Masky Marble Hornets

At Manatee high, where wealth whispers through the marble halls and last names open doors, Emma Carter stands out for all the wrong reasons. She’s there on a scholarship — smart, quiet, and completely out of place among the designer uniforms and polished smiles. Her father works long hours as a construction worker, and her mother’s absence still echoes through every choice she makes. All Emma wants is to survive senior year unnoticed. Connor Hayes Charming, confident, and born into old money, he moves through school like he owns it — because, in a way, he does. But behind the perfect image lies someone quietly restless, bored of the shallow routines and expectations his family forces on him. When a class project throws Emma and Connor together, their worlds collide. What starts as polite conversation turns into stolen glances, late-night talks, and moments that make Emma question everything she’s been taught about people like him. For the first time, Connor finds someone who doesn’t care about his last name — someone who sees him. But no everyone is happy about it ,The whispers start. And soon, Emma isn’t sure if she’s part of Connor’s world — or just an experiment in rebellion. As emotions deepen, the line between love and heartbreak blurs. Emma learns that privilege comes with its own cages, and Connor realizes that sincerity can’t be bought. Together, they must decide whether what they have can survive the pressure of judgment, jealousy, and fear — or if love alone isn’t enough to bridge two very different worlds. “Emma and Connor” is a coming-of-age romance about class, courage, and finding where you belong — even when the world tells you that you don’t.

On the day that was supposed to be my wedding—the bride wasn’t me. The ceremony I’d waited for five years for turned into a joke when Valentina, my sister, walked down the marble aisle in a white wedding dress. Her arm was linked with Luca’s — the man who was supposed to be waiting for me at the altar. “I’m sorry, Bianca,” she said softly. “But you are no longer the bride today.” Then she touched her stomach, eyes gleaming with triumph. “I’m pregnant with Don Romano’s child.” Her words detonated inside my skull, and the whole world went silent. As if afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she lifted something glossy up towards the light. A black-and-white ultrasound image. It read clearly: Gestational age — 12 weeks. My eyes burned, tears stinging as I turned to Luca, desperately searching for anything—a denial, an explanation, regret. Instead, he only sighed, weary and resigned. “Bianca, I’m sorry.” he said helplessly. “Valentina doesn’t have much time left. This wedding… it was her last wish.” “I’ll make it up to you,” he added. “We can have another wedding later.” My father, Moretti, stood behind him, wearing the same stern expression he’d worn my entire life. I have never seen him smile at me, not even once. “Bianca,” he said sharply, “Your sister is dying. Let her have this.” My brother nodded without saying a single word, as if that was enough to be a solid answer. All my life, they had chosen her—her tears, her whims, her needs—over mine. Today was no different. Something inside me quietly cracked. Fine. If no one in this family cares about me, I’ll leave.