Él se hizo el muerto, y yo lo hice realidad

CHAPTER 1

ROWAN

“Move, Beta trash.”

The words are sharp, cutting through the noise of the hallway, followed by a shove that makes my shoulder hit the cold marble wall. For a second, I consider ignoring it, because that’s what I’ve done for the last three years—ignore, vanish, stay out of sight. But the second shove comes harder, accompanied by a laugh and the same voice saying, “What? Cat got your tongue?”

And that’s it.

I turn, slow, deliberate, my patience already burning at the edges. “Can’t you fucking see?” I snap, glaring at the two perfectly groomed idiots who have clearly never known what it means to be punched in the face.

The taller one scoffs, eyes widening like he can’t believe someone dared talk back to him. “What did you just say?”

I tilt my head. “Oh, you heard me. I said, can you not fucking see? Or are the royal hair products blinding you?”

The smaller one lets out a shocked laugh, then covers it with a cough when the tall one glares at him. “You’ve got a mouth, Beta,” the taller one growls.

“Yeah,” I say, stepping forward, “and ears too, which means I can hear how stupid you sound.”

Gasps ripple down the hallway. I can feel eyes on me—dozens of them—students watching, whispering, memorizing every word. Great. I just painted a target on my back.

The tall one sneers, stepping closer. “Do you know who my father is?”

“Oh gods, that line,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “You nobles really need to get better material.”

Laughter breaks out from a few brave students at the far end of the hall, but it dies quickly when the tall noble rounds on them. He turns back to me, fury twisting his face. “You’ll regret this.”

“I already do,” I say dryly, stepping around him. “Talking to you killed my last brain cell.”

The hallway is silent for half a heartbeat before whispers explode behind me—half horrified, half impressed.

I successfully fucked up four years of invisibility in less than thirty seconds.

Shut up, Rowan, shut up, but it was too late, because the Alpha’s hand was already rising, and before I could move he slapped me across the face, hard enough that my vision blurred.

He turned to two Beta boys behind him and snapped,

“Drag him to the field. We’re handling this the old way.”

“What?” I hissed, stumbling backward. “No—hey—don’t you—”

“Shut up,” one of them muttered as they grabbed my arms.

They dragged me across the courtyard while everyone watched, some recording already, some whispering, some laughing, and all I could think was, Not again, not again, not again, because I had promised myself I would never bend to this kind of humiliation again. But here I was, being shoved into the center of the training field while a crowd formed around me, phones out, eyes sharp with the kind of anticipation that made my stomach twist.

The Alpha stepped forward holding a whip—thin, cruel leather—and I felt my throat tighten.

“Beta punishment,” he said casually. “Twelve lashes for disrespect.”

“This is stupid,” I snapped. “You’re stupid. This whole—”

The first lash hit my back before I could finish, a hot line of fire slicing across my skin, and I hissed through my teeth, gripping the pole they tied me to, refusing to bend.

“Count,” the Alpha ordered.

“No,” I whispered.

The second lash struck harder and someone recorded it, murmuring, “Damn, he’s not even crying.”

The third hit, the fourth, the fifth, and my jaw was clenching so hard I thought my teeth might crack, but I refused to make a sound.

By the twelfth lash I was trembling, my breathing ragged, sweat beading across my forehead, and when the Alpha said, “He hasn’t cried once—make it twenty,” the crowd cheered.

“Don’t—” I started, but the next lash cut through my words.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

By sixteen, my legs were buckling.

By seventeen, I tasted blood where I bit my cheek.

By eighteen, my vision was starting to whiten around the edges.

By nineteen, someone whispered, “This is abuse, isn’t it?”

And by twenty, I was barely standing, but I still refused to let a single tear fall.

When they finally untied me and walked away laughing, the crowd dispersed slowly, still whispering, still recording, still smirking at my pain, and I just stood there, swaying slightly, whispering to myself, “You’re fine, you’re fine, it’s nothing, you’ve survived worse,” even though every breath was searing my lungs.

When the field was finally empty, I pushed myself upright and hissed when the pain sharpened across my back. My shirt was sticking uncomfortably to the raw wounds and I muttered, “Great, wonderful, fantastic morning,” while limping slowly toward the building.

The academy had been owned by the Varyn family for generations, passed down through kings who claimed to modernize but still clung to archaic traditions. Nobles still had free rein. Alphas could still punish Betas in the open. And the staff still pretended not to notice when one student whipped another in the middle of the day.

As I entered the hallway, holding a bottle of water I’d grabbed from a vending machine, I heard a sudden commotion—students running, whispering, gasping.

“They’re here—”

“No way—”

“The Varyn Kings—right now?—”

My heart dropped. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

I whispered sharply, “Turn around, Rowan, turn around,” because the last thing I needed was to be seen in this pathetic, limping state after being whipped like a dog.

But before I could leave, the hallway exploded with movement. People pushed, shoved, clawed for better positions to see the royals entering from the courtyard, and the pressure of bodies slamming into me made agony shoot up my back.

“Stop—hey—watch it—” I hissed, stumbling.

Someone shoved me harder.

I start to slip away, clutching the bottle tight, muttering, “Just get back to class, Rowan. Don’t look. Don’t—”

“Move,” someone hisses behind me.

It’s the tall noble from earlier. Of course it is. The universe really hates me.

“I am moving,” I snap, trying to sidestep him.

He smirks. “Not fast enough, Beta Trash.”

I grit my teeth. “Say that again.”

“Beta,” he drawls, loud enough for the guards nearby to hear. “Trash.”

My fingers tighten on the cup. “You’re really pushing your luck.”

“What’s the matter?” he sneers. “Scared the Kings will see what you really are?”

I blink. “What the hell does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer. He just shoves me.

Hard.

My water bottle slipped from my hand and the cold liquid splashed everywhere as I lurched forward, completely unable to steady myself because my body was still shaking from the pain, and then I collided with someone solid.

So solid my knees buckled instantly.

The water splashed across the person’s chest, soaking the fabric.

I fell onto my knees, the pain exploding across my back so sharply I saw stars, and I looked up—

Straight into the enraged eyes of Dante Varyn.

His black shirt was drenched.

His jaw was tightening.

And his aura was already suffocating the hallway.

“Oh,” I whispered numbly. “I’m done for.”

Students around us gasped loudly.

The noble who shoved me goes pale. “Oh gods—”

Dante stared at me with a stare so sharp it felt like a blade.

Lucien, standing to his right, grins like this is the best entertainment he’s had all month. “Well, this is new,” he says softly.

Kade lingers behind them watching everything.

My brain is screaming. My mouth opens. No words come out.

The guards are already moving. I can hear their boots, their weapons, the collective sound of every student holding their breath.

I want to disappear. I want to melt into the marble. I want to go back ten seconds and trip myself instead.

“Oh,” I whisper.

Lucien raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “Oh?”

I swallow hard, voice dropping to a whisper meant for myself but loud enough that the nearest guards hear it.

“Oh, I’m so fucking dead.”