PAST
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MELINA'S POV
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My fingertips tingled as I stared up at Theo, who had just said, "Know your place."
My eyebrows knitted together first, more out of disbelief than anger. It took a moment for his words to sink in — and when they did, something inside me twisted.
Sneaking into my room without permission.
Those stolen glances, the way his eyes lingered longer than they should have, the casual brushes of his hand when no one was watching — every bit of it led me on. He made it feel intentional, like there was something real behind it.
And now, when his interest had burned out like a match, he wanted to act cold. To tell me to know my place.
I might have liked him before — maybe more than I should have — but my self-respect had never been up for trade. Not for him. Not for anyone.
My palm tingled, heat rushing through it. I tried to fight it, curling my fingers tight into a fist until my nails dug into my skin. But the feeling only grew stronger — the sting, the rage, the anger.
Before I could think, I lifted my hand and brought it down across his cheek. The sharp sound echoed between us, slicing through the heavy silence.
His head snapped to the side, a faint red mark already blooming on his skin.
"Boss around someone else," I said, my voice trembling, half from fury, half from control. "Not me."
For a second, he just stared — shock flickering in his eyes. And for the first time, he didn't look powerful. He looked small.
I turned on my foot, walking away as Gregg stared at me, wide-eyed—his mouth slightly open before his gaze darted to Theo.
The air around us still trembled from the sound of that slap.
I didn't care what the mighty Theodore was going to do to me now.
To me, he was just a chipmunk dressed as a playboy—someone who thought the world revolved around him.
Let him glare, let him fume—he'd already said enough.
I kept telling myself I only did it because my self-respect was at stake—because when he said "Know your place," something inside me snapped.
Those words clawed at my pride, burned through the little patience I had left, like sparks catching on dry wood.
But as my footsteps echoed down the corridor, the devil inside me laughed softly, mocking.
You didn't slap him for that, it hissed. You slapped him because of Angela.
And just like that, my heart stuttered.
Because deep down, I knew the voice wasn't entirely wrong.
"I slapped him for both reasons," I muttered back, voice low but firm, like I was trying to convince both the devil and myself.
Strangely enough, I felt a rush of power in my veins.
My fingers still tingled from the impact—it was ridiculous, but it felt good.
It was like I'd unlocked some hidden ability, a kind of superpower that came with one bold, reckless slap.
I turned to look back at Theo while still walking away—he stood frozen, one cheek flushed red, his sidekick Damon beside him, equally agape.
The scene was almost comical.
A smirk curled on my lips—the same smug one they always wore—except this time, it was mine.
For once, I was the one walking away.
Thud.
My head slammed into the pillar along the corridor. It bounced back from the impact, and sharp pain exploded across my forehead. I clutched it, groaning under my breath as stars danced behind my eyes.
And just like that, the aura I'd carefully built—my grand, dramatic exit—crumbled spectacularly, spilling away like water from a cracked pot. Every ounce of dignity I'd imagined evaporated in an instant.
I tilted my head back toward Theo, Damon, and Gregg.
Assholes.
Damon had his head hung low, his elbow propped on Theo's shoulder. I caught a glimpse of the tiniest snippet of his laugh before he buried his face again. Theo pursed his lips together, pretending he wasn't laughing, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
My last hope was Gregg. I squinted at him, willing him to have at least a shred of sympathy. No such luck. He was on the floor, clutching his stomach, rocking back and forth as he laughed uncontrollably.
I could feel my blood heat up, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger. I bit my tongue so hard it almost hurt, my eyes narrowing into slits.
"FUCK YOU, ASSHOLES!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the corridor walls.
I stormed off, fists clenched, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Their laughter chased me down the hallway, relentless and infuriating.
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The throbbing pain on my head was nothing compared to the aura loss I'd just suffered. That too, in front of Theo and Damon of all people.
Even as I sat in class, waiting for Zara and Dove to come back, I couldn't stop thinking — why, why universe.
My mind kept replaying the scene: the glorious slap, the triumphant walk, and then bam — my head meeting the pillar like it was destiny. I groaned softly and buried my face in my hands.
Let me just dig a hole and disappear. Good Lord.
On top of everything, Damon and Theo trying to hold their laughter in was most infuriating.
