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CHAPTER 1
~Spring's POV~
"Look at her… pathetic."
"She actually thinks she belongs here?"
"She's just a stain. On the Kaine name, on the school, on everything. Is there anything she is good for?"
The words rained down like stones as the girls circled around me behind the gym building—four of them, dressed in printed skirts, nails painted sharp enough to cut, expressions dripping with superiority.
I barely had time to step back before the first fist landed across my cheek.
Pain flared hot on my skin, but before my body fully accepted it. Another hit came. Then a kick to my ribs.
I tried to block the blows, but I was too slow and too tired, and my arms moved like they were underwater.
The sting of knuckles across my cheek made my vision spot, but I didn't flinch anymore. It wasn't the first time.
It wasn't even the tenth.
I was used to it, and my body knew pain too well.
One grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, hard. I bit down on the urge to cry as my knees scraped the pavement, the bite of gravel tearing through skin already marred with older bruises.
"You just don't learn, do you?" one of them sneered, their voice sugary sweet and venom-laced.
"You should just die already."
Their laughter swirled in my ears, like echoes in a cave I couldn't escape. But this time, it wasn't just their voices I heard.
It was hers.
"Ugh, look at you again," Rose's voice rattled in my mind. "Can't you do anything right? Just watching you breathe is exhausting."
Even at home, I was a punching bag. Not always with fists—worse. Words. Cold silences. A constant reminder I wasn't one of them.
A Kaine by name only. A charity case branded as family. A fake.
Rose, the real daughter of the Kaine legacy, made sure I never forgot.
"You should thank Father," she had said just two days ago, lounging on the couch while I mopped the floor. "He could've tossed you out on the street. But he didn't. Be grateful you even exist here."
I was grateful, wasn't I? Grateful for cold meals, locked doors, wearing Rose's old clothes while she wore designer labels like a crown.
So why did it still hurt?
My head cracked against the brick wall behind me, snapping me back to reality. The world tilted sideways. I saw my blood splatter the concrete beside me.
I curled into myself, not out of fear but out of fatigue. I was tired—tired of being lesser, of being trash and waking up each day wondering if today was the day someone would finally break me in half.
God, I wanted it to end already.
"She's not even fighting back," someone scoffed.
"Because she knows she's worthless," another answered.
"You're garbage. You should've stayed in the gutter where you belong."
I didn't argue.
Because what was the point?
They didn't know that I had fought before. That I had screamed, clawed, and begged. That I had tried, time and time again, to prove I belonged.
But no one listens to the fake daughter. When the light is too bright, no one hears the shadow.
My fingers twitched as I lay there. My chest heaved, and warm blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.
My vision dimmed at the edges, like a curtain slowly being pulled closed.
It was quiet now, so peaceful.
I felt my heartbeat slow drastically. And my lips curved at the side on their own.
Let them laugh. Let them all have their victory.
I just hope they choke on it.
My heart shuddered once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
***************
"Spring?"
A strange warmth coursed through my veins, and I felt a presence not mine—but mine all the same.
"She's breathing, thank goodness," the voice uttered again, this time with much enthusiasm.
Then, my eyes snapped open.
Bright light bled into my vision—white, sterile, too sharp for the eyes I'd just barely opened. The ceiling above me was off-white, speckled with those tiny holes meant to absorb sound.
The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon.
I blinked slowly, once… twice… then flinched at the sting in my ribs. My body felt foreign, like someone had stitched me into it without asking.
A shadow moved beside me.
"Oh, thank goodness." A woman leaned over—mid-forties maybe, round glasses slipping down her nose, her uniform marked with a crest. "You gave us quite the scare, young lady."
I tried to sit up, but my limbs responded like they didn't belong to me.
"Easy now," the lady warned, gently guiding me back down. "Just breathe. You're in the nurse's office."
My eyes darted around, taking in the cots, the pale blue privacy curtains, the tray of half-used bandages and wipes.
Then she looked at the clipboard in her hand and said it.
"Spring Kaine."
I stiffened.
The name echoed in my skull like it had been yelled through a canyon. It rang wrong. Not because it wasn't mine—because it was. But when she said it...
Something inside me recoiled.
My throat dried. My hands trembled.
This wasn't my body.
It was too light. Too small. My skin didn't feel like mine.
But the nurse didn't notice. She moved around efficiently, checking my pulse, peeking into my eyes with a small penlight. "Your vitals are steady. A little underweight, and blood pressure is low, but nothing serious. You'll be fine."
