chapter 31 " one : proof , punches , and promises "

Greg’s jaw clenched as he hit pause on the surveillance footage.

The video Theo sent showed everything: Helena walking alone through the hallway, Henry spotting her, sprinting up—and then grabbing and kissing her forcefully. The angle clearly caught her pushing him away immediately, slapping him across the face.

She hadn’t kissed Henry.

She’d been ambushed.

Greg swore under his breath, grabbed his phone, and stormed out of his room.

Brentford Academy – The Next Morning

Helena sat at her desk in English class, eyes red-rimmed, head low. Whispers still floated through the air like cigarette smoke. She’d become a target all over again—this time painted as a cheater.

Beside her, Tessy kept glancing at the door. “He’ll come,” she whispered.

But Helena didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if she believed that anymore.

The classroom door slammed open.

Heads turned.

Greg Carter stood in the doorway, shoulders tight, eyes locked on Henry.

“Out. Now,” Greg growled.

Henry looked amused. “What’s this about? Round two?”

Greg didn’t wait. He grabbed Henry by the collar and dragged him into the hallway. Gasps filled the room. Helena stood instinctively, but Tessy held her back.

Hallway

Greg shoved Henry against the lockers. “You think it’s funny? Kissing her like that? Then letting everyone believe she wanted it?”

Henry grinned lazily. “You snooze, you lose, Carter. She didn’t seem to mind.”

Greg slammed his fist into the locker beside Henry’s head, missing him by an inch. “You touch her again, and I swear—”

“You’ll what?” Henry sneered. “Get expelled? Go ahead. Let your anger ruin you. But Helena? She’ll get bored of being the victim eventually.”

Greg’s voice dropped. “She was never the victim. She’s stronger than all of us.”

Henry laughed. “Let’s see how strong she stays when Bianca and I are done with her.”

Greg’s fist connected with Henry’s jaw—this time on purpose.

Henry stumbled back, nose bleeding.

Greg didn’t wait for the principal.

He turned and walked straight to Room 14B.

Classroom – Room 14B

Bianca leaned against a desk, scrolling her phone when Greg stormed in.

She looked up slowly. “Greg—”

He threw the USB on the table. “Surveillance footage. Art wing. I know everything.”

Bianca’s smile faded.

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” Greg said. “You’ve been pulling strings this entire time. You sent the first note, didn’t you? You leaked the video. You’re obsessed.”

Bianca laughed bitterly. “Obsessed? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You want Helena gone so badly, you’d ruin her reputation, manipulate Henry, frame her for everything—”

“She ruined everything first!” Bianca screamed. “You were mine. And she waltzed in from nowhere—‘poor Helena, scholarship Helena’—and now suddenly she’s Brentford’s golden girl?”

Greg’s voice dropped, calm and deadly. “You never had me, Bianca.”

He turned and walked out without another word.

Later That Day – The Garden

Helena sat under the sycamore tree again, lost in thought.

She didn’t look up until she felt someone kneel in front of her.

Greg.

Her breath caught.

“I was wrong,” he said softly. “So, so wrong.”

She looked into his eyes, blinking. “You saw?”

“I did. Everything. I’m sorry, Helena. For not trusting you. For walking away.”

Her voice cracked. “You broke me.”

Greg reached for her hand. “Then let me be the one to put you back together.”

She didn’t move at first.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward—and kissed him.

No whispers.

No rumors.

Just truth.

Just them.

End of Chapter Thirty-One

Cliffhanger for Chapter Thirty-Two:

Back in the admin building, a white envelope is slipped under the headmaster’s door.

Inside?

A single page.

Written in shaky cursive:

“Sophia didn’t run away. She was silenced.”

The moment Helena stepped into Literature class, she knew Bianca was up to something.

Bianca sat with an unusually wide smile, her hands folded neatly on her desk, a devilish glint in her eyes. Helena ignored her, choosing a seat at the far end—wanting only to survive the hour without drama.

But Bianca wasn’t going to let her.

As the teacher droned on about symbolism in The Crucible, Helena felt eyes start to glance her way. Whispers. Snickers. Even the teacher hesitated mid-sentence when she noticed the shift in energy.

Helena looked down.

A crimson stain had bloomed beneath her on the chair.

Her heart plummeted.

It wasn’t real.

She knew it wasn’t. She wasn’t even on her period.

Then she saw the bottle of red ink peeking out of Bianca’s desk drawer.

The laughter spread like wildfire. Phones were already out. Someone even fake-coughed the word “pads.”

Helena’s face turned white, then flushed deep red. She stood slowly, the shame burning through her skin.

Greg, from the other end of the class, saw it all.

Without a word, he pulled off his grey hoodie, crossed the room, and wrapped it around her waist—his hand lingering gently on her back.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, voice low, protective.

As Helena choked back tears, she didn’t even look at the rest of the class.

But Tessy did.

She shot daggers at Bianca with her eyes before running after them.

Outside the Literature Hall

Helena wiped her cheeks furiously as Greg and Tessy flanked her on either side.

“Everyone saw,” she whispered. “She humiliated me in front of the entire class. I can’t do this anymore.”

Greg stopped walking. “She wants you to break. That’s her goal.”

Tessy nodded, arm wrapping around Helena’s shoulders. “You didn’t fall apart in front of them, Lena. You stood up. You walked out. That’s power.”

Helena managed a shaky laugh. “And Greg’s hoodie saved my dignity.”

Greg smiled. “Always will.”

Meanwhile – Inside the Classroom

Bianca tossed her hair and smirked, basking in the afterglow of her stunt.

Until Mrs. Winston called her name.

“Bianca. See me after class. Immediately.”

Bianca blinked. “Why?”

Mrs. Winston’s voice was cold. “Because you’re not as clever as you think.”

End of Chapter Thirty-One (Final Beat)

As Greg, Helena, and Tessy walk down the empty corridor together, the camera of someone hidden behind a locker door captures a photo.

The message sent moments later reads:

"She's slipping. One more push and she’ll shatter."