Chapter 13

Zara’s POV

The next day, I woke up to the annoying scene from last night’s drama at the gala swirling repeatedly in my mind.

The thought of Matteo’s grip on my skin clung to me, as it had somehow branded itself there. Not the explosive kind, the kind that sits heavy in your chest and makes everything feel dull and irritating.

My head throbbed faintly, the memory of last night still clinging to me like a bad taste I couldn’t rinse out. Matteo’s voice, his hands, and the way the door had closed behind him like a final verdict.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, with my jaw tight, breathing so slowly like I was afraid one wrong inhale might drag me right back into it.

The marble floors, the stares, even the humiliation. The way he’d carried me like I weighed nothing, like I didn’t get a say.

I pushed myself out of bed, every movement stiff, and didn’t bother looking at my phone. I didn’t want messages. I didn’t want apologies. And I definitely didn’t want explanations that would somehow make his behavior sound justified.

I dressed without care, prepping for school. I picked a faded green top which was slightly too big, something I’d never worn to impress anyone. Paired with a pair of jeans I’d pulled off the floor. I skipped makeup entirely this time, and I didn’t look at myself in the mirror long enough to judge. I packed my hair into a tight ponytail, tugging it back until my scalp protested.

But in all of that, I didn’t care. That was the point. Downstairs, the smell of coffee and toast hit me before I saw him.

Matteo sat at the table, calm and composed, reading something on his tablet like the world hadn’t exploded the night before. He looked immaculate. Crisp shirt. Controlled posture. Not a hair out of place. Perfectly composed. Calm expression. He looked like the kind of man who never lost sleep over anything. Like last night hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t dragged me through a room full of strangers and stripped me of my agency with a single look.

With thoughts of that in mind, I didn’t slow my steps.

“Zara,” he said, with a voice too calm. Almost too calm for the chaos that happened the night before. But I ignored him.

I walked straight past the table, past the quiet authority in his posture, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. His chair shifted faintly behind me.

“Zara.”

Still, I didn't answer at all.

Instead, I stepped outside, the morning air cool against my skin, grounding me. The driver was already waiting and I climbed into the car without a word.

The drive to school was silent. No music. No idle chatter. Just the hum of the engine and the rhythmic blur of buildings passing by. I watched the world go by and let the anger settle into something harder in my chest.

School came into view seconds later, and my stomach tightened, not with nerves, but with resignation. Some minutes later, I walked into my first class for the day and felt it immediately.

The shift, the pause. The glances. I slid into my seat without acknowledging anyone, opening my notebook as if nothing around me existed.

“Well… someone looks better than before.” The whisper came from behind me. Another voice followed, louder. “Did she forget how to dress the last time?”

A snort. A laugh followed but I kept my eyes forward, ignoring whatever it was they all had to say about me.

The tutors walked in a couple of minutes later and began lecturing, but the words floated past me without sticking. Instead, my fingers gripped my pen tightly enough that my knuckles whitened, but I refused to react.

“What happened to her hair?”

“I liked it better when she actually tried.”

“Guess the exchange student phase didn’t last long.” voices echoed from behind me, but I didn’t respond knowing I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

By lunchtime, I felt hollowed out. I ate quickly, barely tasting anything, eyes glued to the table. Every sound around me felt too loud. Every laugh felt aimed at me, even when it wasn’t.

In all of what has happened, I reminded myself why I was here. A fresh start. Even if it didn’t feel fresh yet.

The day dragged on, period after period blurring together. By the time the final class ended, my head ached and my patience was gone.

I packed my bag slowly, without even staring at anyone, letting everyone else leave first. I didn’t want to navigate the crowd. I didn’t want to hear anything else.

The minute I stepped outside, I descended the school steps carefully, eyes fixed ahead, already picturing the car waiting for me at the curb as expected.

But then I never saw it coming. An object aimed my way, as it struck my shoulder hard, knocking the air from my lungs.

I gasped as my balance vanished, my foot slipping awkwardly on the step. The world tilted, spun, and then I hit the ground, palms scraping painfully against the pavement as my bag slid out of reach.

Laughter exploded around me, cruel and almost too quick that it felt intentional.

“Oh my God—did you see that?”

“Watch where you’re going, exchange girl!”

Heat rushed to my face as I tried to push myself up, pain flaring in my wrist. A ball rolled past me, as other students around walked away, as if nothing had happened.

And no one stopped. No one even apologized. I stayed there for a second too long, frozen between standing up and letting myself break.

Then a shadow blocked the sun in front of me.

“Hey—are you okay?”

A hand extended toward me. I looked up to find a girl my age standing right in front of me. Warm brown eyes. Soft expression. Concern, written plainly across her face, not masked or performative like the others around.

“Are you hurt?” her voice echoed from above me, snapping me out of my reverie.