A few weeks had passed, and Isabelle Duval was slowly finding her footing at St. Aurelia Academy. To the outside world, she was a diligent scholarship student, a girl who kept her head down in the library and her bow straight in the Music Club. But beneath the surface, the school was a pressure cooker.
The "Four Snakes"… Arabella, Camille, Liliana, and Celeste had turned their bullying into a psychological art form. They didn't just shove her in the halls anymore; they poisoned the air.
Whispers followed her like a physical weight: that she was using her "orphan charms" to bewitch Julien Rousseau, that her scholarship was a front for something more scandalous, and that she thought her talent made her equal to those born with silver spoons in their mouths.
Isabelle ignored it. She had survived the harsh winters of the orphanage; she could survive the cold glares of rich teenagers. But today, the atmosphere didn't just feel cold, it felt electric, like a storm was about to break. And the lightning rod was Dmitri Volkov.
Dmitri had been hearing her name everywhere. It was a constant, irritating hum under his skin. Isabelle Duval.
The girl who didn't flinch. The girl with the silver eyes. It grated on him, a glitch in the perfect, terrified machinery of the school he commanded. And today, his legendary patience had finally snapped, not because of her, but because of a rumor that he had cheated on his medical practicals.
Dmitri's POV
The air in the courtyard was stagnant. I could feel the eyes on me, the usual mixture of reverence and fear, but today there was something else: doubt.
"I heard his father bought the answers," a voice had whispered earlier. "Even a Volkov can't be that perfect without help."
That was the spark. My hands curled into fists, my jaw tightening until it ached. My composure, a mask I had spent years honing into a blade, was fraying at the edges. I stormed through the hallway, my boots echoing like a death knell against the stone. I moved like a predator because, in this ecosystem, that's exactly what I was.
I found the source in the central courtyard. Louis Martel. He was surrounded by a small audience, basking in the glow of his own brave lies. He didn't see me until the shadow of my presence fell over him.
I didn't waste words. I lunged, grabbing him by the silk collar of his blazer and shoving him hard against the base of the marble statue in the center of the square. His knees buckled, and his "friends" scattered like pigeons in a park.
"Say it to my face," I hissed, my voice a low, lethal vibration. "Tell me again how I cheated, Louis. And don't you dare lie."
"I… I don't know what you're talking about, Dmitri!" he stammered, his face turning a sickly shade of gray.
I slammed him against the marble again. Crack. The sound of his head hitting the stone was sickeningly satisfying. "Lie again," I dared him.
Louis found a sudden, desperate surge of courage, the kind that only comes to fools. "I just know that no one is that intelligent!" he spat, his voice shaking. "I know your records are only that high because the teachers are kissing your father's shoes! He's the biggest shareholder, best friends with Rousseau… the whole school is a Volkov playground!"
I didn't think. I exploded. My fist connected with his jaw, a dull thud that sent him spiraling to the dirt. I didn't stop. I kicked him in the ribs, a precise, calculated strike. I wanted to break the doubt out of him. I wanted to remind the entire school why they feared my name.
Adrien tried to step in, reaching for my shoulder. "Dmitri, enough. You'll get expelled."
"Get off me!" I roared, shaking him off. I was a storm, and I wasn't finished.
Thwack.
Something small and crumpled hit me squarely in the chest. I froze. The world slowed down. I looked down at the piece of paper on the ground, then slowly lifted my head.
"Stop!"
She was standing there. Isabelle. Her violin case was slung over her shoulder, her eyes blazing with a silver fire I had never seen before.
I marched toward her, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. I shoved two students out of my way, my focus narrowing until she was the only thing in my universe. I reached out and snatched the violin case from her hand, letting it crash onto the cobblestones with a jarring metallic ring.
I stepped into her personal space, my shoulder brushing hers, looming over her until she had to tilt her head back to look at me.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" I demanded, my voice tight with a mixture of anger and genuine disbelief. "And what gave you the right to interfere in my business?"
