All Chapters of The chosen ( the hybrid): Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The next day, I walked into the school compound, heading straight to my classroom. I knew I was supposed to report to Mr. Lawson’s office first—his words from last night had been crystal clear—but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not yet. There was something else I needed to do first: see Arden.But when I stepped into the classroom, he wasn’t there.Disappointment tugged at my chest. I scanned the rows of desks, hoping he’d pop in any moment, but the classroom was nearly empty except for a few students chatting in the corner. I sighed and turned to leave. My stomach churned with unease as I thought about Mr. Lawson’s likely reaction to my delay. As I walked out of the classroom, I caught sight of Collins. He was standing at the end of the hallway, staring at me. Not saying a word. Just… staring.A chill ran down my spine. The intensity of his gaze made my skin crawl. Was there something on my face? I turned to glance at my reflection in the window next to me. My heart thudded as I s

The air crackled with unspoken expectation, thick enough to choke on. Arden's smirk, a fleeting, cruel curve of his lips, was the last thing I saw before he abandoned me in the suffocating silence of the room. Abandoned, not just physically, but emotionally, teetering on the precipice of something I desperately craved and simultaneously feared. He *knew* what he was doing. He’d orchestrated this entire scene, a twisted symphony of longing and denial, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the turmoil within. He was supposed to kiss me. The script, unspoken but undeniably present, demanded it. The air had been electric, charged with the promise of a connection that transcended the casual flirtations and playful banter we usually engaged in. My skin still tingled with the phantom sensation of his nearness.*Olivia, stop.* The voice in my head, usually a gentle whisper of reason, now screamed with the urgency of a

The cafeteria air hung thick with the aroma of stale pizza and simmering gossip, a noxious blend that mirrored the sour taste in my mouth. Talia's triumphant smirk, a fleeting flash of victory before she trailed after Arden, replayed in my mind like a broken record. *Dating*. So, that was it. The pieces clicked into place with a sickening finality. Arden and Talia. It made a cruel kind of sense.Arden, forever out of reach. The realization settled upon me like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. I slumped onto my desk, the cool surface a small comfort against the burning humiliation that still coursed through me. Lunchtime. A cacophony of noise and forced cheerfulness that I had no energy to face. The cafeteria was a battlefield today, and I was a wounded soldier seeking refuge.I burrowed my face into my arms, seeking oblivion. Sleep offered a temporary escape, a brief respite from the torment of my thoughts. The minutes ticked by, marked only by the distant rumble of voices and the rhy

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to everything in the hospital room, a constant, unwelcome reminder of my confinement. Two days. Forty-eight hours trapped within these four walls, and a silent scream building in my chest. Not from the pain – though the dull ache thrumming through my body was persistent – but from the gaping absence where Arden should have been.I’d foolishly imagined that a hospital stay, a genuine brush with mortality (or at least a very persuasive imitation of it), would elicit some flicker of… something… from him. Sympathy? Concern? Even a begrudging visit would have sufficed. Instead, the parade of well-wishers underscored his absence with brutal clarity.Collins was a constant, almost unnervingly cheerful presence. Each morning, he arrived bearing a single, perfect bloom – a rose, a lily, once even a delicate sprig of lavender – its fragrance a fleeting counterpoint to the pervasive medicinal odor. “Good morning, sunshine,” he’d say, his voice a warm rumble

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to me as I walked out of the hospital. Collins was a constant presence, a shadow flitting at the edge of my vision, ever since my father had signed the discharge papers. He’d been there through the stilted small talk with the nurses, the awkward shuffle to the car, and the silent drive back to the dorm. My father dropped me off with a curt nod, a silent promise to return soon, leaving me to face whatever awaited me behind that familiar door.The moment I pushed it open, I gasped. It was like walking into a dream – or perhaps a carefully constructed trap. My dorm room, usually a study in organized chaos, had been transformed. Garlands of flowers draped across the ceiling, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the pale walls. Petals, a riot of reds, pinks, and whites, carpeted the floor, swirling around my bed in a fragrant, dizzying display. My name, "Olivia," was spelled out in meticulously arranged petals on the duvet.My first instinct was to