The day I was brought back to my ultra-wealthy family, I was immediately dumped into the most expensive prep academy in the city. My icy older sister shoved the school uniform into my arms. “We don’t raise freeloaders here. You’d better keep your head down and act invisible.” On my very first day of school, the campus queen bee poured a full glass of red wine right over my dress. The entire audience held their breath, waiting for me to burst into tears. I glanced down at my soaked dress, then suddenly began to applaud with immense enthusiasm. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” The queen bee was dumbfounded. “Are you insane?” With tears sparkling in my eyes, I grabbed her hands tightly. “With this single splash, you have highlighted the class divide, awakened female consciousness, and exposed the absurd underbelly of elite education!” “Classmate, you are a born performance artist!” Queen bee: “…” Ten minutes later, the senior art teacher came running over, his voice trembling with sheer excitement. “Who? Who was it that just executed this live installation of Wine and Power?!” I pointed straight at the queen bee. “It was her.” Later on, her family’s corporate stock value actually skyrocketed. Yet she broke down completely over the campus-wide PA system, screaming hysterically: “I literally just wanted to bully her!” 1 The auditorium was so quiet you could hear the red wine dripping off the hem of my dress. Drip. Drip. It splattered onto the polished marble floor. Penelope, the school queen bee, stood there holding an empty crystal goblet, her triumphant smirk freezing mid-frame. Beside her, a couple of girls had already whipped out their phones. One had even angled her camera for optimal lighting. In the front row, someone was softly counting down. “Three.” “Two.” “One.” They were waiting for me to burst into tears. I didn’t cry. Instead, I began to applaud with immense enthusiasm. My applause echoed loudly through the cavernous hall, sharp and jarring. Penelope knit her brows, struggling to regain her composure. “Cora Montgomery, have you lost your mind?” Cora Montgomery. That was the shiny new name assigned to me after I was brought back to the ultra-wealthy Montgomery family. It sounded very high-class, even if it felt a little unfamiliar rolling off my tongue. I looked up at her, my gaze solemn and overflowing with respect. “Penelope, you are far too humble.” Penelope blinked. “What?” I swept my gaze across the room. Every freshman and faculty member was present. Elite prep academies really were built different. Even their crowds for witnessing a public humiliation were impeccably organized. Talk about a jackpot. I cleared my throat and lifted the soaked fabric of my skirt. “Everyone, look at this dress! Originally, it was just a standard piece of off-the-rack haute couture.” “But with this single splash of Cabernet from Penelope, it is no longer ordinary!” I continued passionately. “It now possesses conflict! Class dichotomy! Raw pain! And above all, philosophical thought!” A few students in the front row had their expressions twist in visible confusion. Behind the stage, the senior art teacher, Mr. Adler, poked his head out. He had initially come to check the stage decorations for the orientation ceremony, but hearing my speech, his footsteps halted dead in their tracks. I spotted him instantly and immediately yielded the floor to the professional. “Mr. Adler! You arrived just in time!” I called out. “Please, evaluate this from a professional standpoint. Does Penelope’s splashing gesture hold value as a piece of avant-garde performance art?” Mr. Adler adjusted his glasses, his eyes sweeping from my wine-stained gown to Penelope’s pale face. Penelope panicked. “Mr. Adler, I didn’t…” Before she could finish, I grabbed her wrist in a tight, dramatic hold. “Don’t explain yourself! True artists never rush to define their own work!” Penelope’s lips trembled. Mr. Adler took two steps closer. He stared at the wine stains dripping down my skirt for a full fifteen seconds. Then, his eyes ignited with brilliant fervor. “The fluid motion of that crimson hue… it truly carries an explosive tension that shatters conventional order!” he gasped. Dead silence fell across the auditorium. Penelope’s sidekick almost dropped her phone onto the floor. I nodded, my voice dripping with deep solemnity. “You understand me, Mr. Adler. No, wait, you understand Penelope.” Mr. Adler had fully crossed into an artistic trance. He began circling me, muttering to himself, “The subject, the oppressor, and