Isabelle's POV
After that day, my life had become a living hell. Almost all of St. Aurelia had turned their backs on me, everyone, except Julien and the members of the Music Club.
The social hierarchy of the academy was a wall of glass, and I had shattered it. Everywhere I went, I felt their eyes, a thousand tiny needles pricking at my skin. I could hear the whispers trailing behind me like a toxic exhaust, the pointed glances, the sneers hiding just beneath polite, expensive facades. My locker had become a canvas for their cruelty, stuffed so full of threat letters that they spilled out like autumn leaves every time I opened it.
Each morning, my desk was a battlefield: spilled ink that ruined my notes, spoiled milk that curdled in the heat, and cruel words scrawled across every surface, my chair, my notebooks, even the floor around my feet. Names like "church rat" and "dirty orphan" followed me down the halls, bouncing from whispered tones to open mockery.
Even the cafeteria, which should have been a neutral space, had turned treacherous. I remember one day, when Julien was caught in a meeting with his father, a girl had deliberately dumped a carton of milk over my food tray. She laughed with her friends as I froze, stunned and humiliated, the white liquid dripping onto my roasted chicken. Only in the Music Club did I feel safe. The violin in my hands, the warm smiles of the other members, Julien's calm presence beside me, there, I could breathe, if only for a few hours.
But Julien's constant defense was a double-edged sword. Day by day, he shielded me from the worst of it, and day by day, I felt my own strength and independence slipping away. It was nauseating, feeling useless, dependent, and incompetent. I hated it. I hated needing someone else to fight my battles. I hated feeling like a child in a war I hadn't chosen.
I woke up to another morning that felt heavier than the last. The sunlight seeping through the curtains only reminded me of the weight pressing on my chest. For the first time, I didn't want to leave my room. I sank to my knees beside my bed, fingers trembling as I prayed.
Lord, give me courage. Please… let things go back to how they were. Let me survive this day without shame.
I stood up slowly, washed my face with ice-cold water to ground myself, and dressed in my uniform. I studied my reflection, forcing a trace of confidence onto my features. My red hair framed my pale face in loose waves, my grey eyes dim from sleepless nights but stubbornly defiant. I inhaled deeply, counting to three, and opened the door.
That's when I saw it. A small brown box sat on my doorstep. It was plain, with neat black ink scrawled across the top: For Isabelle.
My stomach twisted. I picked it up and carried it inside. The moment I sliced through the tape, a stench hit me, a rotten, acrid smell that made me gag. I opened it fully and froze. My eyes widened, my heart stopped. I screamed, a high-pitched, uncontrollable sound that bounced off the walls and made my ears ring.
Inside lay a dead rat, bloated and grotesque. Next to it was a voodoo doll with my initials pinned in red ink through the heart. Tears stung my eyes as I stared at the mess. Who would do this? What have I done to deserve this?
I fell to the floor, covering my face with my hands. Sobs wracked my body as reality sank in. This was personal. This wasn't just bullying; it was a ritual of hate.
I forced myself to stand, nausea clawing at my throat. I couldn't call the staff; I couldn't let them see me broken. I grabbed cleaning supplies and scrubbed the desk, the floor, and the memory of the smell. Every movement felt mechanical. When it was done, the room looked almost normal, but I knew the floor I stood on was stained in ways disinfectant couldn't reach.
My phone buzzed. Julien.
Isabelle, are you okay? Why aren't you in class yet?
I stared at the message. If I told him, he'd interfere. He'd make it his war, and I'd just be the girl he was protecting again. I set the phone down, applied moisturizer to hide the tear tracks, and slung my bag over my shoulder.
The walk to the school building was a gauntlet.
"Church rat… dirty orphan… think she can just sit with Julien?"
"She's nothing but trouble."
I reached my locker for my lab coat, and as expected, the letters cascaded out like a torrent. I shoved them into the trash bin with a frustrated hiss and made my way to the lab.
