4. Lost it

IVORY’S POV

"I don’t understand you," I said, my voice trembling, though I tried to sound firm. "And please stop pestering me. I’ve never wronged you."

I turned on my heels, desperate to walk away before the lump in my throat betrayed me. I didn’t even make it three steps before pain exploded across my scalp.

She yanked my hair back so viciously my neck snapped slightly from the force.

"I’m not done talking, you little tramp!" she spat, venom lacing every syllable.

Then—smack. One slap. Another. A third followed before I could even brace myself. My cheek flamed like fire, and stars danced before my eyes.

"I’ll show you what happens to girls who walk away from me!" she screeched, delivering another blow across my face.

I staggered but didn’t fall. My pride wouldn’t let me.

"And just wait," she hissed, flipping her glossy hair like she was in some twisted pageant. "Stella’s going to explode when she finds out you’ve been seducing her man."

I blinked back the burn in my eyes. The injustice was too much.

"Let her find out!" I snapped, louder than I meant. "Maybe her man should stop bothering me and stay out of my life!"

I regretted it instantly.

"What did you just say, idiot?" she roared, and this time, her hand came crashing across my face so hard I tasted blood. “You really don’t know your place, do you?”

Slap. Slap. Punch. Each hit dug into my skin like shards of glass. My vision blurred.

She raised her arm again—and something inside me snapped.

"Stop!" I screamed, catching her hand midair, my voice shaking with fury and pain. "Just stop!"

"WHAT the hell is going on here?!"

The hallway fell into a sudden hush.

I let go of her hand and turned slowly—dread seeping into my bones.

Standing there, arms crossed, disappointment etched across his face, was the Dean.

"Miss Walter," he said coldly, eyes narrowed. "You were bullying your mate after school hours. Detention starts tomorrow."

I glanced at her. The monster from seconds ago had melted into a picture of innocence—complete with watery eyes and a pout.

Then, when the Dean looked away, she smirked. That same wicked, victorious smirk that made my stomach turn.

God, I hated high school.

DANIEL’S POV

“Ivory fainted… She’s in the infirmary now,” someone whispered behind me in the corridor.

“Poor girl,” another murmured. “She looked so pathetic, did you see her face? Stella went savage.”

I froze mid-step, gripping my locker harder than I should’ve.

I shouldn’t care.

She’s just… a nerd. Quiet. Weird. Always walking with her head down. Definitely not my type.

So why the hell was my chest tightening like this?

I checked my schedule. One more class. Then I could go home. Just focus.

I walked into class and slumped into my usual seat.

"Big match tonight," Blake said to the guys, smirking. "Champ vs. Wolvile. Gonna be epic."

"Man, I can’t wait," Arnold added, pumping his fist. "You in, Dan?"

"Nope!" I snapped without thinking. Too harsh. Too quick.

They all stared.

I shrugged, staring blankly at the teacher who had started the lesson. Her words blurred into meaningless background noise.

What was wrong with me?

"She’s just a nerd," I muttered under my breath. "Not even that pretty."

But the other voice—the quieter, more honest one—whispered, Then why can’t you stop thinking about her?

“Class dismissed! See you all tomorrow,” the teacher finally said.

I grabbed my backpack and was halfway to the door when a sugary voice stopped me.

“Hey, Daniel.”

I turned. Stella.

She was leaning against the locker like she owned the hallway. Her cheerleader uniform clung to her body like plastic wrap. Flawless makeup. Pouty lips.

Classic Stella.

I raised a brow.

She walked up and slid her hand across my chest like she had the right.

“There’s a party at Dave’s tonight,” she purred. “I want you as my date.”

“Nope. I’ve got plans,” I said, brushing her off like lint and walking away.

She gasped. I didn’t care.

My feet led me to the infirmary like they had a mind of their own.

I paused at the door, peeking in through the narrow glass window.

She was lying on the bed. Ivory. Face bruised, one eye slightly swollen. Her friend—Alicia—was at her side.

I shouldn’t be here.

I turned to leave.

But fate had other plans.

Moments later, I spotted her coming down the hall alone—slow, unsteady, like she didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t think. I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom.

“What—Daniel?!” she gasped.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“Let me see it,” I said, voice low.

“What?”

“The wounds.”

She hesitated, then slowly pulled up the sleeve of her blouse.

My stomach twisted.

Claw marks. Angry red lines. Some deep enough to scar.

How was she still standing?

I didn’t mean to touch her. But I did. My fingers traced along one of the wounds, light as air.

She moaned.

Just a whisper of pain. Or something else—I didn’t want to think about it.

My heart lurched. My hands curled into fists.

No. No, I shouldn't feel anything.

“Leave,” I said harshly, stepping back. “Just leave.”

She stared at me, confused and hurt, but I couldn’t explain.

Because the truth was too messy.

I cared.

And I must admit that feeling is foreign to me because I, Daniel Connor has never cared about anyone... Not even my parents.

And I didn’t want to.