Charity Case (Kings of Knightswood Academy Book 1)
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CHARITY CASE
Kings of Knightswood Academy I
IVY CLYDE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Ivy Clyde. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted and reproduced in any manner or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or whatsoever without written permission of the author.
For information contact, Ivy Clyde
Table of Contents
CHARITY CASE
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Ready for the next part in Daria’s journey?
About Ivy
CHARITY CASE
Careful what you wish for.
Attending the elite Knightswood Academy was always a dream I knew would never come true until it did…
The life I knew for seventeen years shattered the day a freak accident burned it all down, including my mother.
I expected a social worker to come take me away but my life is forever changed when a stranger steps in, claiming to be my legal guardian, one my mother appointed thirteen years ago.
Whisked away to a mansion and a world I could only conjure in my wildest imagination, I am enrolled in the school of my dreams, the elite academy which my mother attended.
Knightswood Academy is the last connection I have to my mother and the only reason I agree to stay in a stranger’s home. But before I can get too comfortable, I am shown the door out of the glittering world I’ve just stepped in.
The Kings of Knightswood Academy don’t want me there.
And they will make sure I understand just how badly and why…
For I am nothing but the charity case. Someone they can step on, trample over and force to leave because Knightswood Academy is reserved only for the elites.
But I’m a girl who grew up in the shadiest parts of town. I am prepared to stay and carve my place at the academy despite every single barb and stone thrown my way.
The only thing I never expected was to come face-to-face with the darkness the academy hides in its polished halls and the only people I can trust to get me out alive are my three tormentors.
Charity Case is the first book in a contemporary reverse harem high school romance series.
Note: The Kings of Knightswood Academy is a reverse harem academy series meant for mature readers who enjoy their academy romances with some bullying and no restraint to language, violence and a few heated scenes.
1
Paris
A stranger looked back at me from the mirror.
Dressed in an elegant black dress with full, fitting sleeves, I sat in a plush chair, waiting for Mrs. Davenport to collect me for my mother’s funeral. The background behind me was one of extreme opulence. Long velvet curtains on tall windows, a large four-poster bed with luxurious sheets and a gorgeous crystal chandelier hanging right over it. Dark, mahogany furniture complemented the cream-décor of the room perfectly.
This isn’t my world. The thought came crashing back to me as I stared back at the stranger in the mirror’s surface.
The only things familiar about her were the long locks of indigo-dyed hair and large emerald-green eyes.
They were the only things left behind by my mother.
Tears gathered in my eyes. My lips trembled as a big sob built deep inside me.
My hands clutched at the skirt of my dress as I forced myself not to cry. “Crying won’t bring her back,” I whispered to the pale-faced girl in the mirror.
If only I wasn’t such an idiot on that fateful day and stayed back to help my mother, I wouldn’t be here. Mom would be by my side and I’d be home.
For the hundredth time, my thoughts went back to the exact moment my old life completely shattered.
2
Paris
Three days ago…
It was one of the last warm days of summer when I woke up that morning. The heavenly fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg hung in the air. Breathing in the aroma deeply, I got out of bed. A glance at the window told me it was still early.
Without bothering to get out of my tank top and strawberry-printed PJ shorts, I headed out of my tiny bedroom. Following the delicious smell of baking cinnamon rolls, I headed down the stairs to reach my mother’s kitchen.
Mom ran a bakery which was famous for its cinnamon rolls and chocolate-chip muffins. Even though we were located in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Philadelphia, people always flocked around our cake shop at breakfast and lunchtime for our signature rolls and coffee.
“Need help?” I asked, entering the kitchen.
While I was still in my PJs with my indigo-dyed hair in a messy bun, Mom was dressed in a tidy dress with a clean apron at her front. The long length of her auburn tresses was neatly tucked into a hairnet. She smiled at me and shook her head.
“Go take a shower first,” she said, going back to knead a large mound of dough. “After that, eat breakfast. I made some French toast with the leftover bread from yesterday.”
“Yum!” I skipped on the spot, a habit that I couldn’t get rid of even though I’d turned seventeen a few months ago. “Is it okay if I ask Zoya over for breakfast? She’s been nagging me for a whole week now.”
Mom stopped kneading. A worried look came over her as she glanced at me. “You should spend the day with her. It’s not right of me to keep you holed up here all the time. There’s only a week left before summer is over and you go back to school.”
“It’s no big deal, Mom,” I said, walking up to her and giving her a hug. “I like helping out.”
She kissed the top of my head, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “I still don’t want you to miss out on being a teen. You only get to do this once.” She sighed, going back to her kneading. “You’re too good to me, kid.”
“And you’re the best, Mom,” I said, tightening my hold over her soft body. I took a whiff of her scent. She even smelled like baked cookies. “Okay, I guess I’ll go give her a call but I’m helping you out at lunchtime.”
I ran up the stairs to go back to my room to call my best friend Zoya. It was barely six in the morning but I didn’t hesitate to call her.
“What?” her annoyed voice came through the phone.
“Come over for breakfast. There’s French toast on the menu.”
She moaned, mumbling incoherently. Bizarrely, I knew exactly what she meant.
Switching off the call, I headed inside the bathroom for a quick shower. Putting my hair in a shower cap, I got under the hot jet of water. I was in love with my new hair color, inspired by my favorite K-pop idol of the boy band BTS. Zoya said it made me look like an anime-wannabe. It was the best compliment she could pay m
e.
After the shower, I got dressed in a faded pink t-shirt and ripped jeans for the day. Picking up a comb, I brushed away the tangles in my hair and let it flow loosely around my shoulders.
The scent of cinnamon got stronger in the air.
Mom must have started on her second batch of cinnamon rolls, I thought, heading to the small kitchen outside my room. It also formed part of our living room. Mom and I lived in the space over the bakery. The building was decades old and Mom got it for cheap rent when she first started living here. The owner hadn’t raised the price but instead came for a muffin or a roll every day.
The sound of crunching gravels came through the open living room window. A shiny black Lamborghini had come to a stop right outside the closed bakery. It looked especially extravagant among the crumbling buildings of the neighborhood.
Knowing it to be Zoya, I rushed downstairs to open the door for her.
She stood at the doorstep, dressed in denim shorts and a bell-sleeved white shirt. More than half her face was covered by designer sunglasses. Her dark hair was tied in a high ponytail.
“I am hungry,” she grumbled, pushing past me to enter the back entrance of the bakery.
“Breakfast is ready,” I said, waving at her driver who drove away the expensive car. Turning back to my best friend, I followed her up the stairs.
Most people couldn’t fathom how someone like Zoya could be friends with someone like me. She lived in one of the finest estates of Chestnut Hill Avenue but attended Kensington High, a public school in my part of town. Our mothers had been friends for years with Zoya and me growing up together since we were babies. When she was twelve, her mother married a rich tycoon with a chain of international hotels. While their living conditions changed dramatically, Zoya and I still couldn’t stop being friends.
After being bullied at the new prep school her stepfather sent her, Zoya was sent back to Kensington High. We’d been inseparable since then.
Zoya removed the sunglasses and took up a seat at our table. There were heavy bags under her eyes as she smiled at me. “I have some exciting news today.”
“Exciting?” I glanced at her over the counter where I’d started preparing our breakfast plates. Mom made the French toasts but I was loading them up with Greek yogurt and berries.
“I stole Martha’s dildo when she was in the bathroom,” she said, patting the large handbag at her side. “I think I’m finally seeing the virtues of waking up early.”
“What?” I burst out laughing.
Martha was a maid at Zoya’s household who kept a close watch over her and complained about the smallest things to her stepfather. Both she and her mother detested the old cougar who liked stirring trouble for them.
“Don’t tell me you have it in that bag?”
“Yep,” she said, patting it.
“Ewww!”
I brought the plates to the table and set one in front of her. Taking a seat beside her, I asked, “What do you plan to do with it?”
“I was thinking of wrapping it in gift paper and giving it to Nikolai.”
I choked on the strawberry I’d just popped into my mouth. “What?” I sputtered, massaging my chest as the whole fruit struggled to go down my food pipe. “Why would you do that to him?”
She shrugged, picking up the knife and fork to cut into her toasts.
Nikolai was her stepbrother and about the same age as her. While he didn’t treat her badly, he didn’t care much for her either. His apathetic stance always got on Zoya’s nerves.
“Why, Zoya?” I asked, smothering a laugh. “Why would you do that to the poor guy?”
She scoffed. “Poor guy? When was the last time you saw him?”
I paused before taking a sip of my juice. “The last time I visited your house. Maybe, five years ago?”
While Zoya came and went out of my house any time she pleased, I was never invited to her home. Her stepfather often entertained his business partners there and insisted on keeping things “secure”. He didn’t like any outsiders in his home. Zoya had once whispered the words ‘Russian mafia’ to me when I’d complained about her new family. I never asked to visit her house again.
“Nikolai has started engaging in his daddy’s business these days,” said Zoya with a pout. “He treats me like an annoying puppy, like just the sight of me drives him mad. He needs a whack to the head with Martha’s giant dildo to bring him back to earth.” She chomped on a mouthful of toast and fruit, glaring at me. “Why can’t he be a good brother to me? It’s not like I ask for much.”
“You can’t force someone,” I said. Nikolai left a lasting impression on me the first time I met him. He’d been cold and unmoving as a statue at his father’s wedding. Even as a twelve-year-old kid, he was somber and aloof, barely speaking to anyone. “Is he like that with you or everyone?”
“Everyone.” She huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Anyway, that’s what we’re doing this afternoon,” announced Zoya. “He comes home this weekend, so I am going to meet him at the school gates and give him a welcome-home present.”
My shoulders shook as I laughed. “He’ll kill you.”
Zoya grinned. “At least, he’ll have to look at me to do that.”
“You know I love you, right?” I asked her.
“Are you afraid I’ll give you Martha’s used dildo too?” she asked, grinning.
I threw a raspberry at her which she expertly caught in her wide open mouth.
“You want some coffee?” I asked, moving from the table to collect our plates.
“Sure.”
As I prepared the coffee, I watched Zoya put on plastic gloves from the corner of my eyes. Waiting for the water to boil and steam, I turned to watch her. She took out an astonishingly large green dildo.
“Is your housekeeper a fan of the Hulk?” I asked, staring at the gigantic green dildo. It was the size and thickness of my forearm. “Are you sure she actually uses something like this?”
“Positive,” said Zoya. “It was on her bedside table.”
“Gross! Get it away from the table,” I cried when she was about to put it down.
Zoya grinned mischievously and pointed it at me. “It even vibrates. See?” She pressed a switch at the base. The giant dildo began reverberating with a buzzing sound. It was impossible not to laugh out loud, imagining the sixty-year-old woman using something like this to get off.
The sound of the coffee pot filling up with fresh coffee distracted me from the sight. Turning away, I filled two cups, adding sugar and cream in both our beverages.
“You’ve got to hold it while I wrap it,” said Zoya as I placed her cup before her. “It would have been so much easier if I could put it down.”
“No way that thing is touching anything in this house.”
“Prude,” she mumbled, pouting at me. Reaching into her bag, she threw a pair of gloves at me. “Put them on.”
Sighing, I did as she told me, holding the dildo while she wrapped it in gift paper. Zoya came to my house prepared for the prank.
“What do you think?” she asked, sitting back after she’d covered the whole thing in shiny red paper.
“It looks like a giant dildo,” I told her. She’d done a sloppy job and anyone with a sprinkling of dirt in their minds would know exactly what it was covering.
She shrugged. “Nikolai is still getting it.”
“When do you plan to go?”
“We should leave at about two in the afternoon. His school gets over at 3 P.M. but it will take an hour from here to drive to Knightswood.”
I’d promised to help Mom this afternoon but the lure of visiting Knightswood Academy was too strong. It was an elite prep school for the rich and famous of the city. It was the place Mom met my father. She’d been a scholarship student there and often spoke of her memories of the school. A smile would always brighten her face when she spoke of Dad and the time they spent there.
“I should go tell Mom,” I said, draining the last of my coffee. “Want to
eat some fresh cinnamon rolls too?”
“Always!” I was almost out of the door when she called me back. “Hey, Paris! I’ll be in your room.”
Waving at her, I skipped down the small flight of steps that led to Mom’s kitchen. Two batches of cinnamon rolls were already done. Beside them, sat a tray of blueberry muffins. Mom was frantically beating icing for the rolls. A few strands of her auburn locks escaped her hairnet and stuck to her sweaty forehead. It was times like this when I realized how hard she worked to keep her bakery open and provide for us.
We had no contact with my father. She wouldn’t even tell me his name. From what I knew, she got pregnant with me in her senior year at school. My dad’s family was dead against them being together and circumstances forced her to run away from him.
In all these years, she didn’t curse my father. No matter how tough she had it, Mom never looked at another guy. She was still young and beautiful. Zoya’s mother often offered to introduce her to rich men from her new social circle but Mom always turned her offer down. She was still in love with my father.
“Paris.” Mom’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. “I heard Zoya arrive.”
I nodded.
“Did you two eat breakfast yet?”
“Yeah, we’re done with that. About this afternoon…” Guilt weighed in my belly as I looked at her. “Zoya will be visiting her brother at Knightswood Academy. I was thinking about going with her.”
Anxiety flashed through her face but she was quick to hide it. “You should go,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Are you okay, Mom?” I asked, wondering why she looked uncomfortable. “I don’t mind staying back and helping.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, honey. Just make sure you enjoy yourself.”
Even though something felt off, I decided it was my imagination. There was nothing for Mom to worry about with me visiting Knightswood Academy with Zoya. We’d even have a chauffeur to drive us there.
Planting a kiss on her cheek, I gave her a tight hug before rushing back to my room.