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Chapter 2: The Thorn in His Smile
Morning light filtered through the curtains in thin, golden strands, painting Elara's desk with stripes of warmth. She had barely slept. The strange bed, the lingering hum of whispers in her head, Adrian's smirk—it had all tangled together and refused to let her rest.
Her alarm had rung hours ago, but she was already awake, books spread across the desk. Numbers stared up at her from the open math text, lines of equations she'd memorized long before. The rhythm of solving them was comforting, mechanical, a way to ground herself.
Her father used to say math was the language of certainty. Unlike people, numbers never betrayed you.
She clung to that now.
By the time she reached Saint Clair's, the courtyard buzzed with morning chatter. Clusters of students in pressed uniforms moved like flocks of birds, already aligned in invisible hierarchies. Some waved cheerfully to friends, others huddled close in conspiratorial whispers.
Elara adjusted the strap of her bag and stepped through the gates.
It didn't take long for the stares to begin again.
"She's the transfer…"
"…Winters, wasn't it?"
"…wonder what Adrian thinks."
Her teeth pressed together. Already, his name was woven into hers, like she couldn't step two feet in this place without his shadow following.
"Morning, Mona Lisa."
Speak of the devil.
He leaned against the side wall just beyond the gate, the sunlight catching in his dark hair. Adrian looked like he'd been born for this backdrop—crisp blazer unwrinkled, posture easy, eyes amused.
Elara kept walking. "Don't call me that."
He fell into step beside her without asking. "You prefer… Elara, then?" He tested her name slowly, like rolling a marble across his tongue. "Hm. Pretty. But not as memorable."
She shot him a sharp look. "Why does it matter to you what people call me?"
A corner of his mouth curved upward. "Because it matters to them. And they follow my lead."
The arrogance of it made her chest tighten. But the worst part wasn't the arrogance—it was that he wasn't wrong. Already, she could see it: glances flicking toward him, laughter sparking only after his smile gave permission.
"You really think you own this place," she muttered.
He chuckled softly. "Not own. Just… set the rhythm." His eyes flicked over her, sharp and unyielding. "And you? You're off-beat."
She didn't answer, didn't trust her voice not to betray the irritation sparking through her veins.
Inside, the classroom smelled faintly of chalk and sunlight. Elara slid into her seat by the window, pretending not to notice Adrian lounging into his own, diagonally across from her. She opened her notebook, lined her pen neatly, and ignored the whispers.
At least until Mr. Langford handed out a set of review problems.
"These are from the advanced section," he said. "No pressure—just see what you can solve."
Pens scratched against paper almost immediately. Elara bent over her sheet, the world narrowing into clean black ink and steady logic. Variables moved like gears in her head, each solution snapping into place with satisfying certainty.
It was only when she looked up, twenty minutes later, that she realized the room had gone quieter.
Adrian was watching her.
His own paper sat on his desk, already filled. But instead of checking over his work, he leaned back, eyes half-lidded, gaze pinned on her as though she were some curious puzzle.
Heat pricked the back of her neck. She forced her eyes back to the page.
When Mr. Langford collected the papers, Elara stacked hers carefully. But as the teacher skimmed through them, his brows lifted in surprise.
"Elara, excellent work. Full marks already?"
A ripple ran through the room. Whispers. Shuffling.
Her chest tightened. This was exactly the attention she didn't want.
Adrian smirked. "Impressive." The word dripped with a lazy drawl. "Didn't know they taught genius at transfer schools."
Laughter flickered at the edges of the class. Not cruel, not yet—but the kind that pressed her into a spotlight she'd rather avoid.
Elara lifted her chin. "Maybe you should pay attention. You might learn something."
Silence fell, sharp as a blade.
Then, slowly, Adrian's smile widened—not offended, not angry, but entertained.
"Oh," he murmured. "You really are going to be fun."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. By the time the lunch bell rang, Elara's head throbbed with the weight of too many eyes. She gathered her tray, retreating once more to the window seat in the cafeteria.
Lila appeared minutes later, cheerful as ever. "You're brave," she said, sliding into the chair across from her.
Elara blinked. "For what?"
"For talking back to Adrian. No one does that."
Elara frowned. "Why not?"
"Because he's…" Lila gestured helplessly, as if the word itself were too obvious to need saying. "Adrian. People like him don't lose. Not in academics, not in sports, not in… anything, really."
Elara stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork. "Maybe it's time he does."
Lila's eyes widened, then sparkled with something like admiration. "You're either very brave or very reckless."
"Maybe both."
They laughed softly, but Elara's stomach still churned. Every step here felt like balancing on glass—one wrong move, and it would all shatter.
When classes ended that day, the corridors thrummed with noise. Elara slipped her books into her bag, eager to escape. But Adrian was waiting again, this time outside the gate, leaning casually against the iron bars.
She slowed, wary. "Do you make a habit of lurking?"
He pushed off the fence, falling into step beside her once more. "Do you make a habit of running?"
Her grip tightened on her bag strap. "I'm not running."
"You're not standing still, either."
The sun dipped lower, casting the world in amber light. Adrian's profile was sharp against the glow, eyes glinting like he carried some secret only he found amusing.
Finally, Elara stopped walking. Faced him fully. "What do you want from me?"
He tilted his head, studying her with infuriating calm. "I haven't decided yet."
Something in his voice—low, certain, edged with curiosity—sent a shiver down her spine.
Then, with a faint smile, he stepped back. "See you tomorrow, Mona Lisa."
And just like that, he was gone, swallowed into the golden haze of students heading home.
Elara stood there for a long moment, heart thudding, the thorn of his smile lodged deep in her chest.
Somehow, she knew: this wasn't just the beginning of a rivalry.
It was the beginning of something much more dangerous.
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