the voyeurs… all three parties simultaneously construct a complete live installation!” The Headmaster, who had been waiting on stage to deliver his welcoming address, was now whiter than the projection screen. He hurried down the steps and whispered forcefully, “Miss Montgomery, the orientation ceremony is about to begin. Please go change your clothes immediately.” I gasped in profound shock. “Headmaster! Are you suggesting we interrupt a priceless, live artistic event?” The Headmaster choked on his words. I pressed my advantage. “Doesn’t Crestview Academy always emphasize freedom, diversity, and raw creativity? Right here, right now, Penelope has used a single glass of wine to open the very first aesthetic masterclass for our freshman cohort. Are you really going to shut this classroom down?” A vein throbbed violently on the Headmaster’s temple. His eyes darted toward the dozen phone cameras pointing directly at him. The people who had originally recorded my humiliation were now capturing bulletproof evidence of his bureaucratic dilemma. The Headmaster remained silent for three full seconds. Then, he offered a strained, painful smile. “Of course not. Our academy has always respected the creative expression of our students.” Penelope was utterly dumbfounded. I turned around, took her hand, and bowed deeply to the entire audience. “Thank you, everyone! And thank you, Penelope, for bringing us this masterpiece titled Wine and Power!” Scattered applause erupted from the crowd. Some were just here for the drama, some were coerced by the mood, and others simply hadn’t processed what had just transpired. Penelope’s face turned an unsightly shade of green and white. I leaned into her ear and whispered softly, “Don’t be nervous. When great artists first achieve fame, they always feel a bit out of their element.” She yanked her hand back violently. “Cora Montgomery, you just wait!” My eyes lit up. “Fantastic!” Penelope stared at me with intense suspicion. I beamed at her with pure sincerity. “Penelope, do you already have a second piece planned?” 2 When the orientation ceremony ended, I was summoned straight to the Headmaster’s office. Penelope was dragged in right along with me. The moment she stepped through the door, she slumped onto the leather sofa, her eyes rimmed red like a helpless little rabbit. “Headmaster, my hand really just slipped!” I nodded vigorously. “I believe her.” Penelope froze. The Headmaster paused as well. I looked at them with unyielding earnestness. “Many magnificent creations begin with a mere accident. It was true for the wine splash, and it was true when the apple hit Sir Isaac Newton on the head.” The corner of the Headmaster’s mouth twitched. Penelope clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. “Stop making up absolute garbage!” I corrected her gently. “This isn’t garbage. This is artistic critique.” A sharp cough sounded from the doorway. I turned my head. Serena Montgomery stood in the frame. Dressed in a sharply tailored black blazer with cold, detached features, she looked so polished she barely seemed human. She was my notoriously icy older sister—the current heir to the Montgomery estate. At twenty-four, she was already sitting at board meetings, verbally shredding old corporate executives until they hung their heads in silence. The look she gave me was even colder than the day I was brought back home. “Cora.” I stood up straight instantly. “Sister.” Her gaze landed on my wine-soaked dress. “I told you to keep your head down and act invisible.” I attempted to explain. “I did keep my head down.” Serena’s face remained expressionless. “You call this keeping your head down?” I contemplated for a moment. “Perhaps my head is just naturally rebellious.” The Headmaster suddenly took a very urgent, loud gulp of water. Seeing a potential ally, Penelope whined pitifully, “Serena, my hand really slipped…” Serena cast a fleeting glance at her. “I didn’t ask you.” Penelope snapped her mouth shut, her face stiffening. Serena turned her icy gaze back to me. “It’s your very first day of school, and you’ve already made yourself famous across the entire campus.” “Sister, that’s called brand reach,” I corrected brightly. Serena stared at me. “You sound remarkably proud.” I nodded. “The viral conversion rate is indeed quite impressive.” The Headmaster finally felt compelled to interject. “Miss Montgomery, we will handle this matter appropriately. It definitely won’t tarnish the Montgomery family’s prestige.” Serena’s tone was flat. “It already has.” Cold sweat