CHAPTER THREE: Real miss vale

The days passed by peacefully and I didn’t hear from Selena, her daughter or my simp of a father. Life was peaceful, I went to endless shopping sprees with grandpa. He claims we are getting school supplies but I think we both know that he is just too happy because I decided to stay with him.

School is resuming in a week and I won’t lie , I’m excited. In my past life, I couldn’t attend school because Lucinda was scared people would realize she is the adopted daughter so she went crying to my father and I ended up home schooled, but this time it won’t happen, I will put my all into school work and make grandpa proud . 

School resumed after a week and I was taken to my new class by the principal who handed me over to my homeroom teacher. 

The classroom goes quiet the moment I step inside.

Thirty pairs of eyes turn toward me—curious, measuring, already deciding what kind of girl I am. The homeroom teacher clears his throat and gestures for me to come closer.

“This is Sheraphina Vale,” he says. “She’s transferring into your class for the final year. I expect everyone to be welcoming.”

My eyes found Lucinda in the crowd and I gave her slight meaningful smile

She’s seated three rows from the window, posture perfect, hair tied neatly, lips curved into a gentle smile she practices daily. Fifteen years old, dressed like she belongs everywhere she stands.

Her eyes meet mine for half a second.

Then she looks away.

“As for your seat,” the teacher continues, scanning the room, “you’ll sit here.” Pointing to an empty sit beside a boy that had his head down 

The moment he rises his head, I nearly tripped. 

Ethan Cole. The future of the Cole family.

The Ethan I remember was ruthless and efficient. It was under his leadership that the Cole industries became number one in the country. 

That ruthless man then is still just a little boy with severe acne and docky glasses .

A perfect ally. 

After exchanging greetings, Ethan and I stayed quiet and went through the class. 

When the bell rings, Lucinda doesn’t move.

She’s still staring at me.

Not the polite glance she gave earlier. Not the composed smile. This is raw—eyes wide, jaw tight, like the floor has shifted beneath her feet and she doesn’t know where to stand anymore.

Me.

In her class.

I pack my bag slowly, aware of the tension tightening the air. Students stand. Whispers begin to bloom.

I feel her behind me before she speaks.

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice is sharp—too sharp. Several heads turn.

“I transferred,” I say simply, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

I look at her . Really look.

This is the moment she forgot to put the mask on.

Something in her snaps.

She steps forward and shoves my books off the desk.

They hit the floor with a loud, scattered clatter. A pen rolls. Papers slide under chairs. The sound is ugly.

The room goes silent.

Lucinda freezes.

Her face drains of color as reality crashes in. Too many eyes. Too much quiet. She looks down at the mess she’s made—at what everyone has just seen.

For a heartbeat, she looks… terrified.

Then the tears comes .

“I—I’m sorry,” she says suddenly, voice breaking. She presses a hand to her mouth, shaking her head as if she’s the one who’s been hurt. “I didn’t mean to—please don’t misunderstand—”

Someone moves toward her. Another murmurs her name.

I crouch and pick up my things one by one, unhurried. My hands are steady. I don’t rush. I don’t look around for help.

Lucinda notices.

Her eyes flicker.

And then she pivots.

“I just got overwhelmed,” she says softly, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It’s just… complicated.”

The class leans in.

“She’s my… sister,” Lucinda continues, hesitating, as if forcing herself to be brave. “Well—step-sister. I was adopted into her family. She is the real Vale heiress ”

A ripple goes through the room.

Adopted.

I straighten, books back in my bag, and finally stand.

Lucinda keeps going, voice gentle, wounded. “I’ve always tried my best to be grateful. Truly. But sometimes… sometimes it’s hard when you feel like you don’t belong anywhere.”

Her gaze flicks to me—quick, sharp—then away.

“She never really accepted me,” Lucinda says. “I know she doesn’t mean to hurt me. I’m probably just too sensitive.”

I say nothing.

“I shouldn’t have lost control,” she adds hastily. “That was wrong of me. Please don’t blame her. It’s my fault for being adopted in the first place.”

Gasps. Murmurs. Sympathy floods the room like spilled water.

Someone looks at me differently.

Then another.

The warmth I felt earlier—curiosity, mild support—curdles into something colder.

Judgment.

Lucinda wipes her tears and forces a smile so fragile it hurts to look at. “I’m sorry for causing a scene.”

And then she runs.

The door swings shut behind her with a hollow sound.

No one moves.

I stand there, alone, holding my bag, surrounded by silence that feels heavier than noise.

A girl near the window whispers, “so the new transfer student is the heir to the Vale family wealth but also a bully ?.”

Another shakes his head. “I feel soo bad for Lucinda, she is alway soo nice”

I glance at the empty seat where she’d been standing.

So this is how she does it.

I adjust the strap of my bag and walk out of the classroom without a word.

Behind me, the story is already being rewritten.

And this time—

I let it.