Cracks Beneath the Calm

The night stretched endlessly, every hour dragging her deeper into restless thoughts she didn’t want to have. The moonlight that spilled across her room only made it worse too quiet, too cold, too real.

The bracelet still sat on her vanity, sparkling under the pale glow like a taunt. She’d tried taking it off the moment she got upstairs, but her mother’s voice kept replaying in her head:

“You’ll be part of their family soon.”

It didn’t sound like a promise. It sounded like a sentence.

Cynthia sank onto her bed, hugging her knees. She could still see Xavier’s smirk in her mind that effortless arrogance, the way he spoke as if the world existed on his terms. Everything about him screamed control, confidence, power. And what scared her most was that he knew it.

She hated how her heart had skipped when he looked at her.

She hated that part of her had noticed how striking he was.

And she hated herself most of all for caring.

---

By morning, her mood had hardened like glass.

She came downstairs already dressed for school crisp uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder. Her mother was at the dining table, reading the news on her tablet. The smell of coffee filled the air, warm and deceptive.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mrs. Hale greeted without looking up.

“Morning,” Cynthia said shortly, sitting down.

Her mother peeked over the screen, smiling faintly. “You look tired. Did you sleep well?”

Cynthia’s jaw clenched. “Not really.”

“Oh, nerves, I suppose,” her mother said lightly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.

“Used to what?” Cynthia asked, her tone sharper than intended.

“To the idea,” her mother replied. “Of being part of something bigger. It’s not every girl who gets chosen to marry into a family like the Sanchese’s.”

Cynthia’s stomach turned. “Chosen? I didn’t choose anything. You did.”

Her mother’s smile faltered. “Cynthia, we’ve discussed this. It’s not as bad as you’re making it.”

“It’s not you who has to marry a stranger!” Cynthia’s voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t care. “You made this decision for me without asking how I felt.”

Mrs. Hale sighed, setting her tablet down. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest,” Cynthia snapped. “You’re the one pretending everything’s perfect when it’s not!”

Her mother’s face hardened, the warmth replaced by steel. “You will not raise your voice at me, young lady. Everything your father and I do is for your future. One day you’ll thank us for it.”

Cynthia stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. “Then don’t expect me to thank you today.”

“Cynthia...”

But she was already heading for the door, her pulse hammering in her ears. “I’m going to school.”

---

Louisa was waiting by the gate when Cynthia arrived at school, tapping her foot impatiently. “Whoa, you look like you could bite someone,” she said.

“I might,” Cynthia muttered, brushing past her friend.

“Bad morning?”

“Try bad everything.”

Louisa jogged to keep up. “Okay, talk. What happened?”

Cynthia exhaled sharply. “My mom’s acting like this whole marriage thing is a fairytale. Like I should be grateful for being sold off to the richest family in town.”

Louisa frowned. “That’s messed up.”

“She said it’s for my future. I think she meant theirs.”

They reached the hallway, students buzzing around them in the usual morning chaos. Cynthia tried to focus on her locker, anything to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

That’s when she heard it laughter. Familiar, low, and annoyingly confident.

She froze.

Xavier was there. Leaning against a wall near the courtyard, surrounded by a few friends. And beside him a girl.

Tall, sleek, and effortlessly pretty. She was laughing at something he’d said, lightly touching his arm. Xavier didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, whispering something that made her giggle again.

Cynthia’s throat went dry.

Louisa followed her gaze. “Wait… isn’t that...”

“Yes,” Cynthia muttered. “That’s him.”

Louisa’s eyebrows shot up. “And that girl?”

“No idea,” Cynthia said tightly.

But her heart thudded in her chest, faster than she wanted to admit. Why do I even care? she scolded herself. He’s arrogant, rude, and I barely know him.

Louisa nudged her. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous already.”

Cynthia glared at her. “I’m not. I just… hate him.”

“Sure,” Louisa teased softly. “And you’re glaring at him because you love his personality.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes, slamming her locker shut. “Can we not?”

But even as they walked away, she couldn’t stop glancing back. The girl, whoever she was looked like she belonged there with him. Polished. Confident. The kind of person who fit into Xavier’s perfect world without breaking a sweat.

Cynthia felt like the outsider again the girl who’d been forced into a story she didn’t write.

---

By lunch, rumors were already circulating.

Apparently, the girl’s name was Isabella Grant, a senior from another elite school, known for dating guys with expensive cars and last names that meant something. Some students were whispering that she and Xavier had been “a thing” before he went quiet this semester.

Cynthia pretended not to care. But she couldn’t focus in class, couldn’t eat, couldn’t shake the image of the two of them laughing together.

When the final bell rang, she grabbed her bag and left before Louisa could catch up. She needed air. Space. Something to dull the sting she didn’t want to admit she felt.

As she passed the courtyard again, she saw him alone this time, sitting on the low wall, typing on his phone. The girl was gone.

For a brief second, he looked up and their eyes met.

Cynthia froze.

His gaze lingered, steady and unreadable, before he looked away completely dismissive, as if she were invisible.

Something inside her cracked a little. Not from heartbreak from humiliation.

She turned sharply and walked away without a word, her heels clicking against the pavement.

---

That night, when she finally got home, her mother called from the living room, “Cynthia? We need to talk.”

But Cynthia didn’t stop. She walked straight to her room, locked the door, and threw her bag down.

For the first time in her life, she wished she could disappear from both families, both expectations from the world that already decided who she should be.

“I don’t care who he is,” she whispered. “I’m not letting anyone decide my life for me.”