Chapter Three

Cathy’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of Alex blocking her path.

She clutched her architecture project tighter against her chest. Inside the clear acrylic case was her scaled model of a sustainable community water filtration plant, built from balsa wood, fine mesh wire, and painstakingly precise glue seams. To anyone else, it was a school assignment. To Cathy, it was her chance to win the Elite Academy Annual Design Grant—a full tuition waiver and cash stipend that could help clear the rent notices piling up at home and buy her father a proper medical mattress.

She only needed to get it to Mr. Sterling’s lab on the third floor. Five more minutes. That was all.

“Well, look what the draft blew in.” The voice sliced through the quiet hallway. Cathy stopped.

Alex Vance pushed away from the limestone pillar ten feet ahead, his tailored blazer catching the morning light streaming through the arched windows. His usual group of wealthy friends stood behind him, already grinning.

“Excuse me,” Cathy murmured.

Alex didn't answer. He walked toward her, his dark eyes dropping to the acrylic case in her arms.

“Is this the masterpiece?” He tapped the case with one finger. “My God. What is it? A birdhouse for impoverished pigeons?” His friends burst into laughter.

“It’s a structural proposal,” Cathy said, tightening her grip. “Please, Alex. Just let me pass.”

“Pass?” He tilted his head. “Cathy, sweetie, we're just admiring your handiwork. You spend all these late nights hunched over your little desk, pretending you belong in the same league as the people who fund this institution.” His gaze swept over her worn uniform. “It’s adorable. Like a stray dog trying to sit at the master's table.”

“Leave it alone, Alex.”

“Or what?” His smile disappeared. “You'll report me? To who? Henderson? No tutor in this entire school is ever going to lay a hand—or a demerit—on a Vance.”

Cathy took a step back.

Alex's hand shot forward. His fingers hooked around the edge of the acrylic case and ripped it from her grip.

“Let go!” Cathy gasped, reaching for it.

“Oops.” He didn't drop the case. He tipped it sideways.

The delicate model slid out.

Crack!

The sound of breaking wood and tearing wire echoed through the corridor. The support columns snapped. The fine mesh collapsed. Pieces of the model scattered across the marble floor. Weeks of work were gone in seconds.

The laughter around her grew louder. Students who had been walking toward their classrooms slowed down. Several turned to stare.

“Did he just destroy her project?”

“Of course he did.”

“That's Cathy’s grant project, isn't it?”

Someone snickered. Another student lifted a phone. Cathy saw the movement from the corner of her eye, her stomach twisting into knots. She couldn't let them turn this into another story about the poor scholarship girl being humiliated by Alex Vance.

She dropped to her knees. Her hands moved quickly through the scattered pieces. The main support column was snapped in three places. The filtration chamber had collapsed. The mesh wire was twisted beyond repair. She picked up one of the broken beams and tried fitting it back into place, but it slipped from her fingers.

“No…” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

She reached for another piece. The glue had torn away completely. Even if she had the materials, there was no way she could rebuild it before the grant submission.

Alex watched her from above. “Seriously?” he said. Cathy froze. “You were actually planning to submit that?”

His friends laughed again. Alex crouched slightly, looking at the wreckage. “You should have saved yourself the embarrassment.”

Cathy's fingers curled around the broken piece in her hand. She wanted to answer. Instead, she forced herself to stand. Crying wouldn't repair the model. Screaming wouldn't pay the rent. And fighting Alex wouldn't help her father.

Alex stepped over the wreckage. His polished shoe came down on a balsa-wood beam.

Crack.

He crushed it into the floor. He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Next time, design something a little sturdier, ghost.”

Then he walked away. His friends followed, deliberately stepping over the scattered pieces as they laughed.

Cathy remained frozen, her chest tightening as she stared at what was left of her project. The grant. Her tuition. Her father's medical needs. Everything she had attached to that model had just been crushed beneath Alex's shoe.

A shadow fell across the broken pieces. Cathy looked up. Mr. Henderson stood at the end of the corridor. His gaze moved from Alex's retreating back to the destroyed model, and then to Cathy. For a moment, she thought he would say something.

He didn't.

Alex stopped several feet away and glanced back. “Accident,” he said casually.

Mr. Henderson's expression tightened. His eyes lingered on the broken project before shifting toward Alex. Cathy understood exactly why he stayed silent. Alex Vance wasn't just another student. He was a Vance. A teacher could punish Cathy and call it discipline, but punishing Alex could mean dealing with his family, the school board, or the people whose money kept places like Elite Academy running.

Mr. Henderson looked away. Then he simply walked past.

Cathy lowered her eyes. She didn't need anyone to explain what had just happened. At Elite Academy, some students were protected by rules. Others were protected by the people who made them. And she wasn't one of them.

Her fingers trembled as she bent down again and picked up a broken piece of balsa wood. The jagged edge cut into her thumb. She didn't pull away; the sharp pain grounded her. She stared at the tiny bead of blood forming on her skin, then wiped it against her skirt.

No tears. Not here. Not for him.

Cathy stood. She looked at the broken model one last time, adjusted the strap of her empty backpack, and turned away. She wasn't going to give Alex the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She forced her legs to move, walking past the whispering students and heading straight toward her first morning lecture.

The hours that followed were a waking nightmare. Every corridor she walked through came with whispers behind raised hands. Phones disappeared into pockets whenever she looked their way. Someone had recorded Alex destroying her project, and the video was already spreading through the student group chats.

By the time the final afternoon bell rang, Cathy felt completely hollowed out. She tightened her grip on her backpack and headed for the exit.

Then her phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then again.

Cathy pulled it from her pocket. Her screen was flooded with notifications. Someone had posted the video, and it was already everywhere.