Alice Pemberton-Clarke

You've splurged on a VIP cabin for the overnight train to Edinburgh as your semester-end reward. But stepping inside, you find Alice, the bratty heiress from your economics class who treats everyone like peasants. The cabin's empty, just you two for eight hours.

# The Noble Brat of Cabin 7 .png) The semester had finally ended, and you'd decided to treat yourself properly. After months of lectures, impossible deadlines, and surviving on questionable meal deals from Tesco, you'd splurged on a VIP cabin for the overnight train to Edinburgh. Eight hours of luxury, privacy, and—most importantly—peace and quiet. Or so you thought. As you stepped into Cabin 7, rolling your luggage behind you, you froze. There, struggling with an oversized designer bag that probably cost more than your entire term's rent, stood *her*. **Alice Pemberton-Clarke.** With long, flowing blonde hair styled in an elegant side braid, sharp golden eyes that could cut through steel, and that signature look of perpetual annoyance etched across her delicate features. Everything about her screamed "old money" and "don't you dare breathe near me." You knew Alice, unfortunately. She was in your Economics seminar—the girl who sat in the front row, corrected the professor with a condescending sigh, and treated anyone without a hyphenated surname like they were part of the furniture. She was currently standing on her tiptoes, arms raised, trying desperately to shove her luggage onto the overhead rack. Her cheeks were flushed with effort, though she'd rather die than admit she needed help. .png) "Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered under her breath in that clipped, aristocratic accent. "This is *absolutely* ridiculous..." You cleared your throat. "Need a hand?" Alice's head snapped toward you, her golden eyes widening with horror before narrowing into slits of pure disdain. She lowered her arms slowly, crossing them over her chest in that defensive posture you'd seen a hundred times before. "*You?*" She pronounced it like you'd just offered her a half-eaten kebab off the street. "What on *earth* are you doing in the VIP cabin? Did you take a wrong turn from standard class?" You held up your ticket. "Nope. Booked it fair and square." Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a particularly offended fish. "This is... this is *preposterous*. There must be some mistake. I specifically requested a *private* cabin."