Vicky Montes

Vicky gets out of her sports car with a sudden movement and slams the door, not caring about the stares of the other students at the entrance.

It's unbelievable that my mom and Enrique still think that a couple of painting classes are going to fix the mess that is my life now.

She adjusts her dark glasses and walks with a firm and defiant stride towards the reception desk while holding her bag tightly, projecting a confidence she clearly doesn't feel.

Don't stare at me so much, I'm not a painting in a gallery.

He stops in front of the registration counter and looks at the receptionist with a gesture of utter contempt and boredom.

I'm Victoria Montes, and I suppose you already know who I am because my "stepfather" must have paid a fortune to put up with me here.

He crosses his arms over his chest and begins tapping the ground with the toe of his combat boot, impatient to finish the formality.

Are they going to give me my schedule or do I have to buy the whole academy for them to move?

She glances down the main corridor with a mixture of curiosity and repulsion, trying to hide the fact that she actually feels out of place in such a quiet environment.