Isabelle's POV
The Music Room was supposed to be my fortress.
The air here usually smelled of aged wood and rosin, a scent that acted like a balm to my frayed nerves. But tonight, it felt like a tomb. I was curled on the floor in the corner, my back against the cold legs of the grand piano, clutching my violin case as if it were the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.
I didn't cry. The betrayal was too cold for tears. Julien, my anchor, the only person who had looked at me without a price tag in his eyes was just another player. He had "bought" my safety. He had handled me like a piece of fragile porcelain that couldn't survive on its own merit.
The silence of the room was shattered by the heavy clack of the door being thrown open.
I didn't need to look up. I knew the weight of that footstep. It was arrogant, heavy, and echoed with the authority of someone who had never been told no.
"Go away, Dmitri," I said, my voice sounding hollow, vibrating against the wooden floorboards.
"You're hiding in the dark, Isabelle. That's a dangerous habit," Dmitri replied. I heard the click of the lock. He was sealing us in.
He walked into the center of the room, still wearing his basketball gear, though he had thrown a jacket over his shoulders. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and glittering with a terrifying sort of triumph.
"Did you come to finish it?" I asked, finally looking up. My gaze was hard, matching his. "You destroyed the only friend I had. You humiliated him in front of the entire school. Are you happy now?"
Dmitri stepped closer, his shadow stretching over me like a shroud. "I didn't destroy him, Isabelle. I just stripped away the mask. If the truth destroyed him, then he was never worth your time to begin with."
"He was protecting me!" I snapped, scrambling to my feet. I hated looking up at him from the floor.
"Protecting you?" Dmitri barked a short, jagged laugh. He closed the distance between us until I was backed against the piano, the keys letting out a soft, discordant moan as I leaned into them. "He was owning you. He was making sure your success belonged to the Rousseau name. He's a liar, Isabelle. He's a 'Saint' who buys his way out of trouble and buys his way into your heart. At least I'm honest about being a devil."
"Honesty?" I pushed against his chest, but he didn't move an inch. He was like a wall of granite. "You break my bow. You follow me like a stalker. You make my life a living hell just because you can! That's not honesty, Dmitri. That's cruelty."
He grabbed my wrists, his grip firm but not painful, possessive in a way that made my breath hitch. "It's real. Every look I give you, every time I push you until you break, it's the only real thing in this entire godforsaken school. Everyone else is playing a part. But you and I? We're the only ones who aren't lying."
"I hate you," I whispered, the words trembling with a mixture of rage and a terrifying, unwanted spark of something else.
"I know," he murmured, leaning down until his forehead almost touched mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him. "But you don't doubt me. You know exactly what I want. Can you say the same for Julien now?"
Before I could answer, a frantic knocking echoed at the door.
"Isabelle? Isabelle, are you in there?"
It was Julien. His voice was ragged, desperate, and stripped of all its usual "Golden Boy" polish.
Dmitri's grip on my wrists tightened for a fraction of a second, his eyes flashing with a renewed flare of jealousy. He didn't move to open the door. He didn't even look toward it. His gaze was anchored to mine, challenging me to call out.
"Isabelle, please!" Julien shouted through the wood. "I can explain. My father… he wouldn't listen, I just wanted to make sure you were safe after what Dmitri did! I didn't mean to take your merit away. Please, just open the door!"
I looked at the door, then back at the man standing inches from me. I could see the pulse jumping in Dmitri's neck. He was waiting.
"Tell him to go away," Dmitri whispered, his voice a dark temptation. "Tell him you don't need a savior who buys his way into your life."
I felt like I was being torn in two. One part of me wanted to run to Julien, to forgive him because his lie came from a place of misplaced care. But another part of me, the part that had been sharpened by the cruelty of St. Aurelia knew that Dmitri was right. Julien had treated me like a project.
"Julien," I called out, my voice cracking.
Dmitri's eyes darkened.
"Go away," I said, louder this time.
The silence that followed was deafening. I heard a muffled sound, perhaps a sob, perhaps just a breath from the other side of the door. Then, the sound of retreating footsteps, slow and defeated.
I felt a surge of nausea. I had just cut my only anchor loose.
Dmitri released my wrists, but he didn't step back. He reached out, his thumb brushing against my cheek with an unexpected, searing tenderness that frightened me more than his anger ever had.
"Good girl," he murmured.
I slapped his hand away, my eyes blazing. "Don't touch me. I didn't do that for you. I did it because I'm tired of being everyone's charity case. You're just as bad as he is, Dmitri. You just use different weapons."
I grabbed my violin case and moved toward the door. As I reached for the handle, Dmitri's voice stopped me.
"You're wrong about one thing, Isabelle."
I didn't turn around.
"I don't want to save you," he said, his voice low and heavy with an obsession he no longer tried to hide. "And I don't want to buy you. I just want to see how far you'll go before you realize you belong in my world."
I didn't respond. I unlocked the door and stepped out into the dark hallway, leaving him alone in the Music Room. But as I walked back to my dorm, the silence of the school felt heavier than ever.
Julien was gone. Dmitri was a shadow I couldn't escape. And somewhere in the distance, I could still hear the whispers of the students.
"She looks just like her…"
I realized then that Dmitri hadn't just isolated me. He had cleared the board. And now that the "Saint" was gone, there was no one left to stop the "Devil" from claiming his prize.
Dmitri's POV
I stood in the center of the dark room long after she left. The scent of her lavender and something sharp, like ozone before a storm still hung in the air.
My heart was beating a frantic, erratic rhythm. I had won. I had stripped Julien Rousseau of his dignity and his girl in one afternoon. I should have felt satisfied.
Instead, I felt a gnawing hunger that was only getting worse.
I walked over to the piano and pressed a single key. A low, mourning note rang out. I thought of the way she had looked at me, the hatred mixed with that fleeting, raw awareness. She was starting to see it. She was starting to see the connection that hummed between us, a dark thread that no amount of Julien's "kindness" could ever sever.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled photograph I had taken from the archives earlier that day. It was an old class photo from twenty years ago. In the back row stood a girl with silver eyes and a tilt to her head that was identical to Isabelle's.
My father had been in that class. So had Julien's.
I stared at the girl in the photo. She had been the "ghost" of St. Aurelia, the one who disappeared, the one they weren't supposed to talk about. And now, twenty years later, she had returned in the form of a scholarship student with a violin and a heart full of fire.
"You have no idea what you've walked into, Isabelle," I whispered to the empty room.
I wasn't just obsessed with her because of her music or her beauty. I was obsessed because she was a secret that was never supposed to be told. And I was going to be the one to unravel her, thread by agonizing thread.
The game was no longer just about high school rivalries. It was about blood. It was about history. And I was going to make sure that this time, the girl didn't disappear.
She was going to stay. With me.