CHAPTER 37: 7 DIVAS

"You know the kind of man I am. I’m a gentleman. I’ve been around many women, yes, but never –not once– have you heard of any misconduct. Never has anyone dared to disrespect you, and I will never allow anyone to start now."

He cupped her cheeks, his eyes searching hers. "Please, trust me, my love."

She didn’t reply immediately. She just stared at his face, her expression unreadable. David’s heart trembled with the weight of uncertainty, clinging to the hope that she would believe him, trust him again, and let things return to how they used to be.

Once he crossed this hurdle, he knew he had to be more careful. No more blind spots. No more assumptions. And no more Linda...or maybe there would be, but if she would, she has to exist on his own terms.

"Alright." Her voice was soft, sudden, but steady.

David blinked. "You believe me?"

Anita gave a small nod, then a soft smile crossed her features. "You’re my loving husband. We’ve been married for eight years. And this home was built on trust."

David’s shoulders sagged with relief. He pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face into her neck. "Thank you," he whispered. "I swear, my love, I’ll never let anything come between us again."

She rested her hands gently on his back, head on his chest, breathing in the fragrance she knew too well. "Then make sure she understands that too. I don’t want to fight shadows in my own home."

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, serious now. "I will. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Clear the air...properly."

Anita gave a slight nod, and for the first time in days, the tension between them eased. Not fully dissolved, but enough for the silence that followed to feel warm again...

Then, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. An email from Sapphire Bistro.

"Go, finish your food, my dinner is here," she said, her voice gentle as she gestured to the unfinished plate on the table.

David smiled, kissed her forehead, and let go of her, moving back around the table, acting like the conversation had settled, like trust had been restored.

Anita picked up her phone and quietly slipped out of the dining room.

The smile she’d just plastered on her face vanished the moment she turned her back to him.

The most important chess piece had just been moved.

...

Greenville Scholar Academy.

A school for the crème de la crème of society – The elite, prodigies, perfectly polished heirs to the country’s wealthiest empires and most powerful legacies – was nestled behind iron gates and centuries-old ivy-covered walls. Greenville wasn’t just a school. It was a kingdom. And every student inside was a ruler in the making.

But among the glinting hallways and marble staircases, secrets whispered louder than any school bell.

Because at Greenville, reputation was everything. And even the brightest crowns could crack.

Students, polished to the last letter, could be seen gliding through the halls like royalty – tailored uniforms hugging perfect postures, designer shoes clicking against pristine floors, and eyes sharp with ambition, secrets, or both. Their smiles were practiced. Their laughs, measured. Every gesture was a performance in power, and every conversation was laced with double meanings.

Some could be seen lounging in sun-drenched courtyards discussing stock trends, planning charity galas, or plotting silent takedowns of rivals with nothing more than a smirk. Some came from royal bloodlines; others were heirs to tech empires, oil fortunes, or criminal dynasties cloaked in legitimacy.

Charlotte looked every inch the picture of polished grace in her school uniform, classic and crisp with a touch of elite charm. The navy blue jacket fit her frame perfectly, tailored just enough to hint at discipline without sacrificing elegance.

Gold buttons gleamed down the front in neat rows, matching the delicate trim that ran along the cuffs and edges. The school crest, stitched in gold and proud on her chest, stood out like a silent badge of belonging, of tradition.

Beneath the blazer, a white collared shirt stayed tucked and pristine, paired with a ribboned or striped tie depending on the uniform’s variation.

Her pleated skirt fell modestly short above her knees, but never careless to reveal too much. She wore black thigh high boots with pencil heels.

Even her accessories spoke volumes. Diamond pins adorned her silky chestnut waves, catching the light with every tilt of her head. A custom made silver Cartier bracelet with diamond stones hugged her wrist. Her nails were manicured in a nude gloss that screamed restraint and class, and her perfume – barely there – was the kind you could only recognize if you moved in her circles.

Charlotte didn’t just walk through Greenville. She was the reigning queen and the head of the 7 Divas.

Flanked by her six friends, who were equally dripping with curated luxury, like fashion goddesses.

They moved with the kind of effortless dominance that made the air pause. Every hallway they entered fell into a hush, students parting like the Red Sea, some offering tight-lipped smiles, others casting envious stares.

Charlotte didn’t acknowledge most. She didn’t need to. A single glance from her could make or break your social standing. And everyone knew it.

Their heels clicked in perfect sync against the marble floors, echoing like a warning bell — the queens were coming. Bags matched their shoes, hair flowed like silk in the sunlight that streamed through stained glass windows, and their expressions? Unbothered. Untouchable.

Charlotte adjusted the strap of her satchel — obviously the latest release from a top-tier designer, its logo subtle but unmistakable to those who mattered.

"You see her shoes?" Annalise, the petite red-haired one –who didn’t want to go to jail– murmured, voice low, lips barely moving. She was talking about another student. "Second year. Knockoffs."

"Tragic," Sloane, black-haired –who didn’t want to be sent abroad– drawled. "She should be expelled on sight."

Charlotte didn’t laugh, but a smile ghosted her lips. Not cruel. Just... superior.

They turned the corner toward the East Wing — the senior lounge, where only the most elite had earned access — when a shift in the air caught Charlotte’s attention.

The hallway wasn’t just watching them today.

It was watching someone else.

She slowed.

And then she saw him.

Leaning against the lockers like he owned them. Jet-black hair, loosely styled. Navy blue blazer slightly rumpled in a way that looked infuriatingly intentional and rugged. Hands in his pockets. Ocean blue eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked right on her.

Kingsley Blackthorn.

The only man who makes her heart skip a beat.