The Whispers

POV: Seraphina

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The whispers followed me out of the courtyard.

Four years of "Did you see what she's wearing?" and "Her braces are so ugly." Four years of being the punchline to jokes I wasn't even invited to hear. Four years of making myself small so they'd notice me less.

But they noticed anyway. They always noticed. And now, as I walked through the stone corridors of Blackthorn Academy, still wearing Damian Blackthorn's jacket, I could hear them.

"Is that Seraphina? Still wearing his jacket?" "Why would Damian even look at her? She's nothing."

I kept walking. My heels clicked against the marble floor. Click. Click. Click. Each step a declaration. Each step a middle finger to everyone who'd made me feel small.

I passed the classroom. I could still see the ghost of myself in there. The girl with braces, with her head down, with her clothes two sizes too big. The girl who'd spent four years trying to disappear. I'd killed her last night in the mirror. I'd killed her with blonde highlights and a short skirt and the kind of courage I didn't know I had.

I passed the hallway. The one where I'd caught Marcus with Vivian. The memory hit me like a wave—his hands on her hips, her satisfied smile, his casual dismissal. "You were taking too long. What did you expect?" I'd expected to be loved. I'd expected to be enough. I was wrong.

But I wasn't wrong anymore. Because I didn't need Marcus Ashford to make me feel seen. I saw myself now. Finally.

I reached the principal's office. The door was half open. I could hear my mother's voice, sharp and furious. "SHE IS A DISGRACE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS WILL DO TO OUR REPUTATION?"

I felt nothing. Four years ago, those words would have shattered me. But I'd spent four years learning that my mother's approval was never going to come. And I'd stopped needing it.

My father's voice was calm. Quiet. Terrifying. "Find every student who took a picture or video. Shut it down. Or I will have all their heads."

I smiled. My father. The most powerful man in the city. And he was proud of me. He said I had courage. He said I survived.

He was right. I did survive. Four years of whispers and laughter and pain. Marcus's betrayal. Vivian's cruelty. And today, I'd finally started living.

I walked past the office. I didn't need to hear the rest. I'd heard enough.

But I felt something. A presence. Someone was watching me.

I turned.

He was standing in the shadows at the end of the hall. Damian Blackthorn. His ice blue eyes were fixed on me. His expression was unreadable. But there was something in it. Something that made my stomach flip.

He'd followed me. He'd been watching me the whole time.

And then, so quietly I almost missed it, he whispered to himself: "She doesn't remember me."

I froze. Remember him? What did that mean? I'd never spoken to him before today. I'd never even acknowledged his existence.

But he'd been watching me. For years.

Why?

I opened my mouth to ask. To demand. To understand. But he was already gone. Disappeared into the shadows like he'd never been there.

I was left standing in the empty hallway, still wearing his jacket, still smelling his cologne, still feeling his eyes on me.

She doesn't remember me.

What did he mean?

I didn't know. But I was going to find out.

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