Ridgewood Academy’s annual Open Doors was more than just a tradition. It was a performance. The campus glowed under strings of light, music spilling out from the gym, and students dressed to impress while parents and newcomers judged quietly from the sidelines.

Jeremy Blackwood arrived late, of course. He always did. The growl of his motorcycle announced him before he even stepped through the courtyard. Heads turned. Whispers followed.

“There he is—Blackwood.” “Figures he’d make an entrance.”

He pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his dark hair, and smirked when a group of underclassmen actually clapped. Jeremy didn’t acknowledge it directly—he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

“Jeremy!” A football player slapped him on the back. “Man, where’ve you been? You’re missing the good stuff inside.”

“Had better things to do,” Jeremy said lazily, slipping past him. His friends trailed close behind—some of them childhood buddies who knew when to shut up, others loud, laughing too hard at jokes that weren’t funny.

As they moved through the crowd, students called his name like it was second nature. A couple of younger kids stopped him just to shake his hand. Teachers didn’t even try to scold him for being disruptive; they knew better. He was a Blackwood—untouchable.

The Blackwood family had been old money before Ridgewood Academy even existed. Real estate, banks, political connections—his parents didn’t just attend galas, they hosted them. And though Jeremy had every privilege handed to him, he had already built something of his own: a small but thriving company, proof that he wasn’t just coasting on the family fortune. Everyone knew it. Everyone respected it.

And everyone wanted a piece of him.

“Jeremy,” a silky voice called, and suddenly there were three girls at his side. Daughters of his parents’ friends—perfect hair, perfect smiles, perfect greed behind their eyes. One slid her hand onto his arm. “You should’ve been inside earlier,” she teased. “Yeah, you’re supposed to be showing the school off, not hiding out here,” another added.

Jeremy tilted his head, giving them that practiced half-smile that made them lean in closer. “I don’t need to show anything off. It speaks for itself.”

Laughter bubbled from them like champagne, too loud, too eager.

Across the room, a group of juniors whispered. “Unreal, isn’t it? He doesn’t even try.” “He doesn’t have to. He’s Jeremy Blackwood.”

And Jeremy, soaking in the attention like it was his birthright, barely noticed. At Ridgewood, this was normal. This was expected. Nobody said no to him.

Not yet.