broke out on the Headmaster’s forehead. She raised her arm and handed her phone to me. The screen displayed the top trending topics. #EliteAcademyWineArt #PenelopePerformanceArt #CrestviewOrientationCeremony I blinked. “That fast?” Penelope’s face drained of color as she reached out to snatch the phone, but Serena smoothly pulled it out of reach. Serena glanced down at the analytics page. “The stock value of Penelope’s family business just jumped two points.” Silence descended upon the office. Penelope’s expression shifted from frantic distress to sheer bewilderment. I clapped my hands softly. “A stunning market debut, Penelope!” Penelope glared at me with pure venom. “Shut up!” Serena locked her phone screen. “This matter ends here.” She looked at me. “Get back to class.” I obediently turned toward the exit. As I reached the doorway, I spun around to look at Penelope one last time. She instantly threw her guard up. “What else do you want?!” I offered a glowing, genuine smile. “Penelope, today’s piece achieved a remarkably high level of execution. Next time you feel the urge to create, feel free to give me advance notice!” Penelope grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it straight at my head. I ducked smoothly to the side. The pillow flew past me, crashing right into the trophy sitting on the Headmaster’s desk. The Headmaster’s eyelid twitched frantically. Serena finally spoke. “Cora.” I snapped to attention. She said coldly, “Get your ass back to class.” I obediently scrammed. Stepping out into the hallway, I checked my phone. The school forum was completely ablaze. Someone had uploaded a video of me applauding in my wine-stained gown. The title was exceptionally eye-catching: The Long-Lost Heiress’s Mental State Is 30 Years Ahead of the Entire Campus. The comment section was refreshing at lightspeed. Is she genuinely insane? Penelope finally ran headfirst into a brick wall this time. Wait… why does her explanation actually make sense? Say what you want, but Mr. Adler’s eyes were practically glowing! I scrolled through the thread in high spirits. Elite prep schools were marvelous. The campus was practically overflowing with passionate, creative minds. As I rounded the corner of the corridor, several girls stepped out to block my path. Leading them was Penelope’s main henchwoman, Sienna. She crossed her arms, letting out a cold sneer. “Cora Montgomery, do you seriously think you’ve won?” I answered solemnly, “I wouldn’t dare.” Sienna lifted her chin in satisfaction. A second later, I added, “Art knows no winners or losers.” The smirk vanished from her face. I stepped around her. She grit her teeth, venom lacing her voice. “You’d better stay far away from the old building after classes end today.” I paused, my eyes sparkling brightly. Sienna flinched back half a step under my intense gaze. I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wait… we can create art in the old building too?” 3 It turned out that the old building was indeed a phenomenal venue for artistic creation. Right after the final bell rang, as I reached the edge of the sports field, two girls dragged me into the abandoned academic wing. Their movements were practiced and their route was discreet. You could tell right away they were seasoned artists. Ultimately, they shoved me into a deserted, decommissioned restroom. The door was locked from the outside with a heavy iron latch. Sienna’s laughter echoed through the wood. “Cora, you sure love to run your mouth, don’t you? Why don’t you stay in there and talk to yourself all night?” Chortles of laughter sounded from her squad. Someone turned on their phone to record. “Beg us! Say please!” I stood in the center of the dark restroom and surveyed my surroundings. Peeling wall paint. A heavily rusted faucet. Windows reinforced with thick iron bars. And a broken mop lying pathetic on the tile floor. Magnificent. Rich materials. Raw emotion. A closed-loop spatial structure. I pulled out my phone to check my cell signal. Two bars. More than enough. I tapped into a live-streaming app and typed out the title: Locked in a Restroom for 30 Minutes: Witnessing Structural Violence at an Elite Academy. In the first minute, only three viewers joined. By the fifth minute, over a hundred people had flooded in. By the tenth minute, the school’s online forum blew up completely. I angled the phone camera directly at the rusted iron lock. “Dear audience, does this lock merely seal a wooden door?” Comments flashed across the screen at lightning speed. Wait, does it mean