Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
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MAYELLA VANCE KNEW FROM HER VERY first day at Arrowsmith, when she had only been five, that she did not quite fit in with her new classmates.
Most of them were English, for starters. If not English, then European. Meanwhile, her accent stuck out harsh and American and she had no idea what a 'bollocks' was or why her classmates got scolded by the teacher for exclaiming the word loudly.
They all seemed to know each other too. Young Julian Glasier, hair grown out into his green eyes, would throw his crayons at little Helena Chapman, whose red hair had not dulled with time, as vengeance for things she'd done over the summer break when their families met up at some remote vacation spot. And small Freya Arsov would roll her little eyes and mutter something under her breath in Russian, a habit which drove their poor teacher mad because she was never sure whether the young girl was secretly saying 'bollocks' like everyone else.
Not only this, but from a young age, Mayella was tall. She'd always been tall and had hated it for a long time. Her mother was a petit woman, who had migrated from Japan to the States as a child and had built a business for herself as a top tier fashion designer in Los Angeles, and while Mayella had inherited almost all her looks, the straight jet black hair and narrow eyes, she'd gotten her father's height. She towered over all the boys and was a giant compared to the girls. It did not help that her first and only friend for a long time was the size of a pixie. In height or in looks, none of her classmates matched her.
She stuck out like a sore thumb, in her head.
During her first term at Arrowsmith, years ago, she'd overheard a girl refer to her, in the most disgusted of tones, during lunch, as 'new money'.
She had no idea what that meant so she asked Freya, who had proved herself to be as good at knowing things as she was at infuriating their teacher. Freya's little brows had drawn together and she'd once again muttered a Russian curse before catapulting her silverware at the girl's head.
As the years passed and she grew with Arrowsmith, in height, yes, but also in mind. Mayella learnt what the term 'new money' meant. She'd discovered that some of her classmates would always look down on her, whether it was because of her appearance, ethnicity, social status or wealth. It did not matter how much money her mother made or how many celebrities wore her designs. It did not matter that saying a word against Maye resulted in Freya's unholy wrath. It didn't matter. She was never going to be perfect in their eyes.
But god, did she try to be.
Perfection became an obsession.
She had a faint memory of being very young, sitting in her mother's studio, which, at the time, was smaller than it was today. Reiko Vance was kneeling before a mannequin wearing a gown of silk. She was stitching something at the hem and muttering, wholly to herself, "Perfect. It must be perfect."
