Chapter 52: Double Trouble
The whispers started before Halifax even got to the first equation.
It was like someone had opened a window mid-lecture and let in the whole campus rumor mill. Heads kept twisting back, sideways, forward again, a ripple of hushed gasps and muffled laughter skating across the room.
At first, I thought maybe Halifax had written something wrong on the board—he’d done it once or twice before, and the class had turned into a small circus of corrections. But then I followed the collective gaze.
Yeah. Not the chalk.
Avery Brooke Prescott sat three rows over like she’d been born on a throne and somehow got demoted to a classroom chair. She wasn’t even doing anything—just adjusting her hair with two fingers, stretching one leg out beneath the desk like she owned the floor, smiling faintly when she noticed someone staring too long.
Every movement was deliberate.
Every sigh timed.
Every look a dare.
It reminded me of someone.
Halifax slammed the chalk down against the board. "Enough. I said enough." His voice cracked the low buzz of chatter clean in half. He scanned the room once, twice, and his eyes landed right on her. "Miss Prescott. I’d prefer to continue without the theatrics."
Avery tilted her head like she didn’t understand the accusation—or like she understood it perfectly and just didn’t care. "I was only listening, Professor," she said, tone sugar-sweet but with that spoiled undercurrent that somehow managed to sound like both compliance and mockery.
The class snickered again. Halifax pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered something about this semester being a curse, and turned back to the board.
Beside me, Celestia shifted.
She hadn’t said a word since Avery walked in earlier, but I didn’t need her to. She was radiating that sharp, silent, I’m watching you energy she usually reserved for waitresses who smiled at me a little too brightly. Her nails tapped an absent-minded rhythm against the desk, her chin resting lazily on her palm.
Except the laziness was a lie.
I’d been with her long enough to recognize the difference between her I’m bored act and her I’m hunting one.
"Your girlfriend’s fangs are out," Marina whispered from the desk behind me, smothering a grin behind her notebook.
Celestia didn’t even look at her. She just leaned closer to me, voice low, eyes still fixed ahead. "Why’s she breathing so loud? It’s irritating."
"She’s... not," I murmured back, lips twitching.
Celestia finally looked at me then, narrowed her eyes like I’d just betrayed her by defending the girl’s right to oxygen. "You’re on her side?"
"Pretty sure I’m on the side of logic here."
"Logic," she scoffed under her breath, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Disgusting. Husband, I’ll have you know logic is overrated."
There it was. She dropped the word like it was a grenade right in front of Marina, who blinked and choked on a laugh, scribbling something extra hard in her notes just to have an excuse not to react.
Celestia smiled to herself, satisfied, and turned back to the front. Her posture was still sharp, though, her shoulders just a little too stiff.
Meanwhile, Avery? She soaked in the attention like sunlight. The more Halifax snapped at the class, the more she seemed to shine—crossing her legs slowly, flipping her blonde hair back when she raised her hand to ask a question she clearly already knew the answer to. Her voice carried easily across the room, soft but confident, practiced.
And everyone noticed.
Because the resemblance wasn’t just in her attitude.
It was in her timing.
Her tone.
The way she demanded gravity without begging for it.
Celestia 2.0.
The only person who didn’t seem aware of it was Avery herself. She thought she was the cause of the whispers because she was hot—and, okay, she wasn’t wrong. But the real shock was that we’d all seen this show before. Celestia had been running this campus since the day she transferred, and now suddenly there were two of them.
One brunette.
One blonde.
Same storm, different shade.
Halifax pushed through the lecture like a man resigned to his fate, and I spent the entire hour watching the two gravitational pulls in the room.
Celestia leaning against me, lazy smiles weaponized into subtle warnings.
Avery twirling her pen between her fingers, stretching the silence around her into something everyone leaned toward.
Two queens, one classroom.
And me, right in the middle, pretending my notes mattered more than the battlefield being drawn without a single word.
---
Class ended with Halifax dismissing us like he’d aged a decade in one lecture. The moment his chalk hit the tray, the room burst into motion—chairs scraping, voices rising, everyone finally free to indulge in what they’d been suppressing the whole hour.
And naturally, most of that energy funneled straight toward Avery.
"Prescott, right?"
"Your accent’s kinda East Coast—am I wrong?"
"Do you have Insta?"
"Where’d you transfer from again?" one of the guys asked Avery, practically leaning on her desk.
"St. James," Avery said smoothly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Boarding. Way too stiff, way too dull. I decided I deserved something... better."
Cue the sighs and murmurs of approval.
"You made the right choice," another chimed in, eyes shining a little too much. "You’ll love it here."