She didn't flinch. Not an inch. Most girls would have been in tears by now; most boys would be shaking. But Isabelle Duval stood her ground, her chest rising and falling with sharp, defiant breaths.
"It's wrong to hurt people just because you're stronger," she said, her voice steady enough to cut glass. "You're not a prince, Dmitri. You're just a bully with a famous last name."
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the courtyard. No one…no one…had ever called a Volkov a bully to his face.
"Shut your mouth," I hissed, leaning down until our noses were almost touching. I let the venom drip from every word. "You don't know me. You don't know anything, you pathetic little Orphan. I am better than you. I am better than everyone here who is… beneath me. You are a guest here, a stray we let in out of pity. If you have any sense left in that red head of yours, you'll pick up your toy and walk away. Now."
I waited for the break. I waited for her to look at the ground and apologize.
Instead, she leaned in.
"You think that stops me?" she murmured. Her voice was soft now, but it was sharp as a razor. "I notice things, Dmitri. I notice when someone is afraid, even when they pretend to be a monster. I notice the lies you tell yourself to stay on that pedestal. And I notice when someone is about to fall because their ego has become too heavy to carry."
She looked me dead in the eye, her silver gaze boring into my soul. "Don't make me point out your weakness too loudly. It would be a shame for the 'Demon Prince' to lose his crown to a girl from an orphanage."
The world stopped. My jaw tightened so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. For the first time in my life, the mask faltered. A flicker of something not fear, but an unsettling recognition crossed my mind.
"What did you just say to me?" I whispered, my voice a jagged edge.
"I said, I know you're afraid of being exposed," she repeated. "Watch yourself, Dmitri. Arrogance is a very long way to fall."
I stared at her, studying the audacity in her stance. Something about her rattled me. It wasn't just her words; it was the way she looked at me, not as a god, but as a problem to be solved.
I took a slow step back, regaining my composure, but the damage was done. The entire school had seen the confrontation. I looked around the courtyard. The students were no longer looking at Louis Martel; they were looking at Isabelle with a terrifying, unified hostility.
By standing up to me, she had broken the social contract of St. Aurelia. To be her friend now was to be my enemy.
"Watch yourself, Duval," I said, my voice returning to its cold, imperious calm. "I won't forget a face like yours. And after today, I doubt anyone else will either."
I turned and walked away, my friends falling in line behind me. Adrien stayed for a second, his gaze lingering on Isabelle with a mixture of pity and warning. He knew what was coming. The school was about to turn into a frozen wasteland for her.
As the "Demon Prince" vanished around the corner, the silence in the courtyard broke not with applause for Isabelle's bravery, but with a cold, sharpening wind of gossip.
"Did you see her? She actually touched him!" one girl whispered, her eyes wide with horror.
"She's insane," another muttered, backing away from Isabelle as if she were contagious. "Does she want to get expelled? Or worse?"
"Typical charity case," a boy spat. "Thinks she's a hero because Julien Rousseau gave her a smile. She just signed her own death warrant."
Isabelle ignored them, though her hands were finally starting to shake. She knelt and picked up her violin case, checking the latch. She gave Louis Martel, the boy she had saved a small, tired nod.
Louis looked at her, but there was no gratitude in his eyes. There was only terror. He scrambled to his feet and ran in the opposite direction, not saying a word. He didn't want to be associated with the girl who had challenged Volkov.
Isabelle stood alone in the center of the courtyard. The students who had been her classmates only an hour ago now moved in a wide circle around her, leaving a ten-foot gap of empty space. She was a pariah. An enigma that had dared to strike the sun.
She gripped her violin like a shield and began the long walk to her next class. Every step felt heavier than the last. She had won the battle of words, but she had just lost the school.
Behind her, in the shadows of the arched walkway, Emmeline Schuyler watched with a predatory smile. Dmitri had done the work for her. Isabelle Duval was no longer just an orphan; she was an enemy of the state. And in St. Aurelia, enemies didn't last long.