He could still see her, the first time they met. He was twelve, a timid boy in a school dominated by the children of the elite. His mother worked as a maid, and his presence in that world was tolerated, but never accepted. He was an easy target for bullying—his worn shoes and downcast eyes only added fuel to the fire. Jasmine had been different. She’d been kind, her sympathy offering a small ray of comfort in a world that seemed to reject him. She understood what it was to feel powerless; ...