𐙚˚࿔ Scarlett POV 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The hallways of Saint Jude's Academy smelled of lavender floor wax and generational wealth. It was a school built for the children of the elite, a place where teenagers wore four-figure watches with their uniforms and discussed real estate acquisitions between AP Calculus and European History.

In my past life, I walked these halls like a wrecking ball. I wore my skirt two inches shorter than regulation just to get called to the dean's office, because when the dean called, my mother had to leave her high-society luncheons to pick me up. I would pick fights with girls who looked at me wrong. I wanted everyone to know I was a Salvatore, but all I did was prove to the world that I was the one defect in a flawless lineage.

"Look, there she is."

"Did you hear about her behavior at the dinner last week? Apparently, she threw a glass at one of the investors."

"God, she's so embarrassing. How is she even related to Adrian and Noah?"

The whispers filtered through the locker bay like static. In the past, those whispers would have made my blood boil. I would have slammed my locker door, grabbed the nearest girl by her collar, and demanded she say it to my face. And then, by lunchtime, a video of my breakdown would be circulating on group chats, and Stella would be comforting the girl I intimidated, cementing her status as the school's angel.

Today, I didn't slam the door. I closed my locker so quietly the latch barely clicked.

I kept my head slightly down, my shoulders turned inward. I allowed my backpack strap to slip off my shoulder, dangling limply from my arm, making me look exhausted, burdened, and entirely defenseless.

"Scarlett."

A voice called out from the end of the corridor. It wasn't a family member. It was Chloe, one of the girls who spent her time hovering around Stella, acting as her unofficial mouthpiece in our year.

Stella was standing a few feet behind her, surrounded by a group of our classmates. She had a stack of flyers in her arms—the elective council sign-up sheets.

"Scarlett, the council needs the final list by noon," Chloe said, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding students. She wasn't being openly malicious, but her tone carried that subtle, high-society condescension that implied I was a problem that needed handling. "Stella said you forgot to submit your forms again. We can't keep holding the register open for you just because you missed the deadline."

The surrounding students went quiet, watching. They were waiting for me to curse, to tell Chloe to go to hell, to make a scene that would justify their dislike of me.

I looked at Chloe. Then, slowly, my eyes shifted to Stella.

Stella was standing there, her expression a perfect mix of helplessness and gentle pity. She wanted me to explode here. She needed me to prove to our peers that I was unmanageable, especially after the weird, unsettling shift in the car.

I didn't explode. Instead, I let my eyes fill with a sudden, overwhelming layer of unshed tears. I didn't let them fall—true white lotuses know that a contained tear is ten times more painful to watch than a sob. I took a small, hesitant step backward, my hand flying to my chest as if Chloe's words had physically bruised me.

"I... I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling so softly that the students closest to us had to lean forward to hear it. "I didn't mean to cause trouble for the council. I know I'm always... I know I'm always a burden to everyone."

Chloe blinked, completely derailed. "What? No, I just said—"

"I'll just take the independent study track," I continued, my voice breaking beautifully as I looked down at my shoes. I let one single tear slip, trailing down my cheek before I quickly, clumsily wiped it away with the back of my hand, like a child trying to hide her misery. "That way, no one has to fix my mistakes anymore. I don't want Stella to have to keep apologizing for me. I'm sorry for existing in your space, Chloe."

"Scarlett, wait—" Stella stepped forward, her face turning pale. She could feel the narrative flipping in the air. The students around us weren't looking at me with disgust anymore; they were looking at Chloe with sudden discomfort, and then at Stella with a strange, questioning hesitation.

"It's fine, Stella," I said, my voice heavy with a deep, tragic resignation. "You don't have to protect me anymore. I know how much pressure you're under to keep the family name clean because of me. Go back to your friends. I'll stay out of the way."

I didn't wait for her to recover. I turned around and walked down the hallway, my steps slow, my head bowed, looking like a girl who had spent her entire youth being crushed under the weight of an invisible perfection.

As I walked away, I heard the sharp, whispered shift behind me.

"Wow, Chloe, that was kind of harsh. She looked like she was about to have a panic attack."

"Is it true? Does Stella have to apologize for her at home? She looked so small..."

"I didn't think Scarlett could look like that. She looked... broken."

I turned the corner into the empty stairwell, and the moment the heavy fire door closed behind me, the tears vanished from my eyes. My posture straightened. The trembling in my lip died instantly.

I leaned against the concrete wall, a cold, dark satisfaction spreading through my chest.

In my past life, I wasted my youth fighting with my fists and my screams, trying to prove I was strong while bleeding from a thousand emotional cuts. I didn't realize that in high society, the one who screams is always guilty. The one who bleeds quietly is the one who commands the room.

I was a fast learner, Stella. You taught me well for six years. Now, let's see how you handle your own medicine when the whole school starts wondering why the real Salvatore daughter is terrified of her own shadow.

                                                                  𐙚˚࿔ thank you𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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