Chapter 10: Collateral Damage

Scarlett's POV

"I'm not going to give in to them. That's not happening. I am going to class."

"Lettie!" Mia called out. I ignored her and kept my pace brisk until she had to jog to catch up with me.

We eventually parted ways; Mia headed toward her building, and I marched straight toward my lecture hall.

The second I stepped through the double doors, every head in the room snapped toward me. I had anticipated the stares, so I kept my face entirely blank, walking down the aisle to find an empty seat. But just as I slid into a desk, a guy in the back row decided to read the blog headline out loud, his voice carrying perfectly over the pre-class chatter.

The entire hall erupted in laughter.

"I didn't know the new scholarship girl was the hockey king's whore," a voice chimed in. It was Selena, the self-appointed celebrity of our class. She didn't even bother to look at me, keeping her eyes fixed on a compact mirror as she carefully touched up her lip gloss. "You slept your way to getting the scholarship, right? Bedroom nepotism at its finest."

Another wave of cruel laughter echoed through the room.

'Wow. They work fast.' It hadn't even been an hour, and they had already dug up the fact that I was a scholarship student. It was terrifyingly easy for information to be weaponized in this place.

But this kind of situation wasn't exactly new to me. I used to be bullied relentlessly when I was younger, which was one of the reasons why my dad had taught me the defensive skills he did. He wanted me to be able to protect myself in a harsh world. Over the years, I had learned to handle verbal jabs with complete indifference. Let them talk. Words couldn't bruise. What I absolutely wouldn't tolerate, however, was anyone coming at me physically. For their sake, I really hoped nobody tried.

I didn't bother responding to Selena. There was nothing to say that wouldn't just add fuel to the fire.

The professor finally walked in, mercifully cutting the spectacle short. The lecture dragged on for an excruciating two hours and fifteen minutes.

When we were finally dismissed, I stood up to pack my bag. A group of girls deliberately shoved past my row, knocking their shoulders into mine so hard I had to quickly step back to keep from losing my balance. They wouldn't have cared in the slightest if they had knocked me to the floor.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and stepped out of the hall, my sixth sense now fully activated. My skin prickled with hyper-awareness. I walked as fast as I could, desperate to just get behind the locked door of my dorm room. I had endured enough random, entitled people getting on my nerves for one morning.

But as I turned a sharp corner in the hallway, a girl suddenly jumped directly into my path. She purposely dropped her heavy textbook onto the linoleum with a loud *smack*.

"Watch where you're going!" she snapped, stepping into my personal space. "You made me drop my book."

"I didn't even touch you," I replied, my voice dangerously flat.

We exchanged heated words for a few seconds, her voice rising to draw the attention of the crowded hallway. Before I fully registered her shift in weight, she raised her hand and swung hard at my face.

My reflexes took over before conscious thought. I didn't flinch. I just shot my hand up and caught her wrist mid-air, mere inches from my cheek. My grip locked around her bones like a steel vice.

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.

The girl's eyes went wide with shock, her smug expression evaporating as she tried and failed to yank her arm back. I didn't let go immediately. We held each other's gaze, and I let the cold, dead stillness in my eyes communicate exactly what I was capable of if she pushed me any further.

Then, I dropped her wrist violently, shoving her arm back toward her chest.

That was too close, I thought to my already frustrated self, turning on my heel and walking away before my instincts took over and I actually blew my cover.

Someone needed to fix this. Or, at the very least, take the blame for it.

Adrian Whitlock.

He should have just left me alone on that curb when he knew that dragging me into his spotlight was going to be a massive problem for me. He had ruined my invisibility—the one thing I desperately needed to survive this university and complete my mission.

I knew it was foolish to seek out my target when I was supposed to be laying low. It went against every rule of survival my father had taught me.

But as I marched out of the academic building, my fists clenched at my sides, I realized I wanted to do it anyway.