Liana pressed her face against the window of the bus, watching the elite buildings of Regal Heights disappear behind her. Her sketchpad sat on her lap, untouched. Her fingers itched to draw, to lose herself in shades and lines, but her heart wasn't steady enough.
She could still feel the sting of the prank—the humiliation of standing frozen while the Vipers laughed, the way her carefully-painted art piece had been splattered with paint and ruined, the cheers from those who didn't even know her name.
She blinked away the sting in her eyes.
She wasn't going to cry.
She'd promised herself that the day she got accepted into Regal Heights: no matter what, no tears.
As the bus slowed to a stop, she gathered her things and stepped off, the noise of the streets greeting her like an old friend. Her neighborhood was alive with clattering pots, street hawkers, and laughter. Nothing polished. Nothing perfect.
But it was home.
She pushed through the metal gate of her family's compound and was hit by the aroma of fried spices. Her mom's voice floated from the back kitchen, barking orders.
Inside, her dad was on the phone, talking loudly with a supplier.
And as usual, her younger brother, Tobi, was sprawled on the couch playing a game on his phone. "Hey, Li, got any money?"
"No, Tobi."
He groaned dramatically, but didn't move.
Her elder sister's voice floated from the small bedroom down the hall. "Liana, can you cover for me if someone asks where I went? I told Dad I'm helping out in the restaurant."
Liana didn't answer. She dropped her bag and went straight to the small room she shared with her sister.
The space was cramped, but there was a small desk by the window with her art supplies neatly arranged. Her sanctuary.
She sat down and stared at her ruined sketchpad. One of the pages was soaked with paint—the same painting she'd worked on for two weeks.
The one that was supposed to be displayed for the school's art exhibition.
Her chest tightened.
She thought of what Bianca had said—urging her to fight back. To get even.
But Liana didn't want more drama. More attention. More enemies.
She didn't have the privilege of reckless retaliation.
She had parents who were barely holding it together, siblings who never pulled their weight, and dreams hanging by a fragile thread.
She was here on a scholarship.
One wrong move and it could all disappear.
She pulled out a clean sheet of paper.
And began to draw.
It started with Xavier's eyes—not because she wanted to, but because they haunted her. The arrogance. The depth. The confusion she saw in them when she didn't crumble like the others.
She drew him. Then herself.
Then she drew fire.
Not around him.
Around her.
Because she wouldn't burn for anyone else.
She'd burn through them.
When she finally looked up, the sun had set.
She smiled.
Just a little.