Isabelle's POV
Something was fundamentally wrong.
I felt it the moment I stepped into the courtyard. The atmosphere of St. Aurelia had shifted overnight. The air wasn't hostile anymore, at least not in the way I was used to. The sharp glares that usually cut through me had softened into something heavier: lingering, predatory looks. The whispers still followed me, but their frequency had changed. They no longer carried the edges of cruelty.
Instead, they carried the suffocating weight of curiosity.
Boys who had previously looked through me as if I were made of glass now smiled when I passed. Girls who had laughed at my frayed sleeves now watched from a distance, their expressions tight and laced with a new kind of venom.
It was worse than the bullying because I didn't understand the rules of this new game.
Just days ago, I had been the school's favorite target, the charity case in the crosshairs.
Now, suddenly, I was a spectacle.
A fascination.
A threat.
I tightened my grip around my books, the corners digging into my palms, and kept walking. I ignored the way a group of second-years fell silent as I passed the fountain.
"Is that her?" one of them murmured.
"The violin girl," another replied, his eyes tracing the line of my shoulders. "Isabelle Duval."
My name rolled off his tongue like it had a price tag attached to it. I hated it. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to veil my face, and moved faster.
I reached my locker and spun the combination with trembling fingers. I braced myself for the usual deluge of ink, trash, or another dead thing. But when the metal door swung open, nothing spilled out. No letters. No threats. No filth.
The relief that washed over me was cold and short-lived.
"You're getting popular, Isabelle. It's almost a scandal."
The voice was smooth, like expensive silk, and carried an amused lilt. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Slowly, I turned.
Emmeline Schuyler stood there. She looked like she had been born to stand in a spotlight. She had perfect posture, an immaculate uniform, and a smile that stayed firmly on her lips without ever reaching her calculating eyes. She looked pleased, like a scientist watching a successful reaction.
"I'm sorry?" I said, my voice sounding thin and cautious.
She laughed softly, a melodic sound that felt entirely rehearsed. "Relax. I'm not here to bite. I'm not Arabella, Isabelle. I find her methods tedious and lacking in finesse."
I wasn't convinced. In this school, the girls who did not scream were usually the ones who did the most damage.
"I've been meaning to speak with you privately," she continued, stepping into my personal space. The scent of her floral perfume wrapped around me.
My instincts, sharpened by weeks of survival, screamed at me to run. "I don't think we have anything to discuss, Emmeline."
"Oh, we do," she said lightly, leaning against the locker next to mine. "Especially after everything you've been through. The box?
The whispers? It was all so... unfortunate."
Unfortunate. That was her word for the hell I had lived through. I studied her face, trying to find a crack in the mask. "Why are you telling me this now? You were there. You watched it happen."
Her smile softened. It was a masterpiece of a look, vulnerable yet strong. "Because I know what it's like to be judged by people who do not have half your talent. To be misunderstood by those who only see the surface."
I almost laughed. "You? You're a Schuyler. You're at the top of the food chain."
She didn't flinch. "The view from the top is very lonely. You'd be surprised how much we have in common."
We stood there for a moment, the hallway buzzing like a disturbed hive. I could feel the eyes of the other students burning into my back. They were noticing. They were cataloging this moment.
"I just thought," Emmeline continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "that maybe you could use someone on your side. Someone who actually understands how the gears of St. Aurelia turn."
"I already have friends," I said, thinking of Julien.
"Julien Rousseau." For a split second, her eyes flashed with something sharp. "Yes. He's the Golden Boy, after all. But kindness doesn't protect you here, Isabelle. Kindness is just a soft target. Influence is armor."
I didn't respond. I could not. She was dissecting my life with the precision of a surgeon.
"You don't trust me. That's fair," she admitted. "I wouldn't trust me either. So let's change that. Let's give them something real to talk about."
Before I could protest, she linked her arm through mine. The contact was startling, firm and possessive.
"We'll walk," she said pleasantly. "People are staring, and it's much better to give them a performance than a mystery."
As she guided me through the corridor, I felt the weight of a thousand gazes.
"Is Emmeline walking with her?"
"Why is she touching the charity case?"
My stomach twisted into a knot. "This is a mistake," I murmured, trying to pull away.
"Only if you make it one," Emmeline replied. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
Across the corridor, I saw them. Dmitri and Adrien. They were leaning against a set of lockers, arms crossed. Dmitri's eyes were narrowed, his jaw set in that lethal line. He looked like he wanted to burn the hallway down. Adrien just looked concerned, his brow furrowed as he watched Emmeline lead me away.
Emmeline ignored them, her head held high. She led me out toward the fountain, talking as if we were childhood confidants. "You play beautifully. I heard you in the Music Wing. Even Dmitri noticed. And he does not notice anything that isn't a direct challenge to his ego."