something else?! Is she doing another lecture?! I paused for dramatic effect. “On the surface, it locks a door. But in reality, it seals away a new student’s fragile trust in campus safety.” The live chat went dead silent for a second. Then, a avalanche of comments erupted. Oh god, she’s starting again! Why am I actually listening to this?! Are the old building bathrooms really that dilapidated? I swept the camera toward the sink. “Look at this faucet. It has been rusting for years, yet it persists in remaining right here. It represents the neglected, forgotten corners of elite education!” The laughter outside evaporated into thin air. Sienna began pounding frantically on the door. “Cora! What the hell are you doing in there?!” I pointed the camera toward the shaking wood, introducing her warmly to the stream. “The person outside is the co-curator of this live installation. Notice how she uses rhythmic percussion to reinforce the second layer of spatial oppression.” The chat blew up instantly. CO-CURATOR LMAO! The bullies outside are about to have a total nervous breakdown! Wait, did they actually lock her inside an abandoned bathroom?! I offered a gentle reminder to the viewers. “Please don’t misunderstand them, everyone. They simply possess an overwhelming desire for artistic expression.” Chaos erupted outside the door. Someone cursed in a panicked whisper, “Turn off the stream! Make her turn it off right now!” I set my phone securely on the edge of the sink, climbed up onto the porcelain counter, and declared with deep solemnity, “Our exhibition is now reaching its grand climax! When the victim begins to dictate the narrative, the oppressors involuntarily become part of the exhibit itself!” It went completely silent outside the door. Five minutes later, hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. The Headmaster, Mr. Adler, security guards, and the entire student council came rushing over. The Headmaster was wiping sweat from his forehead as he bellowed, “Break the lock! Open it now!” When the security guard snapped the iron latch with bolt cutters and pushed the door open, the camera caught the sickly pale faces of the girls standing outside in stunning high definition. Sienna turned around, trying to cover her face and run. I leaped down from the sink and introduced them with radiant enthusiasm. “Look, everyone! These individuals are the master architects behind this enclosed spatial experience!” Sienna shrieked, “Shut your mouth!” I nodded approvingly. “Her emotional delivery is remarkably full-bodied.” Mr. Adler squeezed through the crowd. He looked at the bathroom, looked at the live stream on my phone, and then looked at me. His eyes were twinkling with unbridled awe. “This piece… it is infinitely more mature than the wine dress!” he gasped. The Headmaster almost fainted on the spot. “Mr. Adler!” Mr. Adler reined himself in immediately, though the way he stared at the broken bathroom door held a level of profound appreciation that certainly didn’t belong in a administrative crisis. I picked up my phone. The live view count had surpassed one hundred thousand. Penelope was standing near the back of the crowd, her expression utterly grim. I waved at her with a bright, cheerful smile. “Penelope! The second exhibition is a resounding success!” Her lips turned white. “This… this has nothing to do with me!” I offered her a look of deep understanding. “Great art always endures authorship disputes.” Penelope’s vision went dark for a brief second. That very evening, Crestview Academy issued an official public statement: The old building restrooms present safety hazards and will undergo immediate structural renovation. Simultaneously, to honor this vital campus safety dialogue, the first floor of the building will be transformed into a student public art space. Reading the announcement, I nodded in satisfaction. Just as I was getting ready to sleep, Serena pushed my bedroom door open. She tossed a tablet onto my bed, displaying the replay of my live stream. She asked coldly, “Cora, what on earth are you doing at that school?” I pointed at the view count. “Sister, I brought honor to our family line.” 4 Serena stared at the view count, remaining silent for ten full seconds. Finally, she shut the tablet off. “Starting tomorrow, a personal chauffeur will drive you to and from school.” I gasped in shock. “Sister, are you trying to protect me?” She cast a freezing look at me. “I’m afraid you’ll blow up the campus.” I let out a sigh of relief. Good, she was still the familiar, cold sister I