The parents were summoned.
Not invited. Not emailed. Summoned.
By 9:00 a.m., the Queen's Crest driveway glittered with wealth and worry black Range Rovers, matte Bentleys, a Rolls or two gleaming under the harmattan sun. Chauffeurs stood in silence, hands clasped behind their backs, sunglasses reflecting the chapel's stained glass.
Inside, the air was electric. The chapel had been converted into a council chamber mahogany tables, microphones, bottled water with gold caps. The most powerful parents in the country sat shoulder to shoulder, united not by friendship, but by fear.
At the front, Headmistress Nwachukwu gripped the podium like her career depended on it because it did.
"We are cooperating fully with national authorities," she said, voice trembling just enough to sound human. "Until Toni Wuraola is found alive and unharmed Queen's Crest Academy remains on lockdown."
Murmurs rolled through the room like low thunder.
Toni's mother stood. The woman was television royalty known for firing CEOs with a single tweet. Her aura could scorch wallpaper.
"My daughter vanishes, and all you can offer is lockdown?"
"Mrs. Wuraola, please-"
"Silence." She raised a hand. "I did not build an empire for my child to disappear behind your stained glass."
The room froze.
Then another voice cut through the noise deep, measured, dangerous.
"Headmistress," said the man in the second row. The vice president. Adrian's father. "What exactly are you suggesting? That a student kidnapped another? Or that something... darker is at play?"
No one answered.
Because everyone already knew Queen's Crest had secrets.
---
Back in the dorms, the girls had stopped pretending.
The academy was split.
Team Toni. Team Amara.
The Loyalists. The Shadows.
Even the quiet ones had picked sides.
Someone spray-painted it on the courtyard wall that afternoon:
"Pick a throne, or get buried beneath one."
At lunch, security dogs arrived sleek German Shepherds, teeth glinting under fluorescent light. They tore through duffel bags, sniffed shoes, overturned lockers.
Amara watched from her seat, arms folded, face calm. She'd mastered that control. Even when her world was burning.
At the back of the hall sat Adrian alone, immaculate, untouchable. The chaos didn't reach him. But the rumors did.
Every whisper looped back to the same question:
Who did he love more Toni or Amara?
Because maybe this wasn't about power.
Maybe it was about heartbreak.
And heartbreak, at Queen's Crest, was a weapon.
---
By 7:00 p.m., the first video dropped.
A grainy, black-and-white clip sent anonymously to every student's digital locker.
The school network crashed in ten minutes flat.
In the footage: Toni.
Kneeling. Hair tangled. Eyes swollen. Uniform ripped at the collar.
Behind her, a shadow.
Tall. Faceless. Motionless.
Toni's voice broke as she spoke.
"I didn't know. I swear I didn't mean to touch the box. I didn't know it was real."
The shadow tilted its head. A whisper followed low, distorted:
"Lies have consequences."
Cut to black.
Cut to screaming.
Phones dropped. Girls cried. A few prayed.
By nightfall, Queen's Crest wasn't a school anymore.
It was a crime scene with uniforms.
Parents demanded access.
Security tripled.
And Headmistress Nwachukwu, half out of her mind, issued the final decree:
"Until the culprit is found, no one leaves. Not even staff."
---
That night, Amara sat by the old fountain the one carved with angels that no longer looked holy.
The water was tinted red under the courtyard lights. Someone said it was just dye from the art department. No one believed that.
She lit a cigarette. First time.
Didn't cough.
Footsteps.
Adrian.
He didn't say a word. Just stood there, the moon slicing across his face like a blade.
"You think I did it," Amara said finally, not a question.
He said nothing.
She smiled bitterly. "Of course you do. Everyone does. That's the thing about being queen, they worship you until they want your crown."
He stepped closer.
"You told her, didn't you?"
Amara froze.
"About the vault," Adrian continued quietly. "About the real reason your fathers started this school."
Her lips parted, just slightly.
"You're not ready for what's buried under Queen's Crest, Adrian."
"Then tell me."
She dropped the cigarette into the red water. It hissed and died.
"First," she said, voice low, "ask your father why he made sure no boy ever stepped foot in this school... until you."
Thunder cracked in the distance.
Both turned toward the dorm blocks the lights flickered.
Then a scream ripped through the night.
Another one.
Higher. Closer.
A prefect came running across the courtyard, eyes wide, face ghost-pale.
"Someone's gone," she gasped. "Room 307. She's gone."
The cigarette smoke still hung in the air as Amara's hands began to tremble.
Because now it wasn't just Toni.
Queen's Crest had drawn blood, again.
And this time, there might not be a next chapter for anyone.