The history class was always held in Room 4B—wide, sunlit, and filled with heavy silence and heavy egos. Today, it felt different.
Liana sat in the second row, just like always. Quiet. Focused. Unseen.
But today, she could feel every glance pressing into her skin like pins. The prank. The vandalized table. The word "trash" still fresh in everyone's memory.
She had expected whispers. She didn't expect laughter.
Not from students—but from the teacher.
"Now, let's talk about class structures," Mr. Reynolds began, his gaze conveniently falling on Liana. "You see, back in ancient times, people knew their place. Royalty stayed royal, and peasants stayed peasants. There was… order."
A few students snickered.
Liana's fingers clenched around her pen.
"And here in Regal Heights," Mr. Reynolds continued, "we respect tradition. It's not just about money. It's about legacy. Not everyone belongs in every room."
Another chuckle. This time louder.
Her chair scraped the floor as she stood.
The room froze.
Mr. Reynolds looked mildly amused. "Yes, Miss…?"
"Liana," she said quietly. "Just Liana."
He smiled condescendingly. "Do you have something to share with the class?"
She met his gaze. "Yes, I do."
Bianca blinked at her from the next row.
"I think… the problem with class structures is that they assume talent is born in wealth. But if that were true, half the greatest names in history wouldn't exist. Art. Science. Innovation. None of those care about your last name."
The room was dead silent.
She added, calmly, "And for the record, sir… some of us belong in this room because we worked harder than anyone else here."
Mr. Reynolds' smile twitched.
Xavier, sitting at the back of the class, didn't smile. Not this time. He stared at her, unmoving.
And for the first time since she stepped foot into Regal Heights…
Liana wasn't invisible.
She was undeniable.