Author's POV
Rain had stopped, but the storm hadn't passed.
Emilia Rowe's finger hovered just above the trigger.
She hadn't pulled it.
She couldn't.
Even as every rational part of her mind screamed that Vivienne Sinclair needed to disappear, that she was ruining everything—the plan, the prophecy, the love story that was supposed to belong to Emilia—her finger refused to obey.
Because killing Vivienne would mean becoming exactly what she hated.
So she waited. And then she vanished.
But Vivienne… she didn't need bullets to bleed.
Because the next morning, her name was on everyone's lips—and not in the way she'd wanted.
Vivienne's POV
I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the dining hall.
Stares. Silence. Hushed murmurs.
Not admiration.
Suspicion.
Fear.
I sat at my usual table. Ezra wasn't there. Neither were the others.
Emilia was, though. Sitting prim and perfect, a tray untouched before her.
And then Professor Langley stormed in, voice booming: "Vivienne Sinclair. Director's office. Now."
I stood. Kept my back straight.
The wolves had teeth today.
Author's POV
The director's office was cold. Minimalist. A glass desk and three chairs.
Ezra was already there. So was Kai.
But the tension in the room wasn't about them.
It was about the file open on the desk. Red tab. Sealed yesterday.
Marked: CLASSIFIED - CODE: BLACK ROSE
It was a dossier on Vivienne. One she hadn't given them.
The director, a hawk of a man with razor-sharp eyes, stared her down.
"Miss Sinclair. Explain why we found your fingerprint on a report tied to the Rothschild massacre."
Vivienne didn't flinch.
Because this wasn't a mistake.
It was a trap.
Vivienne's POV
I looked at Ezra first. He was unreadable, but his hand was clenched around the edge of his chair.
Then Kai. Cold, assessing.
"I have never been to Geneva," I said calmly. "And I certainly wasn't there the night the Rothschilds were eliminated."
"But your print—"
"Was placed there. Likely by someone who doesn't like how cozy I've gotten with certain people."
I tilted my head.
"Maybe someone who doesn't like sharing her fairytale."
Author's POV
Ezra's eyes narrowed slightly. It wasn't much.
But it meant he was thinking.
Kai rose from his seat. "We'll investigate."
"She should be suspended until—" the director began.
"No," Ezra cut in. "She stays. Under supervision."
And then he looked at her.
Not like a suspect.
Like a storm he wanted to understand.
Later That Day
Vivienne was confined to the east dormitory wing.
A soft prison. Velvet and glass. Still, a cage.
But someone had left a gift on her windowsill.
A rose.
Black.
With a silver note attached: You're not alone. – D
Vivienne's POV
Damian.
His writing was always sharp, impatient.
And now it was offering comfort.
Not pity.
Not loyalty.
Something else.
I touched the petals of the rose and let my eyes close.
I was getting close to all of them now. Too close.
And that meant the world—the real one behind this academy—was getting ready to break me.
But let them try.
I'd been broken once before.
This time, I'd shatter them.
Author's POV
Outside, on the rooftop across from Vivienne's window, Kai sat cross-legged beneath the moonlight.
He wasn't watching her.
He was guarding her.
And he didn't know why.
Only that, if anyone dared touch her again, there wouldn't be enough left of them to bury.