By noon, Queen's Crest Academy was on fire....figuratively.
It started with a scream. Not the usual hallway squeal about grades or gossip. This one had weight. It echoed. It came from the east wing chapel, a place everyone avoided unless they were confessing sins or chasing extra credit from the chaplain.
This time, though, it wasn't prayers echoing.
It was chaos.
Because someone had painted the altar.
In blood.
Real blood.
And scrawled across the white marble, in sharp, uneven letters:
"ONE MUST FALL. TONI WURAOLA."
By the time Principal Nwachukwu stormed in, her gele crooked, heels clacking, half the school had already seen the mess. Pictures. Snaps. Private stories captioned WTF?! and this school is cursed 😭.
Some girls cried.
Some screamed.
Some filmed.
Because, obviously.
Within minutes, Queen's Crest went into lockdown. Seniors herded into the auditorium like prisoners. The air was thick with fear, perfume, and curiosity.
Toni sat in the front row.
Legs crossed. Chin high. Looking like she owned the chaos.
Fendi shades. Pink gloss. Composure of a CEO.
To everyone else, she was calm.
But inside? She was boiling.
She knew who did it.
Had to be Amara.
The style was too messy, too desperate, too uncultured to be anyone else.
Amara sat three rows behind, dressed in white silk and black pants like she was attending her own coronation. That sly smile on her lips were deliberate. Dangerous. She whispered something to Ijeoma, and they both laughed.
Like Toni's name written in blood was some kind of joke.
---
Principal Nwachukwu took the stage, clutching her mic like it was a weapon.
"This is not a movie! This is not one of your telenovelas! This is a school, a prestigious institution built on morals and legacy!"
Her voice cracked. Sweat trailed down her cheek. Nobody dared to move.
"What happened this morning is sacrilegious. Unacceptable. Criminal. The east wing is sealed off. Anyone caught spreading images or rumors-"
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Phones vibrating in handbags, under desks, hidden in blazers. Too late. The world already knew.
Amara's laugh cut through the silence like a blade. Soft. Taunting.
Just loud enough for Toni to hear.
And then the lights went out.
Total blackout.
Screams erupted. One girl fainted. Another tripped. Someone yelled "Jesus!" and a chair scraped across the floor.
Then, red emergency lights flickered on, casting eerie shadows across the auditorium.
Something was sitting in the middle of the stage.
A box. Black. Gold ribbon.
The Head Girl stepped forward, hands shaking.
She opened it.
Gasps.
Inside was a single stiletto. Ruby-studded. Custom made. Expensive.
Toni's.
Beside it, a white card with gold calligraphy:
"Be careful, princess. The crown is slipping."
The room went feral.
Students shouting, filming, whispering like fire spreading through dry grass.
---
That night, Queen's Crest went dead quiet.
There was no music nor was there laughter. Just whispers floating through corridors like ghosts.
Toni paced her suite which had three rooms, private bath, chandelier but yet it suddenly felt like a coffin.
Her maid, Angela? Gone. No trace.
Her shoe? Stolen.
Her name? Written in blood.
And now, a text.
Unknown Number:
"24 hours. Choose: You or Her."
No emoji. No clue. Just that.
Toni's pulse kicked up. She crossed to her vanity and pressed the edge of the mirror.
Click.
A hidden compartment slid open her private vault.
Files. Photos. Newspaper clippings. Letters wrapped in silk.
And at the center: a sealed envelope.
Adrian's family crest embossed in red wax.
Her mother had warned her never to open it.
"This truth will ruin everything, my darling."
But maybe that's exactly what Toni needed now, to ruin everything before someone else did.
---
Meanwhile, up in the boys' dorms, Adrian was two steps ahead.
He'd hacked into the school's CCTV network through his father's old laptop because of course he had.
He replayed the chapel footage, eyes narrowing as he watched a blurred figure slip inside around 5:07 a.m.
Female. Hoodie. Gloves. Efficient.
He zoomed in frame by frame until a reflection flashed across the altar glass.
A ring.
One with an emerald stone.
His jaw tightened. That ring! Looked familiar, but where?
It wasn't Amara's.
And it wasn't Toni's.
Someone else was in the game.
---
The next morning, chaos got legs and started walking.
Breakfast was canceled. Classes suspended. The school group chat was pure wildfire.
At 9 a.m., a voice came over the speakers:
"All students, report to the gymnasium. A discovery has been made."
Toni arrived flanked by prefects like a politician under siege.
Amara strolled in late, pretending not to care.
The Vice Principal stood center stage, holding a manila file.
"An anonymous student turned this in," she said. "It contains evidence involving two senior girls."
Two screens flickered on behind her.
Screen one: Toni, in a dim office, kissing a male teacher from last semester.
Blurry. But clear enough.
Screen two: Amara, handing cash to a security guard near the back gate.
The room exploded.
Gasps. Screams. Phones everywhere.
Even the teachers looked scandalized.
Toni turned, eyes blazing.
Amara was already standing, her voice sharp.
"You evil snake!"
"Me? Don't start what you can't finish!"
They lunged.
Hair-pulling, nails, flying heels.
Girls shrieking. Chairs crashing.
It took three security guards to separate them.
Both were dragged out, still spitting insults like venom.
And in all that chaos, nobody noticed the janitor at the back quiet, smiling, sliding a USB stick into his pocket.
He wasn't a janitor.
Never had been.
---
That night, Room 407 glowed faintly under the moonlight.
A phone lit up.
Message received.
"The game has begun. Let the Queen fall."