"Oh my—Melina?!" Zara's voice shot across the room, full of sheer horror. I looked up to see her and Dove rushing toward me from wherever they'd vanished to. Zara's pace faltered mid-step when her eyes landed on my forehead, then quickened again as if she'd just spotted a wounded animal.
"What happened?!" Dove gasped, leaning down, her finger already poking the sore spot on my head before I could even react.
"AHK—!" I screamed, my voice echoing across the classroom. A few heads turned, and I was instantly met with a wave of 'please tell your friend to shut up' stares.
"Oops, sorry, love," Dove muttered quickly, wincing on my behalf. She snatched a cold soda can from her desk and pressed it against my forehead. "There. Instant first aid."
I hissed as the chill touched the throbbing bump. "I swear, Dove, one day you'll kill me trying to help me."
Zara folded her arms, trying (and failing) to hide a smile. "Melina, what did you even do?"
I sighed dramatically, leaning back in my chair, the can still balanced on my forehead like a crown of shame. "Long story short? I slapped Theo."
Dove gasped. Zara blinked.
"…and then I headbutted a pillar."
There was a moment of silence — and then both of them burst out laughing. Loud, unapologetic laughter.
I groaned again, sinking lower in my seat. "You two are terrible friends."
Zara snorted. "Maybe. But at least you're iconic."
"Well, nobody saw it besides Theo and Damon, right?" Dove asked, concern etched all over her face.
"Nobody did," I mumbled, pressing the cold soda can harder to my forehead. My eyes shut every time the corridor replayed in my head — the slap, the smug faces, the glorious pillar. I let out a small, defeated sound.
"Well… Gregg did," I finished, and the words landed like a bucket of cold water.
Silence. Zara's face collapsed into a dramatic groan; she dropped into her seat, clutching her head. "He's literally a paparazzi," she moaned.
"And… maybe a few people in the lawn too," I admitted, the memory making my skin crawl.
"There were a few students in the corridor where I—" I mimed my head smacking the pillar because saying it felt like peeling my skin off.
Zara and Dove exchanged looks, their chins propped in the universal pose of fans watching a trainwreck. Absolute cinema. Absolute helplessness.
This day couldn't get worse. I had barely finished thinking it when my phone buzzed — a notification like a gunshot in my skull. A particular video was circulating. And no, it wasn't the slap going viral.
It was me. Head-first. Pillar-first. A graceful, cinematic disaster captured in humiliating slow-motion.
Who posted it? Theodore_frost. Theo.
My fingers closed around my phone so tight it hurt. My throat went hot. I didn't swear — I didn't need to. The look on my face said it all.
Dove snatched the phone, swiped the screen with exaggerated horror. "Oh. My. God," she hissed. "He posted it. With—oh my God—'Graceful exit, 10/10' as the caption."
Zara's hand flew to her mouth. "He actually posted it? Who does that?"
"Theo does," I said flatly. Heat of humiliation flared into a sharp, furious ember. My brain supplied a thousand imaginative punishments — none of them polite. I squeezed my phone until my knuckles whitened.
"I will—" I started, voice low and dangerous.
Zara and Dove froze. There was no cheering me up now; the laughter from the corridor had metastasized across the school. My pride was not only bruised. It was on the internet.
I pushed back from the desk, the soda can clinking like a tiny, futile piece of armor. "Fine," I breathed, a smirk starting to creep up despite myself. "Let him have the clip. He just made my comeback easier."
Dove blinked, clearly alarmed. "You're not actually—"
"Well… just—don't make your comeback involve headbutting another pillar," Zara said, her tone dead serious, eyes wide with genuine worry.
I stared at her for a long second, my mouth hanging open.
Was that really what they thought of me now? A walking hazard sign with emotional issues?
"Unbelievable," I muttered, tossing the now-warm soda can onto the desk. "I swear, I need a new life. Or at least new friends who don't watch me self-destruct like it's a live comedy special."
Zara raised her brows. Dove snorted.
"ARGHHH! I DON'T WANNA BE HERE!" I yelled, half into my hands, half into the void, earning a few side-eyes from the rest of the class.
Zara patted my back like she was calming a feral cat. "There, there, icon. You've hit rock bottom—literally. It can only go up from here."
I groaned, dropping my forehead onto the desk. "Please stop saying hit."
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