The next morning, Alivia woke up to an invasion.
A rack of clothes was wheeled into her bedroom by a woman with a severe bob cut and a tape measure around her neck.
"Up, up!" the woman clapped. "Mr. Blackburn says the 'hobo chic' look is retired."
"Who are you?" Alivia rubbed her eyes.
"Sasha. I'm here to format your hard drive. Or in this case, your closet."
For two hours, Alivia was poked, prodded, and draped in fabric. The hoodies were bagged up. The jeans were replaced with tailored trousers and silk blouses.
When Sasha was done, Alivia looked in the full-length mirror.
She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere coat, a navy dress that hugged her waist, and boots that added three inches to her height. Her hair was blown out in soft waves. She wasn't hiding anymore.
She looked... powerful.
She walked out to the living room. Gideon was drinking coffee, reading the Wall Street Journal.
He lowered the paper. His eyes swept over her, starting at her boots and ending at her eyes. He didn't smile, but his pupils dilated.
"Acceptable," he said.
"I feel like a doll," Alivia tugged at the coat.
"You look like a queen," Gideon corrected. "Act like one."
When the Audi pulled up to campus, Alivia stepped out.
The reaction was immediate. Heads turned. Conversations stopped.
She was no longer the invisible girl in the hoodie. She was an enigma, wrapped in cashmere and mystery, and the entire quad seemed to hold its breath as she passed.
She walked across the quad, the cashmere coat billowing behind her.
"Well, well."
Preston Lowe stepped into her path. He looked disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot.
"Look at you," he spat. "Spending my money?"
"Get out of my way, Preston," Alivia said calmly.
"My dad lost his grant this morning," Preston shouted. "And my cards are dead. You did this!"
A crowd began to gather.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Alivia said, stepping around him.
Preston grabbed her arm. Hard.
"Don't walk away from me, you bitch!" He yanked her back. "I want to see what's under that coat. Let's see what you're selling!"
He reached for the lapel of her coat.
Alivia froze.
Before his fingers could touch the cashmere, a hand clamped onto Preston's wrist.
It wasn't Gideon. It was Silas.
The driver had moved with impossible speed. He twisted Preston's wrist.
Snap.
Preston screamed, dropping to his knees.
"Touch Mrs. Blackburn again," Silas said, his voice like grinding gravel, "and you will lose the hand."
The crowd gasped. Mrs. Blackburn.
Silas released Preston, who curled into a ball on the grass, cradling his wrist.
Silas straightened his suit jacket and turned to Alivia. He bowed slightly.
"Are you unharmed, Ma'am?"
Alivia looked at the groaning boy on the ground, then at the terrified faces of the students around her.
"I'm fine, Silas," she said. Her voice didn't shake.
"Good. The car is waiting."
Alivia walked to the car, leaving Preston in the dirt. She didn't look back.
