Semua Bab Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers: Bab 101 - Bab 110

The ball moved like it remembered me. I dribbled down the court, the echo of each bounce like a heartbeat in the stillness. My steps were light, precise, instinctual — muscle memory rising from someplace deeper than thought. My long braid swung behind me with every movement, a dark ribbon slicing the air, catching the sun as I turned. I pivoted, twisted, took a shot — the ball arcing high into the air — and when it sank through the net with that clean, perfect swish, something inside me fluttered wide open. I didn’t think about anything. Not Lucas, not Daniel, not the strange ache that had taken up residence in my chest these past few weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t surviving or pretending or remembering — I was being. The wind kissed my skin, lifting the strands of hair that slipped loose from my braid, and my feet moved like they never forgot. I crossed the court again, faster now, the ball gliding beneath my palm, sharp and alive. I spun, laughin

I woke to the sound of rain. It tapped gently on the tall windows like it had something to say—soft, steady, calming. The whole world outside was misted over in gray, but it wasn’t the kind of gloom that dragged you down. It was the kind of gray that made everything feel still. Clean. New. I lay there for a moment, wrapped in the soft weight of the sheets, listening to the ocean below the cliff. I could hear the crash of waves in the distance, muffled by rain but still strong. Constant. Like a heartbeat. The castle—though I had to remind myself to stop calling it that—stood high above the sea, all dark stone and sharp angles. But from here, under warm blankets and with Apollo snoring gently near the foot of the bed, it felt more like a cocoon than a fortress. Lucas was already gone. He’d left early to meet his father in the city. He didn’t talk about it much, but I knew it wasn’t a peaceful visit. He hated that man. There was always something tense in his shoulders the night befo

I carried him up the stairs in silence, his arm heavy across my shoulder, his breath sharp and uneven against my neck. He didn’t say a word. His eyes—half-open, unfocused—were red with fear. Lucas Whitlock was afraid. And that terrified me more than anything else. The bedroom felt distant, too far from the living room even though it was just at the end of the hall. The castle groaned around us. Not from the wind or rain. But from its bones. As if something deep in the stone had been disturbed. When I laid him on the bed, he didn’t let go of my hand. His fingers clung to mine like he was drowning. “Pearl,” he murmured, barely audible. “Don’t… leave…” “I won’t,” I whispered. “I’m here.” He was already drifting. The panic in him ebbed into exhaustion. His breath began to slow. But even as he slept, his eyelids twitched. His body jerked slightly. He was dreaming again. Or no—trapped. I sat beside him and pulled the blanket over his chest. Outside the window, the storm

The sky had cleared, but not completely. There was a pale, milky wash overhead—a strange softness to the light that filtered through the trees as I walked toward the examination hall. The air was damp, carrying the ghost-scent of last night’s storm. Mud clung to the soles of my shoes, and the leaves whispered like they were trying not to be heard. Students clustered in small groups ahead, voices hushed with a kind of respectful dread. No one laughed. No one ran. There was something sacred and suffocating about exam day—a shared silence that stretched between us like glass. I walked alone, clutching my clear pouch of pens with knuckles too white. My long black hair was pinned up, loose strands curling down my neck. I wore my uniform blazer neatly buttoned even though it was a little too warm. I needed the comfort. The control. After the week we’d had, this was the first time the world felt remotely predictable. Lucas had walked me to the corridor, but he didn’t say much. He was qu

Dinner was simple that night. No grand table arrangements. No silver cloches or chandeliers swinging above us like frozen stars. Just a low fire in the hearth, the hum of ocean wind against the windows, and two bowls of pasta on the old oak table in the kitchen nook. Lucas had cooked again. “Remind me to thank whoever taught you to make this,” I said, swirling a forkful of creamy pasta. “No one did. I followed a recipe. And then didn’t follow it.” “Well, I like what you didn’t follow.” He smirked. “That’s a backhanded compliment.” “No, that’s survival praise. I’m starving.” Apollo sat curled near our feet, tail flicking slowly as his eyes followed every movement of my fork. Occasionally, he let out a faint chuff of disapproval whenever Lucas took a bigger bite than me. “He thinks you’re spoiling me,” I whispered, pointing my fork at Lucas. Lucas glanced down at Apollo. “I am spoiling her.” Apollo gave an exaggerated blink. Dinner passed in warm silences and easy conversati