The Principal’s Office

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POV: Seraphina

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The door slammed behind me.

My mother's voice hit me like a physical blow. "WHY WOULD SHE DO THIS? SHE IS A DISGRACE!"

I stood in the center of the principal's office, still wearing Damian's jacket. It was the only thing covering me. The short skirt barely reached mid-thigh. The pantyhose were ripped. I looked like I'd been through a war.

Because I had.

The principal sat behind his desk, pale and trembling. His hands were shaking. His eyes darted between me and my parents like he was trying to decide which one would kill him first.

My mother stood in the corner, her face purple with rage. Her designer dress was immaculate. Her hair was perfectly styled. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine.

And she was screaming at me.

"YOU HUMILIATED US! THE BLACKWOOD NAME IS RUINED! EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT IT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS WILL DO TO OUR REPUTATION?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't. Something inside me had shut down. A switch had flipped. I was standing in the principal's office, and I felt nothing.

My father sat in the chair opposite the principal's desk. He was smiling.

Alistair Blackwood. The most powerful man in the city. Richer than the Blackthorns. More feared than the Blackthorns. And he was looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

He'd been smiling since I walked in.

"Alistair!" My mother turned on him. "SAY SOMETHING! YOUR DAUGHTER IS A WHORE!"

My father's smile didn't waver. He looked at the principal.

"Find every student who took a picture or video," he said. His voice was calm. Quiet. Terrifying. "Shut it down. Or I will have all their heads."

The principal swallowed. "Mr. Blackwood, I don't think—"

"You don't need to think," my father interrupted. "You need to act. This is not a request. This is an order. If I see my daughter's face on the internet, I will burn this school to the ground."

The principal nodded frantically. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I'll handle it immediately."

"Good."

My father stood. He walked toward me. He was tall. Broad. He'd been a fighter once, before he became the head of Family No. 2. Even now, in his expensive suit, he looked like a predator.

He stopped in front of me. Looked me in the eyes.

My mother was still screaming in the background. Something about reputation. Something about shame. Something about how I'd ruined everything.

I didn't hear her.

My father placed his hands on my shoulders. His grip was firm. Gentle. Protective.

"I'm proud of you," he said.

My mother's screaming stopped. The principal froze. I blinked.

"What?" I asked.

My father's smile widened. "I said I'm proud of you. What you did out there—that took courage. More courage than most people have in a lifetime."

"But—" My mother sputtered. "Alistair, she exposed herself! She screamed at the crowd! She made a mockery of us!"

"She made a mockery of them," my father corrected. "There's a difference."

He turned to face my mother. His expression shifted. The warmth disappeared. Replaced by cold fury.

"I've been watching her suffer for four years," he said. "I knew. I always knew. The whispers. The laughter. The way they treated her like she was nothing. I knew, and I couldn't stop it because she asked me not to. She told me she could handle it."

My mother paled. "Alistair—"

"She was wrong," my father continued. "She couldn't handle it. No one could handle that. But she did. She survived. And today, she fought back."

He turned back to me. His expression softened again.

"That took more strength than anything I've ever done," he said. "You are not a disgrace. You are my daughter. And I am so, so proud of you."

I felt something crack inside me. The wall I'd built around my heart. The numbness that had protected me for four years.

I opened my mouth. I wanted to speak. I wanted to tell him everything. The bullying. Marcus. Vivian. The way they'd made me feel like nothing.

But I couldn't.

Because if I spoke, I would break.

I looked at my mother. She was still pale. Still angry. But she didn't say anything else.

I turned back to my father. He was still smiling. Still proud.

I wanted to stay. I wanted to let him hold me. I wanted to let him protect me.

But I couldn't.

Because I was done being saved.

I stepped back. His hands fell from my shoulders. I dusted my skirt—the short, ripped skirt that barely covered anything. Then I walked past my mother. Past the principal. Past my father.

I didn't look back.

I walked out of the office. Out of the room. Out of the building.

The hallway was empty. Everyone was in the courtyard. Everyone was still talking about me.

I heard the whispers. The snide remarks. The laughter.

But I didn't care.

I walked toward freedom. Toward whatever came next.

Damian's jacket was still wrapped around me. I could still smell his cologne. I could still feel his eyes on me.

I didn't understand why he'd helped me. I didn't understand why he'd looked at me like I mattered.

But I knew one thing: I'd never forget it.

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