I step up, ignoring the acrobatics happening in my stomach. “Atticus?”
His eyes meet mine for half a heartbeat.
Then he turns away. Just… rotates his perfect head back to his friends like I’m a decorative plant.
I try again. “Hey. Arwen. Yesterday’s disaster? Hi.”
Camille wrinkles her face, like she’s looking at a smudge on glass. “Do you know her?” she asks Atticus.
Daphne covers her mouth like she’s shocked. “Atticus, are you helping charity cases now? How generous.”
Laughter explodes around me. One guy elbows another, snickering and whispering into his ear. Daphne wraps her arms around Atticus’s waist, making my bond want to explode out of my chest.
At least he has the decency to look a little uncomfortable.
I try to ignore it. “I need to talk to you, Atticus. Could—”
Camille cuts in. “Aww… Isn’t that adorable?”
“She’s practically a ghost,” Daphne adds. “No sin. No status. What did you think was going to happen, sweetie? You’d stomp over and try to flirt your way into some sort of standing? I would save that for the Lusters, if they’ll even have you. This paltry attempt isn’t going so well.”
Everyone around me laughs again.
My face feels like it’s on fire. I clench my fists, willing myself to act normal. Brave. Cool. I’m a Wrath, not some nervous mess flailing in the courtyard. Someone get me a medal… or a punching bag.
I look to Atticus. And he says nothing. Just like the encounter with Daphne last time.
He just stares straight ahead, cold and silent. Like I don’t exist.
Like I never existed.
I swallow hard. “Thanks for the update on my social status. Truly. I’ll pencil ‘irrelevant’ into my schedule right under ‘don’t care.’” This is bullshit.
I turn away—humiliated, angry, trying to keep it together—when a voice cuts through the noise:
“And what’s all the fun happening over here?”
Everyone turns. My heart stutters.
A gorgeous man leans against a nearby column, arms crossed, moss green eyes gleaming, like he has a secret. His smirk is lazy, his stance relaxed, but there’s a sharpness under the charm.
He walks toward us with the grace of someone who owns everything he touches.
“Daphne, Camille,” he says smoothly, “You're judging someone's social status? I always thought Pride girls were obsessed with perfection—guess that explains why you’re both so bitter. All that effort, and still barely a seven.” He sighs, looking them up and down like he’s disappointed.
“Excuse me? Ryker, how could you say that?” Camille snaps, eyes narrowing.
Ryker… This is Ryker Blaise. Atticus’s rival.
“Oh, I know that tone,” Ryker says with a grin. “Same one you used when I turned you down last week.”
Daphne chokes on a gasp. Camille turns red, sputtering.
Looking back at Atticus, he looks like his eyes could spit fire. He keeps his stare on Ryker. “What do you want, Blaise?”
Ryker looks at me, his gaze softer than I expected. “You alright, sweetheart?”
I hesitate… then nod, confused at what’s happening here. Why is Ryker Blaise, the most popular guy at school, the richest too and son of the Greed faction Councilor, sticking up for me right now?
