Mabelle Vale never liked elevators.Not because she was claustrophobic or anything, but because there was something about being stuck in a small mirrored box with people who thought they knew her that always felt fake. Reflection after reflection, different angles of the same forced smile.
This morning, though, the elevator was quiet. Too quiet. Just her, Celeste, and Isla, all leaning against different corners of the glass walls as the lights hummed above them.
Celeste scrolled through her phone, thumbs flying, the glow washing her sharp cheekbones. Isla kept her head down, fiddling with her sleeve. And Mabelle—Mabelle's mind wasn't here at all.
She was still stuck on last night.
The rooftop. Zion's voice carrying across the dark air. Kevin's smirk, his words like poison. And the way Zion had walked off the rooftop like he hadn't just stared his enemy in the eye and dared him to strike harder.
Mabelle wasn't sure whether she wanted to shake him or kiss him for that.
Actually, scratch that. She knew exactly which one.
But that wasn't the problem. The problem was what Kevin had said—the way he twisted things, the way he made it sound like Zion's power wasn't natural, but a performance. And the fact that some people actually believed him.
She couldn't shake the feeling: Kevin wasn't done.
The UK Branch Breakfast Table
By the time the girls walked into the hotel's massive dining hall, the UK branch was already gathered. Long tables stretched across the marble floor, plates piled with croissants, fruit, pancakes, and dishes that looked too fancy to be called breakfast.
Mikey waved them over, his grin lopsided, already halfway through a plate of scrambled eggs. "About time. I was two seconds away from stealing your seat, Belle."
"Don't call me Belle," she muttered, dropping into the chair next to Zion.
He was sipping black coffee, of course. Typical Zion. Always calm, always unshaken, even with half the Academy buzzing about what had gone down last night. His blazer jacket was draped casually over the chair, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes in a way that looked infuriatingly effortless.
"Morning," he said, glancing at her, voice steady.
And just like that, she hated him. Or wanted him. Or both.
"Morning," she mumbled back, grabbing a croissant to busy her hands.
The table chatter was louder than usual. Snippets of gossip bled through the air:
"Did you hear Elias was practically cheering for Kevin?""Sweden's been backing him hard. They think Zion's losing control.""Imagine if Kevin actually—"
Mabelle snapped a grape in half with her teeth harder than necessary.
Across the table, Isla looked uneasy. "Do you think the teachers are worried? About… you know. Kevin."
Zion finally looked up from his coffee. His eyes flickered, sharp as a blade. "They should be."
That shut everyone up.
Zion's Shadow
Later that morning, as the branches dispersed for whatever sightseeing tours were planned, Mabelle hung back.
"Zion," she called, catching up to him by the hotel's glass doors.
He stopped, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed like always. But she could see the tension in his jaw. He'd been holding it together all morning, pretending Kevin's little performance hadn't gotten under his skin.
She touched his arm lightly, enough to get his attention. "You can't keep brushing this off."
"I'm not brushing it off."
"You're drinking coffee like it's a personality trait."
That got the faintest flicker of a smile out of him.
"Belle—"
"I told you not to—"
"Mabelle," he corrected himself smoothly. "I know what Kevin's doing. Let him try. The more he talks, the more desperate he looks."
She shook her head, frustration clawing at her chest. "You don't get it. Not everyone sees it like that. Some people are buying into it. And if they keep buying into it—"
He cut her off. "Then they'll see how wrong they are."
His voice was final, cold in a way that made her chest ache. Because he wasn't wrong—but he wasn't invincible either. And pretending he was? That was dangerous.
Kevin's Rumors Spread
By afternoon, the rumors had spread like wildfire. The US branch was buzzing with whispers about Kevin's "exposing Zion," the Swedish branch treated Kevin like some anti-hero, and even teachers looked uneasy.
The UK students who mingled with the others came back with half-truths twisted into full stories:
"Kevin's the reason Zion's grades slipped last term.""Zion only made top ten because his father's money got involved.""They say Mabelle's only close to him because he blackmails her."
Mabelle wanted to scream. None of it was true, but truth didn't matter anymore. Perception did. And Kevin was playing perception like a violin.
She could see it in people's faces—the doubt creeping in, the hesitations when they looked at Zion.
And still, Zion acted like he didn't care.
That night, back in the suite, Mabelle stared at him from the couch while he leaned against the window. The Dubai skyline glowed behind him, neon blues and golds reflecting off the glass.
"Why are you letting him win?" she demanded suddenly.
Zion didn't turn. "He's not winning."
"He's making people doubt you. Isn't that the same thing?"
Now he turned, eyes locking on hers. "Not if I don't doubt myself."
Her heart thudded painfully. Because he said it like it was easy, like he could just decide not to care. But she cared enough for both of them.
Isla's Confession
Meanwhile, Isla found herself caught in her own storm.
She'd bumped into Lucian earlier that day in the hotel lobby, his smile soft, his accent smooth. He'd remembered her favorite snack from when they were kids, bought it at a shop, and handed it to her like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing. Not to her.
Now, curled up on Celeste's bed, she whispered it like a confession. "I think I like him. Like, actually like him."
Celeste rolled onto her side, eyes wide. "Lucian? As in Zion's childhood friend? As in the guy everyone's suddenly obsessed with because he looks like he walked out of a K-drama?"
Isla buried her face in a pillow. "Don't make it sound ridiculous."
"I'm not," Celeste said softly, pulling the pillow away. "I'm just saying… be careful. Everyone's watching right now. The last thing you need is Kevin catching onto something he can use."
The mention of Kevin made Isla's stomach twist. Because Celeste was right.
And yet—when Lucian had smiled at her earlier, it felt like the world had quieted for the first time in weeks.
The Teacher's Concern
Even the teachers weren't blind anymore. At a staff meeting that night, whispers floated about in the corner of the hotel's business lounge.
"This has gone too far.""Kevin's influence is destabilizing the branches.""We can't intervene directly. It'll only prove his point.""So what? We wait for the students to tear each other apart?"
They didn't notice Zion standing just outside the glass door, hands in his pockets, listening. He didn't linger long—but long enough.
When he walked back to his suite, the weight on his shoulders felt heavier than it had in a long time.
Mabelle's Realization
The next night, Mabelle found herself awake at 2 a.m., scrolling mindlessly through her phone. She landed on a blurry photo posted by someone from the Swedish branch—Zion on the rooftop, Kevin facing him. Caption: "UK drama is peak cinema. #TeamKevin #Finally"
Her blood boiled.
But it wasn't just anger. It was fear.
She realized something then: Zion wasn't just smart. He wasn't just composed. He was dangerous. Because he could see ten steps ahead, but he refused to play the small moves that might protect him now.
And if Kevin kept twisting perception, kept planting doubt, Zion's intelligence might not save him.
The only question was—could she?
Kevin Strikes Again
Two mornings later, new flyers appeared across the hotel lobby. Not fake ones like before. These were clean, polished, professional-looking.
"Zion Vale: Untouchable? Or just Untouchable because of Daddy's money?"
The UK branch tore them down as quickly as they went up. But not before students from Sweden and the US snapped photos, laughing, sharing them across group chats.
By lunch, the hashtag #UntouchableOrNot was trending in private Academy circles.
And when Mabelle looked across the dining hall, Kevin was sitting with Elias and Dante, his smile razor-sharp, his eyes locked on her.
He didn't need to say a word.
The message was clear:This was war.