knew. The next morning, the moment I stepped into my classroom, every single head snapped in my direction. Class 17, where I had been assigned, was the notorious dumping ground of Crestview Academy. It housed slacker heirs abandoned by their families, low-ranking rich kids, and weirdos kicked out of the advanced placement tracks. I walked to the very back row and took a seat. Slumped on the desk beside mine was a boy wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. His desk was piled high with scratch paper covered in dense, intricate mathematical formulas. The moment I set my backpack down, he snapped his head up. “Could you try breathing a little quieter?” I clamped my mouth shut instantly. Three seconds later, he added, “Your respiratory rhythm has unnatural fluctuations.” I held my breath completely. He nodded in satisfaction and went back to his calculations. A guy in the front row burst out laughing. “Gideon is having another episode! He’s the guy who had a total meltdown last month just because the math teacher wrote a chalk symbol half a centimeter crooked!” The pen in Gideon’s hand came to a sudden halt. I glanced at him. This classmate possessed extraordinary artistic potential as well. During the second period, Penelope marched over accompanied by the Dean of Discipline. She stood at the classroom doorway, her eyes rimmed red. “Dean, my diamond necklace is missing.” The classroom fell instantly silent. The Dean frowned. “Are you sure you lost it around here?” Penelope bit her lower lip, her gaze landing squarely on me. “I’ve only been near Class 17 today.” Every eye in the room shifted toward me. Sienna chimed in immediately, “Cora, do you dare let the Dean search your backpack?!” I nodded. “I dare.” They clearly hadn’t expected me to be so cooperative. The Dean walked over, his expression grim. “Miss Montgomery, please cooperate with the inspection.” I pushed my backpack straight onto the podium. A flash of smug triumph gleamed in Penelope’s eyes. A second later, my bag was unzipped and turned upside down. Textbooks, a pencil case, half a bag of potato chips, two beef sticks, and a dazzling diamond necklace tumbled out onto the desk. The entire class gasped. Penelope covered her mouth, feigning horror. “Cora, it really was you!” I stared at that shimmering diamond necklace, my eyes slowly igniting with awe. Penelope suddenly felt an ominous chill run down her spine. I bent down and scooped the necklace up with both hands, holding it reverently. “Magnificent! Simply magnificent!” The Dean knit his brows. “Cora Montgomery, stop fooling around!” I turned around to face the entire class. “Classmates, please remember this precise moment! The significance of this necklace has officially transcended the value of fine jewelry itself!” The corner of Penelope’s mouth twitched violently. I continued passionately, “It was planted inside the bag of a newly reclaimed heiress! It carries the weight of immense wealth, prejudice, societal surveillance, and above all, the price of innocence!” Gideon finally raised his head from his desk. He stared at the necklace for two seconds, then stated plainly, “The logic holds up.” The entire class went: “??” I looked at him, deeply moved. “Thank you for the critical endorsement, Gideon!” Penelope lost her temper. “You stole my property!” I nodded eagerly. “Then call the police immediately!” She froze. I handed the necklace straight to the Dean. “Dean, please call the police right now. And while you’re at it, review the hallway CCTV footage to see who placed this magnificent artwork into my bag.” All color drained from Penelope’s face. The Dean realized something was terribly wrong. He turned to look at Penelope. “Miss Penelope, are you absolutely certain you want to file a police report?” Penelope’s lips quivered. “I… I was just making a joke…” I burst into enthusiastic applause instantly. “Bravo! So this piece contains elements of absurd dark comedy as well!” The classroom erupted into roaring laughter. Penelope covered her face and ran out of the room in shame. The Dean stood there holding the necklace, looking utterly trapped in an awkward nightmare. I returned to my desk, contentedly unwrapping one of my beef sticks. Suddenly, Gideon pushed a piece of scratch paper onto my desk. Written on it was a single line: The Price of Innocence: A Logical Flowchart. I was instantly filled with profound respect. Class 17 truly was a den of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599296”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply