Gloria
I never doubted my father when he made a decision that might change the regular life of everyone in his life. That's the thought my mother injected in my brain ever since I learned how to talk. We had unspoken rules that were just seen and obeyed.
My father made decisions quickly, and always had. He moved like a blade through smoke. One moment we were in the States, and then, just days after that incident, he was booking flights, making arrangements, shutting down our lives, and stitching up new ones on a different continent like it was a routine.
We were never allowed to be out of the house after dark. My childhood passed without me making any friends because my parents used to conduct such a thorough investigation of the kids, and it felt awkward to even look them in the eye. Gifts brought into our house were inspected again and again; if a suspicion rose, then they would be in the garbage in no time.
That was basically how I lost contact with the outer world. I gave up on being a normal teenager way before and just lived my life on autopilot. Although I made my comfort zone in the bubble of strictness that my parents created, it frustrated my mother more than me.
I never blamed her, even when it was always her fault.
My quiet, serene life always had a secret that I was oblivious to. My family knew something that I could not be said to me. Something that threatened the peace and safety of our odd home. Something that was always in the air.
A terror, a hush of words, and tears in silence. After I grew older, I gave up on finding out what it was.
I hadn't even gotten used to the shape of the ceiling yet.
It felt strange, waking up in a room that looked like it belonged to someone else, with pale English sunlight sliding through cream curtains, soft and cold like church light. The air smelled unfamiliar, clean in a way that felt clinical. The birds outside didn't sound the same.
I didn't care how fast it was. I just wanted it all gone. The looks. The whispers. The bruises that didn't show. The ones that did.
There were other schools, better ones, apparently. Flashier, prestigious, lined up like dolls behind brochures and tour guides. One had glowing walls and holographic notice boards. Another was so "progressive" it didn't believe in grades. Another had three alumni who were literal royalty.
But this one? Ashwood Hall — it just looked... normal. Grey stone, crooked windows, heavy doors that creaked like they held secrets. It felt grounded. Like it wouldn't lie to me.
Maybe that's why I picked it. Maybe I didn't want sparkle anymore.
"Gloria!" my mother's voice echoed up the stairs, her accent brushing softly through the syllables like she was still trying to adjust to the cold here. "Breakfast!"
I swung my legs off the bed and let my toes press into the rug. The house was big — not new-money big, but old and wise. Like it had witnessed too many lives and stayed quiet about all of them. My father had found it somehow, on one of his secret phone calls, always in the dead of night.
My suitcase was still unpacked. I hadn't bothered. I liked the idea of not settling in. As if maybe this was all still temporary.
I looked in the mirror. Same face. Different shadows under my eyes.
Downstairs, the smell of eggs and toasted bread curled through the air, warm and nostalgic. I followed it, half-floating.
I didn't know what today would bring and to state my best, I did not look forward to it.
I planted myself on the chair as my mom brought me toasts. My father sat on the head chair as my brother sat across me.
My father didn't like the school.
He didn't say it outright, of course. He never does. But I caught it in the way he barely touched his coffee, how his eyes lingered too long on the school brochure like it might confess something to him.
"You're sure about this one?" he asked, voice low but not soft.
I didn't answer. I just nodded and kept buttering my toast even though I wasn't going to eat it.
"There were better choices," he went on. "Quieter ones. Ones that didn't carry so much... history."
History. He meant scandals and rumors. Fights and expulsions. The kind of place where things don't always stay in the daylight. Maybe that's why I picked it.
"You don't have to pretend to be normal to be safe, Gloria."
That one stayed with me. The way he said it, not harsh, not accusing, just... final. Like he'd already seen what I hadn't. Like he was warning me without realizing it.
Nico was standing by the counter, arms folded, watching all of this with that lazy, unreadable expression he always wore. You could drop a bomb near Julian and he'd probably blink twice and carry on sipping his drink.
"Let her go, Dad," he said finally. "She's not pretending. She just wants to breathe."
That's the thing about Nico. He never defends me unless it actually matters. And when he does, it means more than any hug.
"I will be careful." I said, trying not to impose my words as if I am confident. I can take care of myself.
I saw my father giving up visibly as his muscles relaxed. "Just have a good time and don't let anyone to trample you this time, dear. You are the woman of my family and you have power you are not aware of." He placed his hands of mine.
"Be careful and be brave."
I nodded at him and smiled, or tried to. But something about those words made me cold inside.
I laughed, or tried to. But something about those words made me cold inside.
______________
The classroom smelled like varnished wood and cold air. Not old, just... untouched. Like everything had been frozen in place the moment I stepped in.
I slipped into a seat near the window — second row, far left — and no one looked up. No one cared. I didn't mind.
I sat there, fingers curled around the strap of my bag, as voices buzzed around me, laughter in pockets, whispers behind palms,
Students who had known each other for years did not bother to spare a glance at me; it didn't matter. Outside, the weather looked miserable in the most poetic way. It made me Grey skies swirled with ash-colored clouds, the kind that felt like they were holding something back It wasn't like home, where the sun baked everything golden and people wore their cruelty in smiles.
No, here it was quieter. Colder. The kind of place where people didn't need to raise their voices to ruin you.
That's when I smelled it.
Something sharp and clean, like smoke and something darker underneath, like metal or musk. Something which-- quite obvious-- did not belong to a classroom.
I turned my head to the window, eyes scanning the courtyard.
He was looking straight at me.
Standing beneath the frame of an archway like he'd been carved into it. So still that time stopped moving. Such grey eyes so big they almost looked obsidian. Dark hair, windswept and careless, but not messy. Eyes like frostbitten steel.
His jaw was sculpted with a kind of precision that didn't feel natural, like whoever made him didn't allow imperfections. The man did not just wore black, exuded a sinister aura that left a trail of goosebumps down my neck.
Because his stare wasn't admiring. It was assessing. Cold and unblinking, the way men who used to work for my father would watch people, like they were already deciding what to do with you.
And still... I couldn't look away.
A shiver climbed my spine, slow and precise. But I held his gaze.
He controlled me from below me. He tilted his head just sightly.
The bell rang.
I startled, blinking. When I stood with the rest of the class, the moment shattered. The teacher had entered, a woman with a clipboard and a tired smile as she placed the books on the stand and greeted everyone.
My mind was in a haze. What just happened? Before my thoughts turned into a mush, I turned back instinctively, eyes flicking to the window.
He was gone. Like he'd never been there at all.
But the scent still lingered in the air.
"... And between us today we have a new student..." The teacher's voice brought me back to reality but not so closely. As her figure in front of me cleared, my sight started to blurry, my world was spinning.
I grabbed the table as I heard a trail of whispers but before I heard the teachers one last call of my name, so worried, my world turned dark, as obsidian as his eyes.