Because Sierra wasn't just any Belle. She was the direct heiress of Jonathan Montgomery: the man who could make federal judges rewrite rulings over breakfast, the uncrowned emperor of the legal world. Montgomery & Associates didn't win cases; they dictated outcomes.

When Jonathan spoke, courtrooms held their breath. When he decided someone lost, they lost—careers, fortunes, freedoms.

If Phei could truly claim her—if he could break that proud, poisonous princess and bind her to him the way he intended… hehe...

And Sierra was only the beginning.

The Academy Belles.

The full, glittering roster of untouchable elite—girls who'd spent years treating him like background noise at best, a punching bag at worst.

Amber Castellano. Brett's twin, Adriana's daughter—curves poured into sin, cruelty honed to a razor. The girl who'd laughed hardest when they'd dumped paint on his uniform, who'd whispered "trash" just loud enough for him to hear at every Legacy event.

Natasha Sinclair. Daughter of the Secretary of State. Political royalty in the flesh. Cool, calculating eyes that sized up everyone like chess pieces. She'd never bothered to torment him directly—why waste energy on pawns?—but her indifference had always cut deeper than active hate.

Giana Moretti. Old money so ancient it came with shadows and rumors. Mafia princess behind closed doors, flawless society debutante in public. Dark hair, darker smile, and a reputation for making problems (and people) disappear when her family asked.

Yuki Tanaka. Heiress to a tech empire that had been crushing competitors before Harold Maxton ever dreamed of boardrooms. Quiet, terrifyingly brilliant, the kind of mind that made teachers stammer.

She'd always looked through him like he was made of smoked glass.

Aanya Kapoor. Pharmaceutical dynasty. Her family owned half the pills in America's cabinets and most of the regulators who approved them. Money that made the richest 2% look quaint. Influence that reached into hospitals, legislatures, life-and-death decisions.

Each name hit his mind like a war drum.

Each face rose unbidden—hallway glimpses, party sidelong glances, the precise flavor of disdain or dismissal they'd aimed his way over the years.

Some had been active architects of his misery.

Others had simply allowed it, watched it, benefited from it—treating him as invisible furniture in their perfect world.

All of them untouchable.

Until today.

Because today, for the first time, Phei could see the path.

A dark, delicious, inevitable path where the Academy Belles didn't just notice him—they knelt.

Where the girls who'd ignored him, mocked him, crushed him under designer heels ended up on their backs, legs spread, eyes wide with the same helpless, aching surrender he'd tasted in Sierra against that wall.

He could imagine it now—vividly, viciously.

Amber begging while he ruined her the way her family had ruined him.

Natasha's calculated composure shattering as he turned her into a whimpering mess.

Giana's dangerous edges dulled under his grip, mafia princess tamed.

Yuki's brilliant mind blanking out on pleasure.

Aanya's untouchable body marked, claimed, owned.

Every last one of them.

Conquered.

The Dragon's harem of fallen queens.

And the best part?

They'd come to him dripping, desperate, unable to stay away—because the system had built him for exactly this.

Phei's smile was slow, sharp, utterly villainous as he claimed his empty table in the corner of the cafeteria, the room's chatter dipping again as eyes followed him.

He wasn't just surviving Ashford Elite anymore.

He was going to devour it.

One perfect, poisonous Belle at a time.

Sierra was the crack in the wall—the single, hairline fracture in an otherwise impenetrable fortress.

If he could truly get to her—slide past the ice, past the pride, past every defense she'd built since birth—and make her his, body and soul branded by the Dragon… she'd become the master key.

Proximity. Access. Proof.

The boy who'd conquered Sierra Montgomery couldn't be brushed off as charity trash. Couldn't be ignored as unworthy. Couldn't be looked through like smoke.

He could—

Phei slammed the brakes on his spiraling thoughts, hard enough to feel the mental whiplash.

Slow the fuck down.

You're counting chickens that aren't even eggs yet.

For all he knew, Sierra was already locked in some marble bathroom, mascara-streaked face buried in her phone, or maybe sobbing out a perfectly rehearsed story to daddy about how the filthy scholarship pervert had assaulted her in front of half the school.

Witnesses? Check. Videos? Guaranteed. Loyal clique ready to swear on their trust funds? Absolutely.

One call from Jonathan Montgomery and Phei would be expelled by sunset, arrested by midnight, and erased by morning.

She held his entire future in her manicured hands—and she could crush it whenever she felt like it.

Whatever path she chose, he'd know soon enough. Ashford Elite moved fast when Legacy blood demanded justice. If she decided to burn him, the hammer would fall within the hour.

But there was nothing he could do about it now.

The die was cast.

The only question left was whether Sierra would crawl to him—wet, curious, haunted by the memory of how it felt to finally be overpowered—or whether she'd scorch the earth he stood on.

Fifty-fifty.

Maybe worse.

Right now, though, that was background noise.

Because in four hours and twenty-three minutes (he glanced at his phone again), Brett Castellano would be waiting in the parking lot.

A trained boxer. A wrestler. A walking slab of privileged muscle who'd been throwing punches and slamming bodies since middle school.

Someone who could snap Phei in half without breaking a sweat.

Phei's arms were still trembling from fifty pathetic push-ups that morning. His stats were dogshit. His combat experience was exactly zero.

On paper, Brett was going to fold him like cheap origami and stomp on the pieces.

But paper didn't account for systems.

Didn't account for abilities.

Didn't account for a Dragon who'd just stared down the Hell Queen of Ashford Elite, made her moan against a wall in front of the entire school, and walked away with her pride in his pocket.

Phei shoved through the cafeteria doors, the noise of the room dipping for a split second as eyes tracked him—some wary, some calculating, some already hungry for the next act.

His mind shifted gears with cold, predatory focus.

The chickens could wait.

First, he had a fight to win.

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