The silence hit me first when I entered the classroom. Every eye was on me, but I only felt one pair: Dmitri's. His gaze was piercing, sharp, and predatory. He looked like he was dissecting me. I tore my eyes away as Dr. Rowan's voice cut through the tension.
"Isabelle, why are you just coming in? The class started forty-five minutes ago."
"I'm sorry, sir, I…"
"The class will end in a bit," he said, checking his watch. "I've given out the midterm curriculum. You'll need to catch up on your own."
"I'll help her," Julien said instantly, raising his hand.
Dmitri's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked toward Julien with barely contained irritation, a dark storm cloud forming behind his brow. I slid into the seat beside Julien, but I could still feel Dmitri's watchful eyes burning through the back of my neck.
Finally, the bell rang. As we walked to my locker, Julien pressed for answers. "Why did you come in so late today? You look pale, Isabelle."
"Um… nothing happened," I mumbled. "I just woke up late."
"Isabelle, you know you can tell me anything, right? I'll be there no matter what."
Before I could answer, laughter cut through the hallway like a knife. Arabella and her group strode toward us.
"Well, well… look who finally got her little gift," Arabella purred, her eyes glinting. "Did you enjoy the surprise on your doorstep? That was just the beginning, darling. You belong nowhere."
My chest tightened. Julien stepped protectively in front of me. "Leave her alone, Arabella. Back off."
"Or what, Julien? You'll defend her? How noble. But trust me, she's just getting started. And you? You're just in the way."
I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and fled down the hallway, the laughter echoing like a storm of mockery. I didn't stop until I reached a quiet corner near the gym, my knees drawn up to my chest. The tears I had fought back fell freely.
Julien crouched beside me, pulling me into a comforting hug. "Hey… it's okay. You're safe now."
"I… I didn't do anything!" I choked out. "Why are they doing this?"
I finally broke. I told him everything, the box, the rat, the doll. Julien's grip tightened, his warmth the only thing keeping me from shattering. "I'll handle it," he whispered. "Come on, let's go."
He walked me back to the girls' hostel, carrying my books as if they were made of gold. When we reached my door, he handed them back gently.
"Get some rest," he said softly. "I'll go back for anything you left behind."
I nodded, too drained to speak. I watched him turn and walk away, his silhouette fading as he headed back toward the school building. I didn't know then that this was the moment everything shifted.
Dmitri's POV
The hallway was silent, the kind of silence that usually preceded a massacre. I waited in the corridor between the dorms and the classrooms, leaning against the cold stone pillar. I had watched the whole pathetic display in the lab, Julien playing the white knight, Isabelle playing the damsel.
Footsteps. Rhythmic, confident.
Julien Rousseau rounded the corner, Isabelle's spare notebook in his hand. He stopped the moment he saw me. The "Golden Boy" didn't look so golden in the dim, flickering light of the hallway.
"Dmitri," he said, his voice flat. "I'm not in the mood."
I straightened up, a slow smirk spreading across my face. I stepped into his path, blocking the way back to the main building. "You're making a mistake, Rousseau. You're coddling a fire that's going to burn this whole school down."
Julien stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "She's a person, Dmitri. Not a 'fire.' And if you or your little group of sycophants touch her again, I don't care who your father is."
I laughed…a sharp, dry sound. "My father? You think I'm the one you should be worried about? Look at her, Julien. She's falling apart. And the more you hold her hand, the more they hate her. You aren't saving her. You're marking her for execution."
I stepped closer, until I could see the reflection of my own dark eyes in his. "Stay away from her. For her sake. Or I'll make sure the next 'gift' she gets isn't a dead rat. It'll be your reputation."
Julien didn't flinch, but I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the same doubt Isabelle carried. "You're pathetic," he whispered.
"Maybe," I said, stepping aside to let him pass. "But I'm the one who knows how this world works. And in this world, Golden Boys don't win. They just tarnish."
I watched him walk away, but my mind was already back on Isabelle. The girl who had looked at me with those silver eyes in the lab. The girl who was currently crying in her room.
The game was no longer about a scholarship. It was about who would break first. And I was going to make sure it wasn't me.