ASHLEY’S POV
The accounting lecture blurred into a haze of exhaustion. Sleep tugged at my eyelids, a desperate escape from the weight of the previous night. Uncle Benson’s drunken rage had left its familiar mark – a bruised shoulder hidden beneath layers of clothing, a stolen hour of sleep traded for his cruelty. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, burying the evidence of his violence for the sake of Michelle, my only friend.
She believes he’s a benevolent protector, volunteering to care for me. The lie feels like a lead weight in my chest, a betrayal of the truth I can never voice. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve the pain, if the absence of my parents was a rejection, a silent confirmation of Benson’s venom. Do they even exist anymore? Are they alive or dead?
Just as I was about to succumb to oblivion, the classroom door exploded open. The usual fanfare of their arrival—the three bad boys—strolled in as if they’d conquered a world.
“An excuse for your tardiness, boys?” Mr. Fouch’s tone was flat, laced with the weariness of a man accustomed to their disruption.
“We were conferring outside,” Mason replied with a casual shrug, leading the way to the back of the room. Ace and Chase, ever in his shadow, moved with the same practiced arrogance.
They settled into their seats, and Mr. Fouch resumed his lecture, as if their disruption was merely a ripple in the current of the day. I surrendered to the darkness, letting sleep claim me.
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“Thanks for letting me borrow your math book. I’m desperate to avoid another detention,” Michelle said, biting into her sandwich.
We’d been in the cafeteria for only a few minutes, and I was still frantically digging through my bag. The lunchbox felt strangely absent.
“Yeah, okay,” I replied, my voice detached. I had no appetite for her chatter.
“What are you looking for?” Michelle asked, her brow furrowed. It was a rare moment of awareness. “Your lunchbox?”
“I can’t find it,” I said, a pout forming on my lips. It wasn’t just a meal—it was the only meal I'd had today. I'd packed it myself, knowing I wouldn't get enough food at home.
Michelle joined the search, scanning the cafeteria floor. My bag wasn’t large, but somehow, it felt like a bottomless pit. I couldn’t believe it was gone.
“Hey, I think I found it. By the door.” Michelle pointed to my missing lunchbox.
“Oh, thanks. Let me go get it,” I said, scrambling to my feet. As I reached for it, someone deliberately shoved me into a solid wall of muscle. The impact stole my breath. It felt deliberate, targeted.
Once I recovered my senses, I turned to face my attacker. Kiara McMiller—Queen Bee, the object of every boy’s obsession. The only thing I liked about the two boys, Ace and Chase, was that they weren't obsessed with her.
Then it hit me—the sensation of colliding with someone. I looked up, locking eyes with a pair of gray eyes that seemed to search my soul. It was a gaze that felt both invasive and strangely familiar.
I realized who it was. My breath caught in my throat. I broke eye contact, shaking my head, and mumbled “sorry.” The entire cafeteria seemed to hold its breath. A wave of heat flushed my face as I bolted from the room, desperate to escape the scrutiny.