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
"Just rest a little more and make sure you eat. Honestly, you're lucky one of the janitors found you when they did," she added with a tsk. "A few more minutes out there in that condition..."
Her voice faded into background noise.
I nodded slowly, like a puppet.
She left me alone, promising to return with a protein bar and water.
And that was when it hit.
A sharp pain shot through my skull, like lightning cracking through bone. I groaned, clutching my head as chunks of memory burst into my brain—fists, laughter, blood. My knees hitting the pavement. The burn of shame. The echo of Rose's voice.
Rose?
It all came back in violent flashes, leaving me gasping.
The breath I dragged in was not Spring Kaine's. It was someone else's.
Mine.
Sect Master Solstice.
I blinked hard, disoriented as the clouds in my head swirled like smoke.
I am not her. Not anymore.
The coldness in my limbs faded fast, replaced by heat and awareness. My pulse returned, my thoughts sharpened.
The memories were hazy, like trying to watch scenes through shattered glass. I knew things… but I didn't know everything. Not yet.
My legs wobbled as I pushed myself upright, blood dried at the edge of my lip. The girls were long gone.
Cowards.
My hand brushed dirt off my pleated skirt.
Get up.
One look at my body, and all I wanted to do was change—get out of this torn, stained uniform.
Thankfully, the body's owner always kept a spare.
I stumbled toward the rear entrance of the school, dragging my body down the calm hallway, lit bright with sterile lights, heading to the lockers.
The calm didn't last.
I turned a corner, and it erupted.
Laughter. Pointing fingers. Whispers that weren't whispers at all.
"There she is!"
"She actually did it!"
"Oh my god, the letter was real!"
"Desperate much?"
I blinked, confused. What letter?
Then it hit me—her memory flickered in the back of my mind.
Rose.
When she sneaked out of my room last night, I saw my glowing phone screen. But the body's owner never questioned it.
It turned out that the snake had typed a love letter and sent it to someone.
A love letter!
Posted on the school bulletin board under Spring's name for all to see.
I didn't even have time to process the humiliation before it escalated.
A rough hand snatched mine. Before I could react, I was spun, slammed against the lockers.
My teeth rattled. My vision flickered. Then he was there—his face inches from mine.
Lucien Voss.
Not so handsome for his own good and too cruel to care.
His fingers dug into my jaw like I was a doll, meant to be broken. In his other hand—the letter.
"You thought this would work?" he sneered. "That I'd read this pathetic confession and fall for you? You really are delusional."
Gasps echoed behind him.
Lucien leaned closer, venom in his perfect features.
"What makes you think I, Lucien Voss, would want you? Even in your dreams, I'd never accept you."
The crowd howled with laughter. Phones came out, recording. Eyes lit up.
But I didn't feel shame.
I felt clarity and pity because Spring didn't write this. Rose did.
And the fool, Lucien, actually posted it.
A slow grin tugged at my lips.
Lucien blinked, thrown by the shift.
I reached up, grabbed his wrist, peeled it off my face, and held it there between us. My voice was calm, razor-edged.
"My only mistake was thinking you were anything more than noise. Lucky me—I've been corrected."
My gaze sharpened.
"Even if the gods offered you as the last male alive, I'd still choose solitude. Or a rabid dog. At least it bites with honesty."
Silence crashed over the hallway. Lucien froze—eyes wide, mouth half-open.
He didn't speak because what could he say?
The ghost he mocked just became the storm that wrecked him.
Movement caught my eye. From across the hallway, he stepped into view and I recognised him from her memory.
Who wouldn't?
Tall, blond-haired, sharp-eyed, like a walking thunderstorm in school uniform.
Storm Draven.
Every girl in school whispered about him. Cold. Untouchable. Dangerous.
My lips curled upwards, and I didn't hesitate.
Taking full advantage of Lucien's shock, I shoved past him and catwalked with lethal precision, blocking his path.
Storm looked up—cold eyes, brows drawn—but before he could open his mouth, I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down to my level.
Then I kissed him.
Hard.
Gasps exploded behind me. Screams. Chaos. Phones capturing every second. But I didn't care.
His body stiffened for a heartbeat—shock—but when I deepened the kiss, his breath caught. His fingers twitched, unsure whether to hold me or shove me off.
He did neither.
I pulled back slowly, lips barely brushing his, and let the words fall like a blade.
"I'll take responsibility, handsome."
I winked.
Turned.
And walked away like I hadn't just set the entire school on fire.