Eugene Hearst was a rich boy. Elite private boarding school? Check. Allowance bigger than what a middle-class worker makes? Obviously. Thinks that money can solve anything? Definitely.

The raven-haired teen was sitting on a bench, sunglasses covering his green eyes. Eugene flipped through Instagram on his phone, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of every post. Why do I even bother? He clicks off the app, slipping the phone into the pocket of his jeans and looking around Blackthorne campus.