Julius Sterling stepped out of the matte-black limousine, the morning sun bouncing off the gleaming Regalia High crest pinned to his blazer. The school gates towered before him, sleek and golden, the kind of entrance that dared you to question whether you belonged. His polished shoes clicked against the marble walkway, each stride smooth, self-assured.
He didn't just walk into Regalia High—he owned the moment.
From behind tinted windows, eyes followed. Phones came up. Whispers spread like wildfire. Not just from the Socials—the lowest rung of Regalia's elite ladder—but from the Classy, the Newly Rich, and even the Future Owners. Julius didn't care for the categories, but he had long ago learned to play by their rules… and sometimes, to bend them to his will.
He adjusted his blazer, flashed a grin at a group of girls by the entrance. One of them giggled and elbowed her friend.
"Is he even real?" she whispered.
"He looks like he walked off the cover of GQ."
His hair, tousled just enough to look effortless but sculpted like he'd stepped out of a high-end salon. His tie, perfectly knotted. His smile—lethal.
But beneath all that shine, Julius was calculating.
He wasn't the golden boy by chance. His father hadn't clawed their way into wealth with backdoor deals or scandals. No, Marcus Sterling built an empire with ruthless strategy and legal brilliance. Every acquisition had been public, every merger spotless. And Julius had inherited more than money—he had inherited the art of winning, of knowing when to charm and when to strike.
He sauntered toward the Future Owners' section of the campus courtyard, where the real power of Regalia sat. Future CEOs, diplomats, heirs of empires.
That was where Adrian Lancaster sat.
Regalia's crown prince.
He was already there, legs crossed, a thick hardcover in hand. Adrian didn't look up as Julius approached, but the air around them shifted.
Julius dropped into the empty chair across from him. "Good to see you too, Adrian. Miss me over the summer?"
Adrian's gaze flickered up. Ice-blue eyes. Sharp. Piercing. "Not even slightly."
"Aw, don't be like that," Julius replied, kicking his legs up casually. "We used to be besties, remember?"
A muscle ticked in Adrian's jaw. "We were never friends. Just two people who tolerated each other out of necessity."
"Ouch. You wound me."
Adrian's eyes returned to his book. "Some wounds deserve to fester."
Julius leaned in, smile sharpening. "And some kings forget the throne isn't nailed to the ground."
A tense silence wrapped around them like barbed wire. Eyes from nearby tables subtly shifted their way. No one dared interrupt. The Adrian-Julius rivalry was legend. Their split two years ago had left the school divided.
Still, it was Adrian who broke the silence. "Don't cause problems this year, Sterling. Stay in your lane."
Julius straightened, brushing invisible lint from his blazer. "My lane doesn't exist, Lancaster. I pave my own roads."
He stood up, giving Adrian a mock salute before walking toward the main hall. Around him, the air buzzed with excitement. Some admired him, some hated him, but everyone watched him. That was the thing about Julius—he didn't need to be liked. He just had to be seen.
He passed the Classy zone—rows of students with designer accessories and air-kisses. He waved at a few. The response was a mix of fawning and stiff nods.
One boy muttered, "Sterling thinks he's better than everyone."
Another girl replied, "Maybe because he is."
Inside the school building, the opulence intensified. Regalia High didn't look like a school—it looked like a palace. Crystal chandeliers. Oak-paneled walls. Digital screens embedded in the hallways displaying live news, stock tickers, and school achievements. Even the water from the fountains was imported.
Julius paused by his locker—no combination needed, just a fingerprint scan—and saw the day's schedule glowing on the inner door.
Business Strategy. Modern Power Structures. Global Elite History.
Regalia didn't just prepare students for college. It prepared them to rule.
He walked into class just before the bell, and already the seating hierarchy was established. First row: Future Owners. Second: Classy. Third: Newly Rich. Back row? The Socials—the ones whose parents barely cracked the six-digit club. The ones here on scholarship, talent, or legacy pity.
Julius's seat was front and center, right beside Adrian's.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
The room tensed as the last seat was filled. Whispers rippled again. Not because of Julius this time, but because of the empty desk at the far back.
Rumor had it a new student was coming.
A girl.
Scholarship.
No last name that anyone recognized.
Regalia rarely accepted nobodies. So when they did, it meant something.
But for Julius, it meant only one thing: the start of another game.
He smirked to himself as the instructor walked in and class began.
He loved the beginning of things.