Her friend Addison snorted. “Stop. She’s going to cry.”
I looked at them.
Really looked.
Brielle, with her perfect blond waves and eyes so empty they echoed. Addison, who repeated whatever cruelty sounded most expensive. Mia, who always laughed half a second late because she was afraid not to. Paige, who watched me like she wanted to apologize but liked being popular more than being decent.
I could’ve told them things.
I could’ve told them my father had killed men scarier than their fathers’ lawyers.
I could’ve told them Regan could reduce their mothers to ash with one look and a sentence sharpened on truth.
I could’ve told them Tarak’s name still carried enough weight in certain rooms to make grown men reconsider breathing too loudly.
I could’ve told them if the Royal Bastards found out what they’d been saying, Desert Saints Prep would have motorcycles parked outside by sunrise, and every smug little prince in this building would suddenly remember manners.
But that was exactly why I didn’t.
Because I was tired of men showing up to rescue me and making the cage smaller every time.
I was tired of Edge’s eyes following me across rooms.
Tired of prospects pretending to fix cars across the street from school because my father thought I didn’t know they were on watch.
Tired of Regan asking too gently if everything was okay.
Tired of Tarak looking at me like I was a wound he wanted to heal without touching.
Tired of being protected like I was fragile when the only thing I had ever been allowed to inherit was steel.
So I smiled.
Slowly.
Brielle’s smirk flickered.
Good.
“Careful,” I said.
Her brows lifted. “Is that a threat?”
“No.” I stepped closer, close enough to watch her perfume-sweet confidence shrink by an inch. “It’s advice.”
The bathroom door opened before she could answer, and Sister Margaret walked in with a stack of folded programs for graduation mass clutched to her chest.
All four girls instantly rearranged their faces into innocence.
I didn’t bother.
Sister Margaret looked from them to me, then to the tension hanging in the air like smoke. Her mouth tightened.
“Ladies,” she said. “Class begins in three minutes.”
“Yes, Sister,” Brielle said sweetly.
She brushed past me on her way out, shoulder-checking me hard enough to make my hip hit the sink.
