Chapter 8

Zara’s POV

The hallway smelled like polished marble and something, expensive, and new.

My shoes echoed softly against the floor as I followed the middle-aged woman assigned to take me to my lecture hall.

She walked ahead of me with the ease of someone who belonged here, heels clicking in steady rhythm, posture straight, shoulders squared.

I, on the other hand, felt like a visitor in someone else’s world.

My outfit sat perfectly on my body, tailored, crisp, and surprisingly modest but it wasn’t their kind of perfect. I could feel it in the way a few passing students glanced at me and then looked away too quickly, or worse, looked again.

The skirt fell a little below my knees, the blazer buttoned properly instead of hanging open, my shirt neatly tucked in. No rolled hems. No loosened ties. No rebellious flair.

I suddenly felt overdressed and underprepared all at once.

“They’re about to begin, I’ll advise you go in quickly,” the woman said, stopping in front of a tall wooden door with a brass plaque that read Economics and International Relations — Year Three.

Year Three. My stomach twisted in an instant.

She turned to me with a polite but distant smile and then said. “You’ll be fine. Just take the seat indicated on your file. Attendance will be taken shortly.”

Before I could respond, she was already walking away and I was just there. I inhaled once, rolling my hands into a fist trying to hold back my anxious self from exploding.

Fresh start, I reminded myself and then I pushed the door open.

The minute I looked up, I realized the room was already half-full. Conversations overlapped, Italian, English, French, laughter spilling easily between groups who clearly already knew each other.

The moment I stepped inside, something shifted. It was subtle, like a ripple across water, but I felt it instantly.

Eyes turned. Some curious. Some assessing. Some indifferent. And some… amused for some damn reason.

I walked toward the only empty seat marked with my name near the middle of the room. Every step felt heavier than the last. I could hear whispers starting before I even sat down.

“Is she lost?”

“That skirt though…”

“Why does she look like she’s attending a board meeting?”

A soft laugh followed. I kept my head up, my expression neutral, and slid into the seat, placing my bag neatly at my feet. My fingers folded together on the desk, nails pressing lightly into my palms.

Don’t react. That was rule number one and I was sticking to that.

The professor arrived shortly after, a tall man with silver hair and a sharp gaze that silenced the room almost instantly. Introductions began, attendance followed, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax for the first time that day.

Then came the short break in between classes. The girl seated diagonally across from me leaned back in her chair and looked me over openly, eyes dragging from my shoes to my blazer with no shame whatsoever.

“So,” she said loudly, not bothering to lower her voice, “are you, like… from a convent or something?”

A few students around laughed. And without any response I blinked, and tried to focus on my notebook in front of me.

“No,” I said calmly. “I’m an exchange student.”

She tilted her head. “From where? The 1800s?”

More laughter echoed, and my chest tightened, but I kept my face still. I’d learned long ago that reactions fed cruelty.

Another girl leaned forward, examining my outfit like I was a curiosity in a museum. “You know you’re allowed to style your outfitsp, right? Or is that against your religion?”

“I don’t have one,” I replied evenly.

That only made them laugh harder.

“Wow,” someone else muttered. “She talks like she’s in a movie.”

“Or like she’s scared to breathe.”

I focused on the edge of my notebook, tracing invisible patterns with my thumb as I tried to push back their voices in my head. But discomfort had a way of seeping in through cracks you didn’t know existed.

The rest of the day crawled by. Every time I wrote something down, someone would whisper something under their breath. When I spoke, my accent, slight, controlled, carefully neutral became another source of amusement.

“Say that again.”

“Did you hear how she said ‘economics’?”

“I swear she sounds like she’s reading from a script.”

By lunchtime, I stopped trying. I ate alone and sat at a corner table, posture straight, movements precise, spoon lifting slowly to my lips as if I were hyperaware of every gesture. I could feel eyes on me, judging, mocking, dissecting.

No one sat with me. No one asked my name but I didn’t care either. When class resumed, I counted the minutes instead of listening.

By the time the final class ended, my head throbbed and my shoulders ached from holding myself together all day.

I packed my things quietly, sliding my notebook into my bag, standing only when the room began to empty. I didn’t want to rush. I didn’t want to look like I was escaping.

As I stepped into the hallway, someone called out behind me.

“Hey.”

I paused and then turned slowly. When I looked up, I found a boy, tall, dark-haired, wearing his uniform like it had been designed specifically for him. His expression wasn’t mocking. If anything, it looked… hesitant.

“I’m Alex,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say… uh… sorry about earlier. They can be… a lot.”

I nodded once. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he said quickly. “They were being assholes.”

That almost made me smile. Almost.

“Well,” I replied softly, “thank you.”

There was a brief silence as he stared at me. But then I looked away.

“So,” he started again, “do you maybe want help finding your next class tomorrow? Or—”

“Zara,” a voice called out from behind me and both of us turned.

My driver stood a few steps away, posture rigid, suit immaculate, eyes sharp and unreadable. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“I’m ready,” I said immediately.

Alex frowned slightly. “Your… driver?”

“Yes.”

I adjusted the strap of my bag and stepped past him without another word. The hallway suddenly felt too small, too watched.

As we walked toward the exit, I didn’t look back. I mean, I didn’t need to. Because I already knew this place wasn’t going to let me disappear as easily as I’d hoped.

And somewhere deep down, a familiar unease curled in my chest.

“Matteo!!!”