing special tall ,dark hair Italien Accent and ..."but before I can search for the next words I see James grin disappear
"Sophia!."
"What?"
"You went left," he says slowly. "Left is the bathroom for the sports teams"
"There was no sign."
"There is absolutely a sign."He says and rubs his face with one hand.
Around us, the cafeteria hums. Students laugh too loudly, while comparing watches that probably cost more than my aunt's entire studio equipment, and talk about upcoming charity galas as casually as people back home talk about weekend barbecues. The contrast never stops being faintly absurd.
"So," I say, stirring what remains of my drink. "Do you know who he is? Dark hair, Italian accent, acts like the concept of other people existing is a personal inconvenience?"
Just curiosity. Just trying to give a name to the person who has somehow taken up permanent residence in the back of my mind.
But James's expression changes.
"You bumped into Lorenzo?"
This time it is not James talking , the voice comes from my left and when I turn I see a girl leaning in from across the table, her red long hair catching the light and she has a wide smile on her face. Sharp curiosity in her hazelnut brown eyes lokking like samone searching for new gossip.
"I didn't bump into him exactly," I say more to James than her "It was more of ..."
"She totally did," James interrupts me while glancing at the girl.
"Please tell me nobody saw you going into that room."
He finishes his drink in one long sip. The lightness from before has completely vanished.
"I don't think so. Why?" I look between them. "Who is Lorenzo?"
The red haired girl stares at me.
"You don't know the 4 Heirs?"
"No. What is that?" I say. "Why does everyone keep reacting like I just said I'd never heard of gravity?" I ask jokingly, but deep down I'm completely freaking out.
"Because Lorenzo Calloway," Maria says, putting her extremely big pink leather bag in front of her on the table while pulling her chair closer to us.
She lowers her voice, leaning in like she's about to reveal classified information.
"He is not just popular. First, he is the captain of the football team," she starts with a wide grin in her voice while touching my shoulder.
"I'm also on the team," James adds, rolling his eyes as if the information weren't necessary at all.
"Yes, but not the captain," Maria adds, also rolling her eyes.
"I mean, maybe next year," James adds, annoyed.
"Guys, please, that's not the point," I interrupt them, nervously playing with the ring on my finger.
"Right, right, so... his name is basically everywhere in this city. His family is the richest in the entire country."
She pauses. "And I mean that literally. Not Weststar rich. Actually rich. Like crazy rich. He is part of a group the other students call the 4 Heirs because, one day, those four boys will inherit the biggest empires in the country, maybe even in the world."
Maria counts them off on her fingers, her eyes wide.
"There's Benjamin Vandec, son of Josh Vance, his family runs the Vandec Hotel Group, owning the world's most elite luxury hotels. He is the playboy and he enjoys it, so don't get fooled by his golden hair. Then there's Matteo Romano, the future heir to a global shipping empire;
if his family stops their cargo ships, the world economy basically freezes. I would say he is the nicest among them, but still, stay away if you can. Then don't forget Alex Saint,"
she continues, her tone bitter this time as she rolls her eyes as if she hates him the most.
"Son of Josh Saint, who invented the Saint Group. They own every luxury penthouse and skyscraper worth mentioning, nightclubs, and stuff. And because of that, he is a real dick. Let me tell you, I heard rumors that he got a tattoo for a guy he killed."
I look at James in shock, not sure if that's true or if she just made that up.
"Maria, that's just a rumor," James says, rolling his eyes and giving her a warning look.
"We don't know that," she insists, turning back to me, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper.
"And finally, there's Lorenzo Calloway. His family doesn't just build things, Sophia they buy the people who build them. The Calloway Group owns the largest private bank on the continent and controls the country's entire energy grid. His family basically owns the city .
And we don't mention the underground stuff. He is the devil wearing a handsome, golden mask."
I let that sit for a second.
The devil wearing a golden mask.
Interesting
" These four mean trouble , they basically own the school and not in a good way if you understand what I'm saying "
My eyes drift automatically toward the floor to ceiling windows, thinking about the name. Calloway? Calloway? It sounds so familiar.
"Calloway Tower," I whisper, more to myself, but Maria beside me nods.
"Yes, exactly! That belongs to his dad."
I freeze. I have passed that building three times on the bus this week without giving it a second thought.
"Okay," I say slowly. "So he's rich. That doesn't explain why everyone looks like they've seen a ghost when I mention his name."
"The girl who poured food on you," James says quietly, "Is his girlfriend."
"Oh," I say, understanding everything slowly.
The table goes quiet , not because there's nothing left to say, but because everything that needed saying has already landed.
I stare at the table for a moment. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small, very tired part of me laughs.
Of course.
Of course the girl who decided a stranger was a suitable target for cold soup happens to be dating the guy I accidentally walked in on in a towel. Of course my first two weeks at Weststar manage to produce this exact configuration of events.
Some people have bad luck. I appear to have cultivated an entire ecosystem of it.
Finally
When the bell finally rings the cafeteria dissolves into motion. James says goodbye with a look that very clearly means be careful without saying it. While to my surprise Marie grabs my arm and steers me through the crowd toward our next class.
The wind up on the hill is stronger here, cooler, carrying the faint scent of the forest that borders the athletic fields at the back of the campus.
I haven't noticed it before,the way the school sits at the edge of something wilder, how the manicured grounds simply stop at a tree line and let the forest begin.
"To be honest," Maria says, "I noticed you last week too."
I glance at her. Wondering what would come next.
"And?"
She looks almost sheepish.
"My friends told me I shouldn't talk to you. Because you don't really..." She pauses, searching for a diplomatic way to finish. "You know. Fit."
"Wow," I say. "Thank you for that."
