Liana stood still, eyes locked on the destruction in front of her.
The art table—her sanctuary—was no longer recognizable. Her brushes lay on the ground, snapped in half like twigs. The jar of charcoal pencils was overturned, the contents scattered. Her newest painting, the one she had spent the last two nights perfecting, was ripped right down the middle.
And in thick, dripping red paint across the easel, one word screamed louder than anything else:
"Pretender."
Students walked past slowly, like spectators at a car crash. Some whispered, others stifled laughter. A few had their phones out.
Her chest burned, but she didn't let the tears come. Not here.
Bianca was the first to speak. "Liana… what the actual hell?" Her eyes were wild, darting around as if trying to find the culprit in the sea of uniforms. "This is too far. This—this is insane!"
Liana didn't move. Her jaw was clenched, hands shaking, but her voice came out steady. "I'm fine."
"Fine? They destroyed your art!" Bianca hissed. "That's a whole different level of low! You have to report them. You can't let this slide!"
But she didn't say a word in reply. Instead, she slowly bent down, picking up the halves of her broken paintbrush—one by one. As if each piece deserved to be remembered before it was thrown away.
Bianca groaned. "Is this about your family again? You're scared they'll get dragged into this?"
Liana looked up, her eyes clear. "It's not just about them," she said softly. "They want a reaction. I'm not giving it to them."
From across the courtyard, Xavier watched.
He leaned against the pillar of the east building, arms folded, unreadable. Rafe stood beside him, chewing gum slowly, and Zayn and Adrian were laughing over something from their phones.
But Xavier wasn't laughing.
He had expected tears. Screaming. Anger. Maybe even a report to the principal.
But what he got… was silence.
And for the first time, that silence unsettled him.
She didn't look scared. She looked... calm. Collected. As if they hadn't broken her, just revealed something deeper.
"She's strong," Rafe muttered without being asked, eyes fixed on the same scene. "Too strong for someone like her."
Xavier said nothing.
Inside, he could still see the way her hands trembled when she picked up the ripped painting. But she had held her head high, as though she wasn't the victim in this.
She didn't play their game.
And that made her dangerous.