My chest tightened. "I don't play for him. Or for you."
"I know," she replied. "That's why your music is so dangerous. It's honest."
She finally released my arm and turned to face me. "I want to help you, Isabelle. No games. No hidden knives. I'll be your shield. If I treat you as an equal, the Arabellas of this world will crawl back into their holes."
"And what do you get out of this?" I asked. "No one does anything for free here."
Her smile sharpened just a fraction. "Company. And perhaps the satisfaction of watching the Demon Prince lose his composure. He's been far too stable lately."
By lunch, the social map of the school had been redrawn.
I was sitting at my usual table with Julien. He was halfway through telling me about a new cello piece when the cafeteria went silent.
Emmeline Schuyler was approaching, her tray in hand, her expression serene.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked.
Julien stiffened beside me, his fork hovering in mid-air. "Actually, Emmeline, we were just…"
"Of course," I said, cutting him off. I did not want a scene.
Julien turned to me, his eyes wide with shock. "Isabelle..."
"It's fine," I insisted.
Emmeline slid gracefully onto the bench opposite us. "Thank you, Isabelle. You're much more hospitable than the Rousseau family."
Julien's jaw tightened so hard I heard it click. "Since when are you two on speaking terms?"
"Since today," Emmeline said, her eyes glimmering with a subtle, dark triumph. "Isabelle deserves better than to sit in the corners.
She's a Duval. Even if the school hasn't realized what that means yet."
Throughout lunch, she dominated the room. She did not just talk; she performed. She complimented my playing loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. She made me the center of her universe.
Julien leaned toward me, his voice a low hum. "Be careful, Isabelle. She's moving pieces on a board you can't see."
"I know," I whispered back. But as I looked at the girls across the room, the ones who were now looking at me with fear instead of mockery, I wondered if a dangerous friend was better than a certain enemy.
Dmitri's POV
The rhythmic thump of the basketball echoed off the walls. I was moving with a violence I could not contain, my heart racing from the image burned into my mind: Emmeline's arm linked with Isabelle's.
Adrien moved beside me, his movements fluid but distracted. He stole the ball and pivoted. "You're going to pop a vein, Dmitri. Relax."
"I'm perfectly relaxed," I snapped, snatching the ball back.
"Right. And I'm the King of England."
I ignored him and drove toward the hoop, but I stopped short. At the edge of the court, leaning against the fence, was the viper herself.
Emmeline.
Her hair was glinting in the late afternoon sun, her light brown eyes filled with an infuriating sparkle. She was waiting for me.
I walked over to the fence, the ball tucked under my arm. "What are you doing, Emmeline?" I demanded, my voice a low snarl.
She tilted her head. "I just came to watch the captain practice. Is that a crime?"
"No. Why am I seeing you with Isabelle Duval?"
Her smile widened. "I'm just making friends, Dmitri. Isn't that what we're encouraged to do? Foster a spirit of community?"
Adrien stepped up behind me, wiping sweat from his forehead with his jersey. "We all know you don't make friends, Emmeline. You make pawns. You're dragging that girl into a war she doesn't understand."
Emmeline's gaze flicked to Adrien, then back to me. "I'm doing it for your benefit, Dmitri."
"My benefit?" I barked a short laugh. "How is you tainting her with your shadow a benefit to me?"
"Because," she whispered, stepping closer to the fence. "You're too close to her. You're acting on impulse. You're humiliating boys in the cafeteria and tearing up sketches in the hallway. You're becoming messy. I'm simply providing a buffer. If she's mine, you don't have to worry about her anymore. You can go back to being the Prince, and I'll handle the Rat."
I felt a surge of cold fury. "If this is about that unraveling talk, you will stop. Now. She is not your project, and she is certainly not your pawn."
"Or what?" she challenged. "You'll protect her yourself? You'll stand up in the cafeteria and tell everyone that Isabelle Duval is under the protection of the Volkov family? Think of the scandal, Dmitri. Think of your father."
I went still. Absolutely still.
"Stay out of my business, Emmeline," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal vibration. "Stay out of my sight. And stay away from her."
She did not flinch. She simply inclined her head, as composed as a queen. "We'll see, Dmitri. But remember... I'm the only one who can keep the other girls from destroying her while you're busy pretending you don't care."
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking a sharp tempo on the asphalt.
I watched her go, my fists unclenching slowly. Adrien muttered something about vipers, but I wasn't listening. I was looking at the trash can near the locker room, where a shredded sketch of a girl with silver eyes lay buried under the weight of the school's garbage.
I had told her she would be destroyed. I just hadn't realized that the person holding the match would be the person I trusted most.