Middle Finger

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POV: Seraphina

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The world was silent.

Not the kind of silence that comes from peace. The kind that comes from shock. From disbelief. From everyone in that courtyard watching the girl who'd been nothing for four years become something they couldn't look away from.

Damian's hand hung in the air between us. Strong. Capable. Offering me everything I'd ever wanted.

And I couldn't take it.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I wanted to feel his fingers wrap around mine. I wanted to feel his warmth. I wanted to know what it was like to be chosen by someone like him.

But I was Seraphina Blackwood. And I was done being saved.

I looked at his hand. At the sharp lines of his fingers. At the subtle strength in his wrist. This was the hand of a killer. The hand of a man who'd probably ended lives without blinking.

And he was offering it to me.

I huffed.

A small sound. Dismissive. Defiant.

Then I raised my middle finger. High enough for everyone to see. High enough for Vivian to see. High enough for Marcus to see. High enough for the whole damn world to see.

I held it there for a moment. A final middle finger to everyone who'd ever made me feel small.

Then I climbed down.

My heels scraped against the stone. The jacket—his jacket—fell open as I moved. I was still exposed beneath it. Still vulnerable. But I didn't care.

I walked through the parted crowd. They scattered like leaves in the wind. No one wanted to be in my way. No one wanted to be near me.

I understood why.

I was chaos incarnate. I was everything they'd never expected. I was the girl who'd been invisible for four years, and now I was the only thing they could see.

I passed Vivian. Her face was twisted with rage. Her hands were clenched into fists. She looked like she wanted to tear me apart.

I smiled at her.

A cold, sharp smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Enjoy the show?" I asked.

She sputtered. "You—you're—"

"Nothing?" I finished. "I know. That's what you've been telling me for four years. But I'm not nothing anymore. And you can't stand it, can you?"

She lunged at me. Marcus caught her arm. "Vivian, stop—"

"Get your hands off me!" She shoved him away. Hard. He stumbled back, his face pale.

I watched the exchange with detached amusement. They were so predictable. So pathetic.

"I'm done," I said. "Done with both of you. Done with this school. Done with being invisible."

I started walking again.

"Seraphina, wait!" Marcus's voice. Desperate. Pathetic.

I didn't stop. I didn't turn around. I just kept walking.

"Seraphina, please! I'm sorry! I know I messed up—"

"You did," I said. Without turning. "But I don't care anymore."

I walked out of the courtyard. Past the gates. Past the statue. Past the years of whispers and laughter and pain.

The black sedan was waiting at the gate. Tinted windows. Engine running.

I didn't look back.

But I felt his eyes on me.

Damian's eyes.

They followed me every step of the way. I felt them like a touch. Like a promise. Like something that would change everything.

And then I was gone.

The students disappeared behind me. The statue. The crowd. Vivian's rage. Marcus's desperation.

And Damian.

I couldn't stop thinking about Damian. The way he'd looked at me. The way he'd wrapped his jacket around me. The way he'd offered me his hand.

Why had he done it? Why had he helped me?

I didn't understand. I didn't have time to understand.

But I knew one thing: I'd never forget the way he'd looked at me. Like I was the most important person in the world.

Like I mattered.

I looked down at the jacket still wrapped around me. His jacket. I could smell his cologne on it. Something dark and woodsy that made my head spin.

I pulled it tighter around me.

And I smiled.

I was done being invisible. I was done being nothing. I was done letting anyone make me feel small.

But I wasn't done with Damian Blackthorn.

Not yet.

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