In the morning at Saint-Clair High School, everything followed a precise rhythm:
the low murmur of students, the sharp click of polished shoes, the scent of coffee drifting from the entrance hall.
And at the center of this almost choreographed tableau, Keisha Delor made her entrance.
Her walk was unhurried.
She had no need to rush.
When she moved forward, the corridor seemed to reorganize itself around her, as if even the noise knew it had to fall silent.
She wore the standard uniform—black pleated skirt, white blouse, navy blazer—yet on her, everything appeared more refined, more deliberate.
A silk ribbon tied in place of a tie, a soft and rare perfume, and that calm gaze which always spoke more than her words.
"Look at her… Keisha. She looks like she was born to be watched," one student whispered.
"She's not human, she's an Aïna," another replied.
Keisha heard them, of course.
But she did not react.
Compliments and criticism slid off her like rain on glass.
She took her seat in the classroom, near the window.
Vanessa, her best friend, joined her with a discreet smile.
"You know the girls from the committee want to copy your style again for Friday's party?"
"Let them try," Keisha replied calmly. "Elegance isn't an outfit. It's an attitude."
Vanessa laughed softly.
"And Leandro? He gave you that look again this morning."
Keisha lifted her eyes, perfectly detached.
"Leandro watches everything he wants to control. That's his weakness—not mine."
At that exact moment, Leandro walked into the room.
His uniform slightly undone, his confident gaze, that insolent smile that could both unsettle and irritate.
He stopped right in front of Keisha's desk.
"Still on your throne, Delor?" he said with irony.
"Still standing, Morel?" she replied without raising her voice.
The class held its breath.
Those two never spoke without tension filling the air.
A dangerous, elegant game—almost choreographed.
"You know," Leandro said, "people are starting to think you're a legend. Maybe it's time to remind them you still breathe."
Keisha's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Legends don't breathe, Leandro. They are carved into memory."
He fell silent for a moment.
Then he smiled, amused, and went to sit down.
But in his eyes, there was something else.
Curiosity. Fascination. Perhaps even weakness.
Keisha felt it. And for the first time in a long while,
she felt her heart beat a little faster.
That day, she didn't know it yet,
but the throne of Saint-Clair was about to tremble.
Not because of an enemy…
but because of a gaze she would no longer be able to ignore.
If you want, I can also:
adapt it for Webnovel / Wattpad standards
make it more sensual, darker, or more dramatic
or polish it specifically for a first chapter opening
Just tell me.
The bell rang, sharp and commanding.
The teacher entered, and the class slowly began to breathe again.
Keisha Delor paused for a moment, staring at the courtyard through the window. Below, students were already gathering, laughing, plotting, living. She remained still, upright, impeccable. As always.
— Are you okay? murmured Vanessa, opening her notebook.
Keisha nodded, almost mechanically.
But something had shifted inside her. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. Yet irreversible.
She hadn't liked the way her heart had raced.
At the other end of the classroom, Léandro Morel leaned against his chair, arms crossed. He pretended to listen to the lesson, but his eyes kept drifting toward the window. Toward her.
Keisha Delor.
He knew her by name, reputation, rumors. The icy queen. The perfect Aïna. The one who never loses composure.
But that morning, for a fraction of a second, he had seen something else.
A shiver.
A human spark.
— Interesting…, he murmured to himself
During the break, Saint-Clair High became a bustling hive.
Keisha walked through the gardens with Vanessa, several eyes following her.
— You know, said Vanessa, Léandro isn't like the others. He likes to provoke people he doesn't understand.
— Then he'll tire quickly, replied Keisha.
But her voice lacked its usual edge.
At that moment, a member of the student council appeared, tablet in hand.
— Keisha, for Friday's party… we were counting on you for the opening speech.
A silence.
— No, she replied calmly.
— Pardon?
— I never asked to be your emblem.
Whispers spread immediately. Vanessa looked at her, surprised.
— You always refuse these kinds of things…
Keisha looked at her own hands.
Perfectly still. Too still.
— Maybe I don't want to be… frozen anymore.
Friday came faster than she wanted.
The party took place in the old high school ballroom, golden chandeliers, muted music, supposed elegance. Keisha entered, wearing a simple but deadly precise black dress. The silk ribbon still adorned her neck. A signature.
Conversations slowed.
And then she saw him.
Léandro, leaning by the buffet, dark suit, tie loosened. He looked up. Their eyes met.
This time, neither looked away.
He approached.
— You changed your mind after all?
— I never said I wouldn't come.
— Just that you'd refuse to speak.
A smile, exchanged. Different. Less arrogant. More real.
— You know, he said softly, the strongest thrones are the ones that allow themselves to crack a little.
Keisha stared at him.
— And those who try to bring them down often end up crushed beneath the debris.
— Perfect, he replied. I like danger.
A silence settled between them. Heavy. Electric.
For the first time, Keisha Delor didn't know what to say.
And somewhere, beneath the marble, a crack had begun to form.
If you want, in the next chapter we can:
Shift to Léandro's point of view,
Reveal the true secret of the Aïna,
Or turn this tension into a much darker psychological game.
The music grew louder. Around them, laughter resumed, as if nothing had happened.
Keisha blinked, regaining her composure.
— You imagine a lot of things, Morel.
She turned on her heels, ready to join Vanessa. But barely two steps away, Léandro spoke again:
— You were trembling.
She stopped dead.
— Pardon?
— Your hand. When you grabbed your glass. Just for a second.
Keisha slowly turned back.
— You watch too much.
— Not everyone. Just you.
She stared at him for a few seconds, searching for the perfect comeback. She found none. It never happened to her.
— Have a good evening, Léandro, she said firmly.
This time, she really left.
In the hallway leading to the bathrooms, Keisha leaned against the wall. She took a deep breath.
Trembling?
Ridiculous.
She splashed some water on her face, looking at her reflection. The same calm gaze. The same mask.
— Pull yourself together, she murmured.
When she stepped back out, Vanessa grabbed her by the arm.
— What's going on with Morel?
— Nothing.
— You're lying badly.
Keisha sighed.
— He thinks he knows things he doesn't.
— And you? You think you control everything?
Silence.
— Come dance, Vanessa said with a smile. Before I regret dragging you here.
Keisha hesitated, then nodded.
On the dance floor, bodies were close, the music louder. Keisha let herself be carried along, without really thinking. For once.
And suddenly…
Léandro was there.
— Seriously? she whispered.
— You're the one who came.
He held out his hand.
— Dancing doesn't mean winning.
She stared at him, then accepted. Just this dance. Nothing more.
They moved together, awkward at first, then more naturally. Too naturally.
— You change when you don't talk, he said softly.
— And you talk too much when you're nervous.
— You think I'm nervous?
— I can see it.
He laughed softly.
— Maybe.
The music slowed. They were too close now. She felt her heart race—again.
She stepped back.
— That's enough.
— You're running again.
— I'm choosing.
She left the dance floor without looking back.