King's of St Bartholomew's

 As the illegitimate daughter of one of Ireland’s fiercest mafia families, no one took bets on Sorcha Gannon. I didn't come to St. Bart’s Academy to make friends. I came to build an empire. My Red Reapers were making waves, but I'm here to start over. Build from the ground up. Until I crash the wrong hazing and come face to face with The Cerberus Order.

Three heads, three heirs, three men who think they own this university.

Ciar MacMahon: Irish mafia heir whose tattoos aren’t art. They’re kill counts.

Axl Rhodes: English aristocrat who smiles while deciding which parts to keep as souvenirs.

Cillian Sullivan: Irish enforcer who appears without warning and leaves brutality in his wake.

But when outside threats circle like vultures, I find myself relying on the Order, and they are the only ones who can help me. What they don't understand is that Gannon girls don't break—we burn everything to the ground.

I didn't expect the heat between us. I didn't expect to crave their touch as much as I crave their destruction.

At St. Bart’s, power isn’t taught. It’s taken, and I’m claiming what’s mine.

 They say keep your enemies closer, but no one warned me how addictive it would be.

Three months since the Cerberus Order reluctantly made me their fourth head. Three months of uneasy alliance with Ciar, Axl, and Cillian—men who would have killed me last semester but now share my bed, my blood, my secrets.
Our control over St. Bart's is precarious. The Scottish family advancing from the north threatens everything we've built, infiltrating not just territories but the university itself. Every shadow hides a traitor, every whispered word could be our downfall.

I've learned to find beauty in brutality, to take pleasure alongside pain. But as we fight enemies on all sides, I see cracks forming in our fragile alliance.

Power becomes an aphrodisiac. Trust becomes a weapon. Loyalty becomes a weakness.

When ancient blood feuds resurface and university politics turn deadly, I feel the foundations crumbling beneath us. Someone is playing a long game—and I'm no longer certain where the betrayal will come from.

They're about to learn why they call me the Red Reaper. Wrath isn't just my emotion—it's my promise.

 They say after betrayal comes ruin. They weren't wrong.

St. Bart's lies fractured, much like the bonds between us. Once we were four heads of a beast that ruled this university's underworld. Now we're wounded animals, licking our injuries and plotting vengeance.

I trusted them—Ciar, Axl, Cillian. Welcomed them into my body, my organisation, my heart. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade.

Now ancient secrets emerge from the university's foundations. The artefact we fought over is merely a key to something darker, older, and more powerful. Our enemies circle, thinking us weak in our division.

They've underestimated what I'm capable of when I have nothing left to lose.

Beneath crumbling gothic arches and blood-stained pages of forgotten texts, we face an impossible choice: destroy each other completely or forge something unbreakable from our ruin.

They've seen my sin. They've felt my wrath. Now they'll witness my rise from the ashes.

This isn't just about survival anymore—it's about legacy. And at St. Bart's, legends are written in blood.

St. Augustine’s isn’t a university.
It’s a breeding ground for heirs and monsters—and I’ve been both.

They say I don’t belong here. That I was born cursed, a Callaghan with too much blood on her hands and not enough mercy in her heart. My father’s dead, the old order is collapsing, and the only way to survive is to claim the throne they’ll never willingly hand me.

But power at St. Augustine’s has three names: 

Aidan O’Connell, Cormac Byrne, and Declan Finnegan.
My rivals. My enemies.
My inevitable undoing.

They think they can break me to keep their crowns.
They forget—I was raised by wolves.

Every secret I rip open, every sin I commit, pulls us closer to a war none of us are ready to face. When the blood starts to spill, I’ll either reign beside them or drag them down with me.

Because corruption isn’t my downfall.
It’s my birthright.

Power was supposed to quiet the hunger.
It only made me crave more.

St. Augustine’s bleeds secrets. With the dons watching, the heirs circling, and my name carved into every whispered threat, I should feel untouchable. Instead, I’m burning.

Together, we hold Ireland’s underworld in our palms, wrapped in blood, desire, and deceit. But the higher we climb, the more the old order claws at our heels.

To keep my crown, I’ll have to decide who to trust, and who to bleed for it.

Because craving them might be my weakness… but ruling them will be my salvation.

Ireland is burning—and I lit the match.

The dons have fallen. The university’s in ruins.
And every oath we swore is cracking under the weight of what we’ve become.
My empire, my men, my monsters. We built something the world never meant to exist—a dynasty forged in lust, loyalty, and sin. But to crown myself queen, I’ll have to destroy everything that still dares to own me.

Old ghosts whisper of mercy, but I don’t believe in mercy anymore.

This isn’t about survival now.
It’s about conquest.

And when the dust settles, there will be no old kings left standing—only me.

Bodies fall like autumn leaves when you wear the Corbyn-Hale crown, and I’ve run out of white dresses to bleach.

After an attempt on my life, my dad ships me to St. Sebastian's at Cravenmoor Academy. With its Gothic arches and enough mafia heirs to staff a small army, he gifts me a shadow: Viper. Twenty-five, tattooed with sins, answering only to himself.

But I hate cages, even the breathing kind. So I make my own rules...

The first strike against my new reign wasn't a whisper; it was an explosion.

I seized the throne of St. Sebastian’s, but the shadowy organisation that runs this academy wants it back. They’ve declared war, turning our campus into a gilded cage surrounded by mercenaries and watched by drones. They think they can break me, scare my new court into submission, and reclaim their training ground...

Rival syndicates have laid siege to our walls, bribed half the porters, and trained rifles on every stained-glass window. The Sanctuary Statute still holds—and my Court, now owns every staircase.

So we weaponise the curriculum.

The enemy has been granted “diplomatic access” to the Garden Party, certain that British decorum will keep the croquet lawn blood-free...