JADE'S POV
The grease trap exploded at exactly 10:47 PM.
I knew the time because I was staring at the clock, counting down the minutes until my shift ended, when brown sludge erupted from under the sink like a volcano. It sprayed everywhere—my face, my hair, my already-disgusting uniform.
"Are you kidding me?" I screamed at the ceiling.
The universe didn't answer. It never did.
I grabbed every towel we had and dropped to my knees, scrubbing at the flood of gross liquid spreading across the café floor. My hands were raw and red from washing dishes for six hours straight. My back hurt. My feet hurt. Everything hurt.
This was my life now. Had been for two years, ever since Mom died and left me with a sister who hated me and bills that never stopped coming.
"Jade!" Victoria's screech cut through my misery. "Stop working for like, two seconds! It's starting!"
My sister burst through the café door, her perfectly curled hair bouncing, her makeup flawless even at almost eleven at night. She wore the designer dress I'd bought her last month with my tips—the tips I'd been saving for our overdue electric bill.
"I'm kind of busy, Vic." I gestured at the disaster zone around me.
"The Lottery announcement!" She shoved her phone in my face. "I need moral support!"
The Academy Lottery. Every year, one "lucky" regular person got chosen to attend Regency Academy, where billionaires and royalty sent their kids. Victoria had been obsessed with it since she was thirteen, applying every single year even though the odds were literally one in forty million.
"You don't need moral support. You need realistic expectations." I went back to scrubbing.
Victoria's face turned red. "You're so mean! Just because you don't have dreams doesn't mean you can crush mine!"
That stung more than it should have. I did have dreams once. Before Mom got sick. Before hospital bills ate everything. Before I had to drop out of college to keep us from being homeless.
"Fine." I threw down my towel and stood up, even though my manager would kill me if I didn't clean this up. "Let's watch rich people play savior."
Victoria squealed and pulled up the livestream on her phone. The screen showed a massive stage with thousands of screaming people in the audience. A woman in a glittering dress stood at the podium, smiling like she was about to announce world peace instead of one random scholarship.
"Every year," the woman said, her voice dripping with fake warmth, "Regency Academy chooses one exceptional student from the general population to join our prestigious institution. This year, we received over forty million applications from around the world."
"Forty million people with nothing better to do," I muttered.
Victoria elbowed me hard. "Shut up!"
The woman continued, "Our selected student will receive full tuition, room and board, a monthly living stipend, and the opportunity to study alongside the future leaders of our world."
Translation: one poor kid gets to be the token charity case so rich people can feel good about themselves.
"This year's lottery winner is..." The woman paused dramatically, and I swear Victoria stopped breathing. "JADE ELIZABETH MORRISON!"
The phone slipped from Victoria's hands.
For a second, I thought I'd heard wrong. That couldn't be my name. I hadn't even applied.
But then every single device in the café started blaring the same announcement. The TV on the wall. The radio by the register. Someone's laptop at a corner table. All of them showing my face—my horrible employee photo from the café website—blown up on screens everywhere.
"Jade Morrison, twenty-one years old, from Seattle, Washington! Congratulations!"
The coffee pot fell from my numb fingers and exploded against the floor.
This wasn't happening. This was some kind of mistake. Some sick joke.
I looked at Victoria. My sister's face had gone white, then red, then a purple color I'd never seen before. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes filled with tears—not happy tears. Angry tears.
"You?" Her voice came out like a hiss. "YOU?"
"Vic, I didn't—"
"I'VE APPLIED FOR FIVE YEARS!" She was screaming now, not caring that customers were staring. "FIVE YEARS! I did everything right! I took extra classes, I volunteered, I wrote perfect essays! And you—you didn't even WANT this!"
She was right. I didn't want this. I didn't want anything except to survive another day.
"You ruin everything!" Victoria grabbed her phone and her purse. "Mom would be so disappointed that they picked you instead of me!"
The words hit like a slap. Before I could respond, she stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.
I stood there, covered in grease and coffee, surrounded by shattered glass and broken dreams—mine or hers, I couldn't tell anymore.
My phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.
Unknown numbers. Dozens of them. Text messages flooding in faster than I could read them.
"Congratulations, Miss Morrison! A car will arrive at your residence at 6 AM."
"Please pack essentials only. Everything else will be provided."
"You are not permitted to decline this selection. Attendance is mandatory per the contract clause in the lottery system."
Wait. What?
I scrolled frantically through my phone, trying to find anything about a lottery application. And then I saw it—buried in my spam folder from three months ago. An email with Victoria's name in the subject line.
She'd applied using MY name. My email. My identity.
My sister had entered me in the lottery without telling me, probably hoping to use my spot if I won because I was older and technically more qualified on paper.
And now I was being forced to go to some elite school I never wanted to attend, while Victoria hated me for stealing her dream, even though she was the one who put my name in.
Another text came through, this one from a number with no caller ID:
"Car arrives in seven hours. Do not attempt to run. Do not speak to media. You belong to Regency Academy now."
Belong to them?
My hands started shaking. I looked around the tiny café—at the broken glass, the spilled coffee, the grease stain that would probably never come out.
This was my life. Messy, broken, barely hanging on. But it was MINE.
I didn't want some fancy school. I didn't want to be around spoiled rich kids who'd treat me like their pet charity project. I didn't want any of this.
But that last text message made my blood run cold.
"Do not attempt to run."
How did they even know I was thinking about running?
I looked up at the café's security camera, its red light blinking in the corner.
Were they watching me right now?
My phone buzzed one final time. Another unknown number. But this message was different:
"Come to Regency Academy, Jade Morrison. Or your sister Victoria will face legal consequences for lottery fraud. Your choice. Six hours and fifty-three minutes until pickup."
The phone fell from my shaking hands.
They were blackmailing me. They knew what Victoria had done, and they were going to use it to force me to attend.
I had to protect her. Even after everything she'd said. Even after she'd blamed me and stormed out. She was still my sister. Still all the family I had left.
Outside, headlights flashed in the parking lot. A black car with tinted windows sat idling, waiting.
They weren't giving me until morning.
They were taking me now.