Claimed by the Devils

Aria’s POV

“Check your bags one last time. You’re sure you haven’t missed anything?” My mother’s voice was as sharp and polished as the suit she wore.

I didn’t bother looking at her. We performed this little song and dance every September—the annual pilgrimage to the gilded cage known as All Saints Academy. Calling it a school was a generous lie. It was a pressure cooker for the elite, a place where the heirs of the world were refined until they were sharp enough to cut anyone beneath them.

And even though my parents were the most ruthless litigators in the state, coming from a bloodline of "old money" that could buy and sell the city, I was considered the bottom of the food chain here. I was the glitch in their perfect system.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. My parents had inherited an empire and hired strangers to run it so they could spend their lives in a courtroom. They broke every "royal" rule the academy’s founders held dear. Honestly? I respected them for that one thing. The rest of this place could burn for all I cared.

“The trunk was sent ahead last night, Mom. It’s probably already sitting in my room,” I said, my hand hovering over the door handle. I was itching to escape the expensive scent of her perfume.

This was it—senior year. The final stretch before I could vanish. My parents were already dreaming of Ivy League legacies, but they didn’t know I’d spent my summer applying to universities in Europe and tiny coastal towns three thousand miles away. I wanted out.

I wasn't like the plastic dolls that populated these hallways. I didn’t care about the social hierarchy or whose father owned which senator. That groundedness was a gift from Drew, the nanny who actually raised me while my parents were busy winning cases. She was the only mother I’d ever truly known.

She’d been gone for two years now, taken by a disease that didn't care about how much money you had. Since her funeral, my mother had developed this guilt-driven ritual of personally dropping me off, pretending she was the kind of parent who packed school lunches and kissed foreheads.

She wasn't. She was a shark who happened to have a daughter. My parents' marriage was less a romance and more a long-term legal settlement born from a high school rivalry. They hated each other, then they lusted after each other, and then they had me.

I slammed the car door and faced the battlefield.

When I was younger, Drew had snuck me into a public school for a few years. I loved it. I was just a girl there, not an "Elite." But when my parents discovered the "betrayal," the fallout was nuclear. Drew was fired on the spot, and I was dragged kicking and screaming into the hollow halls of All Saints.

I was public enemy number one from day one. I didn't wear the right brands, I didn't care for their power plays, and I refused to shrink myself to fit their narrow definitions of beauty.

“Aria!”

A genuine smile finally broke across my face. Heather was jogging toward me, her signature twin ponytails bouncing. She was a scholarship student—a literal genius who the academy tolerated only because her test scores boosted their national ranking.

We collided in a hug. My summer had been a blur of forced social galas and "beauty maintenance" appointments my mother insisted upon. Heather was my tether to reality.

“It’s happening today,” Heather whispered as we walked toward the dorms.

I groaned. “Don’t tell me you believe that superstitious garbage, too.”

“Selection isn't a myth, Aria. I’ve seen the archives.”

The legend of the Saintly Devils. Every year, the four most powerful boys in the senior class chose one girl. The rumors were dark and varied—some said she was their queen, others said she was their plaything. Either way, she became untouchable. No one could look at her, speak to her, or breathe near her without their permission.

Lucian, Rowan, Sebastian, and Elliot. They were the Four Horsemen of this shithole.

Lucian Crowes was the unofficial leader—a man-god with ice-blue eyes and a temperament to match. Rowan Hale was the chaotic one, the joker who hid a mean streak behind a windswept grin. Sebastian Knox was the golden boy, all muscle and blonde rebellion, looking like he’d rather be surfing than sitting in a boardroom. And then there was Elliot Ashford. The quiet one. The "artist" who was always sketching in the back of the room. I’d noticed the charcoal smudges on his fingers more times than I’d like to admit.

“They’ll pick Chloe or one of her clones,” I said, rolling my eyes as we reached my room. “They like girls who are easy to manage.”

“I think you’re underestimating the ‘hot nerd’ appeal,” Heather joked.

“And I think the world isn’t ready for a girl with curves who actually eats her lunch,” I shot back.

Back in public school, I’d been bullied for my weight. I’d spent nights huddled over a toilet bowl until Drew caught me. She didn't scold me; she taught me. She taught me that my body was a temple, not a public ornament. Since she died, I’ve worn my curves like armor. My mother could stay a size zero; I preferred being whole.

I changed into the uniform—the forest green skirt was ridiculously short, so I layered it over thick black tights. I skipped the blazer; the air was too heavy today.

The assembly was the usual soul-crushing boredom. The principal gave the same speech she’d given since the dawn of time. Afterward, Heather and I split up. My first stop: Math.

I hated Math. It was a language of rigid rules that didn't allow for human error. I sat in the front row, hoping the proximity to Mr. Brick would keep me focused.

The room filled with the usual buzz, mostly about "The Rose." If the Selection happened, a single red rose was given to the chosen girl.

I nearly dropped my pen when the atmosphere in the room shifted.

Lucian Crowes didn't just walk in; he took over the space. To my absolute horror, he slid into the seat directly next to me. Sebastian and Elliot took the row behind us, and Rowan leaned against the window, his gaze fixed on the back of my head.

I was surrounded.

“Mr. Hale, sit down,” Mr. Brick sighed.

“I learn better on my feet, sir,” Rowan said, flashing a note that clearly gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. He dropped a textbook on my desk with a wink. “For you, Aria.”

I didn't say a word. I stared at the chalkboard until my eyes burned. They were watching me. I could feel the weight of their attention like a physical pressure against my skin. It felt like a trap.