Chapter 7: Cracks in My Armor

ISABELLA’S POV

I stumbled out of Sebastian’s office, my sneakers squeaking on the stone floor, my chest tight with a familiar ache—rejection. His cold dismissal, his eyes glued to his papers, cut deeper than I expected. I’d stood there, clutching the history club budget, hoping for… what? A smile? A hint of the man who’d held me last night, his lips claiming mine? Instead, he’d acted like I was nothing, a stranger, not the girl he’d fucked in a bar’s private room. My cheeks burned, my fingers twisting my backpack strap as I hurried down Crestwood’s gothic hallway, the arches looming like judgmental eyes.

Had he seen the nude photos? The question gnawed at me, a worm in my gut. Vanessa’s taunts in class—whoring around, nude pics everywhere—echoed in my head. Did Sebastian believe them? Was that why he gave me the cold shoulder, his voice clipped, his gaze avoiding mine? I knew the photos were fake, a cruel prank Jake had spread at his party, his betrayal sealed with a smirk. But no one else did.

The school forum buzzed with my photoshopped shame, my face on a body that wasn’t mine. I couldn’t prove it, not when Jake swore it was real, his word gold against my whispers. If Sebastian had seen them, his perception of me—already fragile after our reckless night—must’ve shattered.

I cursed under my breath, my voice a shaky hiss. “Stupid, Bella. Always screwing up.”

The hallway buzzed, students brushing past, their whispers slicing through me. “There’s the whore,” a guy muttered, his laugh sharp. “Ginger Slut,” a girl hissed, her phone flashing as she snapped my picture.

I ducked my head, my red hair curtaining my face, my shoulders hunching. Nineteen years of rejection—Mom’s slaps, Dylan’s fists, Vanessa’s cruelty—had taught me to shrink, to take it, but today it stung worse. Sebastian’s indifference was a fresh wound, proof I’d never be enough.

I reached my locker, the metal dented, my fingers trembling as I spun the combination. A gasp caught in my throat. Taped to the door was a printed photo—the fake nude, my face clear, my body exposed. Below it, scrawled in red lipstick, was one word: Whore. My stomach lurched, tears pricking my eyes. I knew who did this. Vanessa, with her venomous smile, or one of her minions, their giggles echoing her hate.

Why did she despise me? I’d never crossed her, never dared, but she hunted me like prey, her status as Crestwood’s queen bully unchallenged, rivaled only by my brother’s cruelty at home. I didn’t understand it, just as I didn’t understand why Mom called me a mistake or why Dad ignored me. I was the odd piece, my red hair and pale skin a mark of my otherness.

I ripped the photo down, the paper tearing, and grabbed a rag from my locker, scrubbing the lipstick smear, the word Whore smudging under my frantic strokes. My breath hitched, a sob threatening, but I swallowed it, my jaw tight. I wouldn’t cry here, not where they could see. Footsteps pounded behind me, and I flinched, bracing for another taunt, but a familiar voice broke through.

“Bella!” Mia’s blonde ponytail bounced as she skidded to a stop, her blue eyes wide. “Oh my God, have you seen the new history professor? He’s drop dead gorgeous! I heard he taught your class. Lucky you!”

I forced a smile, my lips trembling, Mia’s warmth was the only light in my storm. “Yeah, I… saw him,” I mumbled, my voice shy, my cheeks heating. Saw him, kissed, felt him inside me. The memory of Sebastian’s thrusts, his growl—You’re mine—flashed, and I ducked my head, shoving the rag into my locker. “Let’s get lunch, I’m starving.”

Mia frowned, her gaze flicking to the smudged locker. “You okay? You look… off.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, slamming the locker shut, my backpack thudding against my shoulder. “Just hungry.”

She hooked her arm through mine, pulling me toward the cafeteria. “Come on, let’s eat. You’re starving, and I need to rant about how unfair it is that I’m not in history. That prof’s face? Total swoon.”

I managed a weak laugh, her chatter a lifeline. The cafeteria was a chaos of clattering trays and shouting voices, the air thick with fries and sweat. We grabbed trays—salad for me, a burger for Mia—and found a corner table, its surface scratched with initials. I poked at my lettuce, my appetite gone, Sebastian’s coldness looping in my mind. Mia bit into her burger, ketchup smearing her chin, her eyes sparkling.

“Seriously, Bella,” she said, chewing. “Professor Wolfe’s like a movie star. Those green eyes? I’d switch majors just to stare at him. Why aren’t you freaking out? You’re in his class!”

I shifted, my fork scraping the plate, my voice barely a whisper. “He’s… okay. But you don’t need history, Mia. Stick to Literature. It’s your thing.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a fry at me. “Stop being a vibe-killer! You’re acting like he’s not the hottest thing at Crestwood. What’s with you? You’re all mopey.”

I sighed, my fingers twisting a napkin, my shyness choking me. Mia was right—I usually giggled over cute professors and students, a safe crush I’d never act on. But Sebastian wasn’t safe. He was real, too real, and his coldness towards me hurt worse than Jake’s lies.

I glanced at her, her expectant stare pulling the truth out. “It’s… the guy from last night,” I said, my voice trembling. “The one I… uhm.. slept with.”

Mia’s fry froze halfway to her mouth. “The guy from the bar? What about him? Is he here? Oh please don’t tell me his a student here?”

I shook my head, my hands clenching, my eyes stinging. “Worse,” I whispered, grabbing her already shaky hands across the table, my palms sweaty. “Mia, its… Professor Wolfe.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping. “You’re joking, right?” she asked, a laugh bubbling up, disbelieving. “I mean there’s no way in hell, right? The new history prof? That’s insane!”

I squeezed her hands, my gaze steady despite the flush creeping up my neck. “I’m not joking,” I said, my voice low, urgent. “It’s him. Sebastian Wolfe. I was as surprised as you are when he walked into the class today.”

Mia yanked her hands free, her scream piercing the cafeteria. “WHAT?!” Her voice echoed, heads turning, students gawking.

I flinched, my cheeks flaming, and grabbed her arm, yanking her closer.

“Shh!” I hissed, my heart pounding, my eyes darting to the staring crowd. “Mia, please, keep it down!”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes sparkling with shock and glee, her voice a muffled squeal. “Bella, I need all the details!”

I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders hunching, my whisper barely audible. “I will tell you everything but certainly not here.”