Avery smiled, soaking it in like it was her birthright. It was the kind of smile that didn’t just answer—it invited more. And more came. Compliments, questions, numbers offered. She was running the room.
Until one girl—sharp-nosed, glossy-lipped, perched at the edge of the crowd—decided to add her own little spark to the fire.
"Better?" the girl drawled, tilting her head. "Well... maybe. But you know there’s already someone like you here, right?"
The group paused. Avery’s smile held, though a tiny flicker of confusion ran beneath it. "Like me?"
"Oh, you haven’t met her?" The girl’s lips curved wickedly. "Celestia Valentina Moreau. Transferred last semester, midyear. Caused a riot without even trying. Everyone knows her. She’s—" The girl waved a manicured hand vaguely in the air. "You’ll see."
A few of the guys chuckled, nodding like it was a well-worn truth.
"Yeah, she’s... unforgettable."
"Kind of scary, honestly. But hot."
"Total genius, too."
Avery’s smile didn’t falter, but her grip on her notebook tightened, just slightly. "Unforgettable," she repeated, voice syrupy sweet, as if testing the word on her tongue.
The glossy-lipped girl leaned closer, eyes glinting. "Careful, though. Around here? She’s the queen bee. And she doesn’t share crowns."
The group laughed lightly at the jab, like it was all harmless gossip.
But Avery’s eyes sharpened, just for a breath. A glimmer of irritation cut through the polished charm before she smoothed it over again. "Thanks for the... heads up," she said sweetly, her voice carrying just enough bite that the girl leaned back, smirking.
---
It was like watching moths swarm a lamp. Half the guys, and a handful of bold girls too, crowded around her. Avery didn’t just accept the attention; she orchestrated it, chin lifted, lips curved in a slow smile as she answered just enough questions to keep them hanging. She leaned forward when she spoke, flipped her blonde hair when someone complimented it, laughed in a way that made two guys visibly lose balance.
It was flawless.
Calculated.
Queen Bee 101.
Except...
"Boring," Celestia said flatly beside me, looping her arm through mine as we stood. She didn’t even glance in Avery’s direction. "Come on, husband. Walk me out before I die of secondhand embarrassment."
I blinked. "You’re... not going to—"
"What? Guard my throne?" She scoffed, tugging me toward the door with a sway in her hips. "Please. I already won."
She said it with such brutal casualness that I almost laughed. And apparently, so did half the room—because as we moved past the knot of students swarming Avery, I caught a few side-eyes, whispers trailing behind us like smoke.
That was the sting.
Avery noticed.
Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second as her eyes tracked us—me, but mostly Celestia, who was clinging like a spoiled cat and humming under her breath as though she hadn’t just hijacked the spotlight by existing.
And for the first time since she walked in, Avery’s shine dimmed.
She didn’t let it show long. Straightening, she excused herself from the crowd and stepped neatly into our path, right in front of the door. A flawless block.
"Celestia, right?" she said, her smile bright but sharp. "I’ve heard about you."
Celestia stopped, cocked her head, and blinked with the most painfully fake sweetness I’d ever seen. "Oh? That’s adorable. People are still talking about me? Husband, did you hear that?" She squeezed my arm tighter, eyes never leaving Avery’s.
Avery’s gaze flicked to me for half a second before snapping back. "They said you were... unforgettable."
Celestia’s grin widened. "That’s one word for it." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough that the people closest had to strain to hear. "Another word is irreplaceable."
A ripple went through the circle forming around us.
I knew this look. This was Celestia’s bratty chess face—the one she used when she didn’t even need a board to win.
Avery didn’t flinch, though. She tucked a strand of blonde behind her ear, her tone syrupy sweet. "You must be tired, keeping everyone’s eyes on you all the time. Maybe I can give you a break?"
Celestia laughed, genuine and sharp like glass. "Honey, if you want attention, you’ll have to steal it. And if you try..." She shrugged, smiling too sweetly. "Don’t cry when it doesn’t work."
The air between them snapped like static.
I swear, the entire hallway was holding its breath. Marina, who’d hung back by the door, mouthed a very eloquent oh, shit.
Avery kept her smile, but her jaw tightened just slightly. "Guess we’ll see."
Celestia leaned back against me then, utterly unbothered, twirling a strand of her hair like Avery hadn’t even spoken. "We won’t," she said simply, already pulling me toward the exit again. "Husband, buy me ice cream, I’ve worked hard. Being queen is exhausting."
And just like that, the fight ended—at least for now.
But Avery’s eyes followed us out, and I could see it, clear as day.
That flicker of shock.
That sting of insult.
And beneath it, the decision forming:
If she couldn’t be the queen by default... she’d make herself one.
---
To be continued...