"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" She grins her hazelnut brown eyes glowing "We have algebra. Don't worry...Vivienne and Lorenzo are a year above us. They don't attend all our classes."
"That" I say, "is the best thing anyone has told me all day."
Algebra isn't my favorite subject. But it isn't terrible either and more importantly, Maria sits beside me, which means I'm not staring at an empty chair for the first time since I arrive at Weststar.
The classroom is enormous with it's high ceilings, clean lines and dark wood desks fitted with built in screens.
Maria spends approximately forty percent of the lesson looking at designer bags on her laptop.While I try to write everything down our teacher is explaining.
"So what do you do in your free time?" she whispers at on point and I fell surprisingly happy about the attempt of small talk.
"I paint," I whisper back. "And read."
She looks at me properly for the first time with the particular focus of someone recalibrating a first impression.
"What do you paint? Like...cartoons?"
"Not really." I smile. "All kinds of things. It's actually how I make a little money."
She blinks.
"You work?"
There it is. Not mean. Just unaware the casual astonishment of someone for whom earning money has never been a necessary concept.
"Ahm yes ...What do you do?" I change the subject quickly.
"Oh, nothing special." She waves a hand. "Shopping. Parties. The usual."
"Girls," the teacher says calmly from the front of the room, and we both go quiet.
After class I say goodbye to Maria and make my way to the principal's office.
Mr. Henderson's office overlooks the back side of the campus.
From his window you can see the sports fields stretching down the hill, and beyond them the forest that borders the property, dark and thick and entirely indifferent to whatever is happening inside the school. I find the view oddly comforting.
The meeting is short and not particularly in my favor. Aperently Weststar requires all students to participate in a sports program. Non-negotiable and someone will show me around the sports facilities tomorrow after second period.
The only sport I have ever genuinely loved is surfing. Back home, I was in the water every chance I got like right after school or sometimes late at night, just me and the waves and the kind of quiet that only existed when everything else fell away.
But that is a different life now.
I push the thought down and head for the back entrance.
I'd started using the back path to avoid the chaos of the main doors all the black cars and the drivers waiting in practiced rows.
The back route winds down the hill toward a quieter road and from there the city rises in front of me in layers.
The late afternoon sun hits me the second I step outside.
And close my eyes for just a moment and simply feel it.
Freedom, I think.
Approximately.
But then I hear voices. Coming from somewhere behind the sports hall.
The sports complex sits slightly apart from the academic buildings, a modern structure of dark glass and metal that catches the light differently than the older stone of the main school.
I shouldn't follow the sound. I know that even as I'm doing it that I shouldn't. But I can just help myself
So I round the corner and stop.
There are three figures.
Two of with they,shoulders back, weight distributed evenly and just the kind of stillness that isn't passive but deliberate.
Between them, a third figure is pressed against the wall, his body pulled tight in the way of someone who has run out of options and is still trying not to show it.
Even from here I can see the tension.
"You'll get the money," one of the guys is saying, his voice stretched thin. "I told you..."The guy against the wall says with a shaking voice.
"You've been telling us," the blon guy cuts in, "for two weeks."
I take one step forward in order to hear better but at the exact same time a cold hand closes over my mouth.Catching my scream.
Before I can react and decide what to do I am pulled back fast and firm, pressed against the wall of the building with a grip that is controlled rather than rough and for a second I genuinely forget how to breathe.
It's him.
Shit
"So it really is you, stalker."
His voice is low and close
He bends slightly to my eye level and his dark eyes meeting mine his hand still covering my mouth.
Just great so aperently Lorenzo Calloway making it his personal mission to appear in every location I least need him.
I wrench myself free and shove him back. Then without breaking eye contact I adjust my bag from where it has slipped off my shoulder.
"What is your problem?" I hiss angrily
"Problema?" The accent thickens around the word, curling through it. His eyes are dark and thoroughly unimpressed. "You have a lot of nerves, stalker."
"I heard something," I say. "I thought someone was in trouble and I wanted to help you dickhead..."
It's not a crime.
"At this school," he begins, stepping a little closer, "the only person you should be worried about is yourself. Capito?"
I stare at him. Don't do it, Sophi dont punch him in his face.
Something builds behind my sternum, something hot and wordless and entirely too large for this conversation and I am so aware that the smart thing to do is nothing.
Maybe to nod and leave and let him have this one because it costs me nothing.
Just keep the peace. Don't make it worse. Just walk away Sophi .
But sadly I have never been particularly good at the smart thing.So I take one last deep breath and press a angry "Kiss my ass" out.
The silence that follows lasts exactly one second before he laughs.
And oh my good this guy even laught arrogant and almost involuntary, like I have surprised it out of him.
He then shakes his head slowly before he reaches out.
Unhurried.
Completely unbothered.
Like we're standing somewhere completely normal and this is a completely normal thing to do and tucks a strand of hair away from my face.
Causing me to hold my breath, not daring to breath his scent in.
His fingers barely grazing my cheekbone , a gesture so light it could almost be argued it didn't happen at all.
Almost.
I don't dare to move.
I hold his gaze and hope very sincerely that my expression isn't giving away the fact that my entire nervous system has just short circuited.
Idiot.
"Attenta a quello che desideri, stalker," he says quietly.
Careful what you wish for.
His eyes stay on mine for one more long, unhurried second before the two figures from around the corner materialize a few feet away, looking between us with expressions that shift from confused to amused in approximately half a second.
"Lorenzo, we need to..." one of them starts, then stops and grins when he sees me. "Oh. Are we interrupting something?"
"Looks like it," the asian looking guy says.
"I was just leaving," I mutter.
And shoot Lorenzo one last look before I turn and walk away without waiting for a response.
Something is very strange about this school.