Chapter 50 Votes and Bets counts
The Annual Competition was a high-stakes showdown between school councils in Gravenmoor town. It felt almost like gambling, students didn’t just vote for their favorite council member, they bet real money on them too, backing who they believed would win against the rival council, Elmbridge.
Only one side could win.
Gravenmoor Academy was stacked with elite students, so the bets were always heavy. Winners collected everything. Losers surrendered every cent to them. The stakes were public, loud, ruthless.
Back in Elmbridge, I never cared enough to get involved. Books were my world. Stories were my pulse. As long as there was a book in my hands and an interesting universe inside it, nothing else mattered.
But Gravenmoor had a pull I didn’t expect. The strange, unsettling things happening in the Academy gnawed at my curiosity, dragging me in, making me participate despite myself.
“Are you sure about this?” Oliver asked, brows knitting with concern. He hated the idea of me being part of it, especially now that my health kept failing me at the worst times.
But I had to.
I needed to be rated. If not five stars, not even four… then at least three. I needed a score that put me in the spotlight, one that gave me clearance to reach the vault, the Daylight Ring.
“I have to,” I answered, voice low, fingers curling tightly around my snack wrapper, like gripping a tiny piece of courage.
The council hall had been converted into a voting arena. Each member stood at their assigned table, boxes placed in front of them like silent judges waiting to be fed.
Evander was there, sprawled comfortably in a chair, arms rested behind his head in lazy confidence, while Melanie fanned him slowly with a magazine, the movement smooth and rhythmic. He was a four-star rated member. Jamie leaned forward on his stand, flashing practiced smiles and calculated charm at voters. Stephen was quietly collecting votes without assistance, hand lifting each ballot gently, sliding them into his box one at a time. Two stars glimmered beside his name on the board behind him, low, but earned honestly.
Sam and Reis had crowds. Three-star rated, both of them. Their tables were packed, students leaning over one another, voices buzzing like an impatient marketplace. But even their crowds didn’t compare to Evander’s, his fanbase roared louder, richer, heavier.
Then I saw the betting chart plastered on the wall.
So far:
Evander — $6000
Sam — $900
Reis — $500
Stephen — $300
Me — $0
Funny. Not a single vote card on my stand. Not one. My box sat there empty like a punchline waiting for a setup.
I exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping in quiet frustration as I arranged my stand anyway. Every minute, the numbers on the wall climbed higher for the others, money stacking on their names like proof of belonging. My eyes tracked the rising figures, but my heart kept knocking against a different question:
Kaitlyn. Naomi. Emily.
The big three. The most powerful names in the council. And none of them were participating.
Something was off.
“Am I even going to make it?” I whispered to myself, head tilting upward slightly toward the storm gathering outside the curtained windows.
Oliver stepped closer, hand landing gently but firmly on my shoulder, voice calm, steady, annoyingly reasonable. “A few minutes ago, you said you had to be sure about this. Then you have to be optimistic too.”
“The competition is two days away,” I countered, hand lifting in faint protest.
Oliver tapped his wristwatch, leaning toward me a little, “It’s only been an hour since we got here. The voting started four hours ago. That means we still have forty-three hours left to gather votes.”
Before I could reply—
“Hello there.”
A voice cut through the air like still water suddenly disturbed.
We both turned.
Julian stood near the empty voting booth, posture tall, serious, coat sleeves slightly rolled back, hands resting casually in his pockets. His eyes drifted to Oliver first, the two of them locking a stare of slow recognition, unreadable and weighty. Then his gaze slid down to Oliver’s hand still resting on my shoulder.
The silence stretched too long, too weird.
I reached up quickly, brushing Oliver’s hand off my shoulder, stepping forward with a smile too fast and too bright to be real. “Julian! How have you been?”
Julian blinked at me, confusion flickering before settling into something darker. “Lexie?” he breathed, chest lifting in a slow inhale.
“Hmm,” I answered quickly, head tilting slightly, urging him silently to continue.
“Can I borrow you for a minute?” His eyes slid toward Oliver again. “I want to speak to you… privately,” he added.
The awkwardness slammed back in.
I laughed nervously, fingers scratching lightly at my temple. “Uh… Julian, meet Oliver,” I turned and pulled Oliver gently forward with my hand. “My childhood friend.”
Then I motioned toward Julian, “Oliver, meet Julian. My friend too.”
Oliver smiled, offering a light, open palm gesture, “Hi, Julian. I guess this is the first time we actually get to speak.”
Julian didn’t respond. His face stayed blank, unreadable, rigid.
He only gave me a small nod before turning toward the exit. Before leaving, he paused just long enough to drop his vote card into my box.
“I’ve never used it for anyone before,” he murmured. “I hope you win, Lexie.”
I smiled, nodding once, the movement small, controlled.
His eyes flicked toward Oliver one more time, filled with unspoken questions and unfinished thoughts, before he turned and walked out quietly.
As soon as he was gone, Oliver exhaled dramatically, hand sweeping through his hair in disbelief. “I don’t understand how you manage to run into the weirdest people in Gravenmoor.”
“Julian and I meeting is the literal definition of coincidence,” I replied.
“Coincidence? With a guy who lives in the shadows?” Oliver asked, eyes widening slightly.
“Shadows?” I turned to him fully, arms loosely folding. “How do you even know that?”
He shrugged, “Everyone knows he’s a haint.”
The word hit me like déjà vu.
Melissa said that too.
Jamie, who had been walking past, suddenly pivoted when he saw the single vote card in my box.
He strode toward my table with exaggerated swagger, steps slow and theatrical, head tilting slightly as he smirked.
“Well now…” he drawled, hand lifting to pick up the lone vote card, eyes sparkling with amusement. “What do we have here?”
“One vote?” He pointed toward the box with two fingers, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh.
“Hey, put that down,” Oliver groaned, hand lifting briefly before falling back in irritation.
Jamie arched a brow, smirking. “Easy there, big boy.”
He pinched the vote card between his fingers like it disgusted him and dropped it onto the table. “Ugh. I can’t believe the infamous you made it out of the trial,” he sneered. “You won’t survive this one.”
He laughed, “You can’t even compete with Stephen, talk less of Evander. You’ll end up not getting started—”
“Underdog, get out of there,” Kaitlyn snapped, stepping in from behind, arms crossed. “You’re disturbing. Every time.”