Ruin Me: A College Bully Reverse Harem Romance (Weissmore Academy Book 1)

by Nora Cobb

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Ruin Me copyright @ 2020 by Nora Cobb and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  RUIN ME

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  HATE ME: Weissmore Academy Book 2

  RUIN ME

  Chapter 1

  I smoothed the paper—worn and wrinkled from numerous handlings—with my fingers and read it again:

  Dear Miss Komita, Congratulations! It is our great pleasure to inform you of your admission to the University of California at Los Angeles for the semester beginning in Fall of…

  I’d read the letter so many times that I could recite its content by memory. But that didn’t mean my heart didn’t flutter each time I looked at it.

  For months I had stared at it, not believing that I had, in fact, been accepted into UCLA. I wasn’t a straight-A student by any means, but I had graduated with a good enough GPA and once the acceptance packet had been delivered, my dream had become a reality.

  Laying the paper on my standard-issued navy blue comforter, I sighed. I’ve been in foster care all my life, moving from home to home whether it was my choice or not. I never really had a place to call my own. I could barely even could call most of the clothes in my closet mine. It wasn’t until about two years ago that I even had new clothes. Most of what I owned was hand-me-downs—either from a foster family that had been hosting me or from the shelter when I was between families.

  The older I got, the harder it had been to place me. By the time I was fifteen, I knew that they weren’t looking for an actual daughter in the family. . Most families weren’t interested in taking in a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. Parents were either more interested in a full-time nanny, a live-in maid, or—the worst one of all—someone for their wandering eyes to look at.

  Thankfully, my caseworker had allowed me to make some decisions in the last couple of years about where I went, with the last year of my state-issued care being at the shelter itself.

  Besides, I knew that in a few short months I would be removed from state care and pushed out on my own and the chances of anyone adopting me at seventeen going on eighteen were slim to none at this point.

  Not that I cared. I had given up the thought of finding a family that would formally take me in a long ago. Like many of the other teenagers that were housed in foster care, I longed for the day that I would be on my own, to start my own life and one day, my own family.

  This acceptance letter would be my first step.

  Drawing in a breath, I carefully folded the letter and placed it back in my book bag that held all my earthly belongings. Once or twice in my lifetime, I’d had to make a quick exit and found it much easier to do so if I had everything in one place. The bag went everywhere with me—almost like an extension of my body—and I didn’t care how beat up it looked. It was the closest thing I had to an actual home.

  I hugged my chin to my knees and stared out the window at the raindrops sliding down in rivulets. From my vantage point, I could see the swing set in the backyard, normally full of children when it wasn’t pouring rain outside. I, too, had spent many a summer in that yard, watching children that I made friends with leave for their own foster homes. Some came back, others didn’t. Every time one didn’t, I would wonder if they had finally found their happily ever after.

  As years passed, I quit making friends, which was easy considering I was the oldest one still here.

  The perks? I got my own room with my own bathroom. Everyone knew me: from the administrators to the cook that prepared our meals. I was allowed to pick up a part-time job, given a key to the front door, and pretty much left alone.

  The downside? I was often forgotten. As much as I put on the air of indifference and aloof coolness, I wanted someone to care about me—to give me the attention that I never truly had as a child.

  It was hard, and I’m not going to lie: some nights I cried myself to sleep because of it.

  But now I was about to be a college student, no longer just an orphan that everyone knew to be just that. I would move to California, where no one knew me or my background. A chance to reinvent myself.

  To become anyone I wanted.

  I couldn’t wait.

  A knock on my door drew me out of my thoughts and I cleared my throat. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Mrs. Terris, the administrative assistant, stood in the doorway. “Anna? Mrs. Jenkins wants to see you.”

  I stood, brushing the imaginary lint off my jeans. “Sure, okay.” I liked Mrs. Jenkins. She had taken over the administrative role ten years ago and conditions around the shelter had gotten much better because of her. The food became more edible, and the living conditions much more pleasing to the senses.

  It felt more like a home.

  I followed Mrs. Terris out of my room and down the hall, taking two steps at a time down the carpeted staircase. One thing I was going to miss about the shelter was the old house itself. The dark wood paneling was frightening to some of the smaller children, but there was a sense of familiarity to it that I found endearing.

  With Mrs. Jenkins at the helm, there were always fresh flowers on the large table in the dining room, another arrangement on the entryway table. Every room smelled like lemon polish and when the weather was nice, they opened the windows to allow for the breeze to blow through.

  As much as I hated to admit it, I was going to miss this place.

  Walking past a few of the administrative offices in the back of the house, I stepped inside Mrs. Jenkins’ office. The stately woman was seated behind her massive desk, her honey-colored hair tied neatly back off her face. On the wall were all of her accolades. I often wondered how she had gotten involved in running a shelter for she could have done anything else with her qualifications.

  “Anna,” she said, gesturing toward one of the seats before her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  It was only then that I noticed the man in a three-piece suit in other seat. His hair slicked back off his head and his eyes stared straight ahead. He was jiggling his left knee lightly, as if he was in a hurry but unable to leave.

  My heart jumped to my throat. Was I about to be passed off to another foster family?

  Mrs. Jenkins waited until I was seated before she folded her hands together. “Anna, something has come up.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “What is it?”

  The man’s eyes landed on my face, and his head cocked slightly to the side as if he were sizing me up. For a moment, I thought he was about to ask me to open my mouth to count my teeth.

  But the moment passed, he cleared his throat, and replied. �
�You have been accepted to the Weissmore Academy, Miss Komita.”

  I laughed a little, looking at Mrs. Jenkins. I had no idea what Weissmore Academy was, but it didn’t matter. “There must be some kind of mistake. I’ve already been accepted to UCLA. I’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

  “Your offer to UCLA has been rescinded,” the man answered, reached into his coat and took out a heavy envelope. “You will start at Weissmore in two weeks. Here are your papers, your passport, and some money to support your trip.”

  My eyes darted to Mrs. Jenkins. “Is this some kind of joke?” It had to be.

  “I assure you, Miss Komita, it is not.” The man stood up. “Weissmore Academy is a prestigious institution, one of the most prestigious in the world. Students are placed there by birth. You are the first American to attend in the academy’s history. You should be honored.”

  I stood then, throwing my hands in the air. “Well I didn’t apply, okay? I mean, I haven’t even heard of this place until now. So how could I have applied? And besides, why would I have even applied to something that I wasn’t remotely qualified for?”

  He straightened his coat lapels, clearly agitated by my response. “Again, Miss Komita, you will be expected to arrive in two weeks. All the details are in your admissions packet.”

  My mouth dropped open as I watched him walk out without so much as a backwards glance, feeling as if someone had punched me in the gut.

  What the hell had just happened?

  ***

  Later that evening, after the shock wore off, I called my caseworker, Sara. Sara was in her twenties and had been handling my case for four years now. She was younger than my last caseworker and I had become friends with her over the years. So when I called, Sara came right over to the shelter with my favorite ice cream in tow.

  We sat on my bed, two pints of mint chocolate chip in our laps and the contents of the packet spilled out on the comforter. “I just can’t believe it,” Sara was saying, her eyes scanning over the letter that had been part of the information. “I mean, this is like something out of a fairy-tale story. You might as well have been accepted to Hogwarts.”

  I snorted, digging around in my carton with my spoon. “Well we all know I’m no princess, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting on the Hogwarts Express anytime soon.”

  She placed the letter on the bed. “Have you called UCLA to confirm that your admission has been rescinded?”

  I nodded, my stomach twisting as I thought about the phone call I made. Even though I had the letter—the acceptance letter they had sent me—the woman on the phone had informed me that UCLA had no record of my application or my paperwork for my upcoming freshman year.

  In other words, I never even existed to them.

  I cried big fat tears after that bomb was dropped. I wanted to drive to California and wave my acceptance letter in their face. Look! I imagined myself shouting at them. You told me I was coming! Look at it!

  Of course, I had neither the intention nor the means of doing so. And the woman on the phone hung up before I could even argue my case.

  “They didn’t even know who I was.” I mumbled.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Anna.” Sara shook her head, her long hair swinging about her face. “But, this Weissmore Academy. Have you looked up the school? My God, Anna, it’s an actual castle.”

  “I did.” I looked up Weissmore the moment my UCLA call had gone south, wanting to see if I somehow stepped into some weird parallel universe. To my surprise, not only did Weissmore Academy actually exist, but both the photos online and its Google Maps pin showed an actual castle nestled in the Swiss Alps.

  I even turned on Satellite view to make sure that it wasn’t a fake. But the overhead view and the images matched.

  An actual castle in the actual frigging Swiss Alps!

  I hadn’t left the state, much less the country before, and now I was expected to show up in the Swiss Alps, to rub elbows with a bunch of kids rich beyond my wildest imagination.

  To say that I didn’t fit in was an understatement. “Well, I’m not going.”

  “Excuse me?” Sara let out a laugh. “You’ve been talking about leaving here for as long as I’ve known you. And if I were a gambling woman, I’d say you’ve been dreaming of leaving for your entire life. Anna, look at this place! UCLA doesn’t hold a candle to it, especially since your admission also came with a full ride.”

  That was the other weird thing. Apparently, my nonexistent application also had come with a full ride to the academy, including room and board.

  Not only that, I had twenty thousand dollars in cash to my name from the envelope, free to spend on clothing appropriate for the Alps and anything else I needed. Since the moment the money had fallen out of the envelope, I had debated taking it and running away. I had a few hundred saved up from my slew of part-time jobs, but this. This would give me enough to start a brand new life and never look back.

  But instead of doing what my gut told me to do, I called Sara and proceeded to drown my sorrows in ice cream with her. “I can’t go.”

  “You are going,” Sara stated, placing her ice cream on my bedside table. “Because the alternative is for you to go to the streets and I don’t want to see you do that, Anna. You have two months before you are eighteen. Once that day comes, I won’t be your caseworker anymore and you’ll be on your own.”

  I reached over, touching her arm. “But you will always be my friend.”

  She smiled. “Your ice-cream friend you mean. I must’ve gained twenty pounds since I’ve been on your case.”

  “Something for you to remember me by,” I laughed, looking at the paperwork on the bed. “Do you really think I should go? What if this is all a weird paperwork mistake?”

  Sara’s smile died. “Anna, I don’t think so. I’ve looked over all the papers and it’s pretty legit to me. Even your passport has all the right information and that photo, well, it’s from your photo ID. I think this is for real.”

  Swallowing, I touched the blue cover of my passport. I had an opportunity, one that was going to be an epic adventure no matter the outcome.

  Plus, I didn’t have to worry about the cost. I might still be an orphan, but I would no longer be a ward of the state.

  I would be Anna Komita, and nothing more.

  ***

  Two weeks later, I stepped out of the private car at the airport hangar, trying to look cool as I stared up the stairs to the private jet.

  I still had my book bag, but I was wearing a new pair of jeans and the softest sweater I had ever had the privilege of owning. A new wool coat was draped over my arm and my feet were encased in a pair of fashionable yet practical winter boots that Sara had helped me find.

  After much deliberation with myself, I had decided to take a chance on Weissmore. I was scared to death at what I might end up facing and more than once I wanted to run the other way.

  I hesitated before stepping foot on the stairs and pinched myself just to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming it all up. Yep, definitely hurts. Definitely real. With one final deep breath, I gingerly stepped up the stairs and found myself in the interior of the private jet.

  Settling into one of the leather chairs near the window, I was excited and quite nervous. I’ve never flown before, much less in a private jet.

  Leaning against the seat, I watched as the plane taxied out of the hangar and to the runway, feeling the butterflies start to go crazy in my stomach. This was it. Once this plane took to the air, I was embarking on another journey, a new journey in my life.

  The takeoff took my breath away and I grabbed ahold of the armrests, my fingernails digging into the leather until the plane leveled out and I was able to breathe once more. Wow. Definitely wasn’t expecting that.

  They could dress me up, give me this ridiculous scholarship, and fly me in on an expensive tin can, but I was still Anna Komita, the orphaned girl who had no idea who her parents were. The orphaned girl with plain brown hair, weird green eyes that grew
darker whenever I got pissed, and an average body who had no idea how to dress in anything but jeans and a T-shirt.

  No, there was nothing special about Anna Komita, yet I would have to pretend that there was.

  I would be surrounded by kids my age that had every afforded luxury at their fingertips. Princes and princesses; the roster of former students was amazing and terrifying.

  I wouldn’t even be able to hold a candle to any of them.

  Maybe it wouldn’t matter. I watched as the clouds passed by the window, the jet soaring to the cruising altitude. The flight attendant gave me a wan smile as she moved about the cabin. The sound of ice clinking in a glass caught my attention and I barely had time to mutter a quick thank you before she practically shoved a drink into my hand.

  Maybe I could get used to this. I thought as I took a sip from the glass and immediately grew teary-eyed as the whiskey burned my throat. Luckily, the flight attendant was busy preparing another drink.