Chapter 5 – Shattered Glass
The school day dragged on like a dull, endless rehearsal of lines I didn't want to speak. By the time the final bell rang, I had convinced myself that if I could just walk quickly enough to my locker and escape into the waiting car, I might survive without crumbling. But fate never plays fair—not with me.
The whispers had been growing louder all week, a steady hum of cruelty that clung to me wherever I went. Today, though, they sharpened into daggers.
I was standing by my locker, fingers trembling on the combination lock, when I caught them. Two girls leaned against the opposite wall, laughing far too loudly to be casual.
"Did you hear?" one of them said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Her dad didn't just disappear. He ran. Probably with someone younger."
The second girl snorted. "Or maybe he couldn't stand the mansion life anymore. Who would want to live with the Ice Queen and her spoiled daughter?"
My throat tightened. I dropped my books into the locker too hard, the sound echoing down the emptying hallway. I wanted to scream at them, tell them they didn't know anything about me, about him. But my voice, as usual, failed me.
And then, before I could decide whether to run or cry, another voice sliced through the space.
"Shut up."
I turned. Adrian Cole stood a few feet away, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought he might break his teeth.
The girls blinked at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He took a step closer, his presence filling the space like a storm rolling in. "If you're going to spread garbage, at least be original. But dragging her into it? Pathetic."
The smirk fell from their faces, replaced by awkward silence. They muttered something about him being crazy and hurried down the hall.
I stood frozen, the air thick between us. Adrian's eyes shifted to me, and for once, there was no sarcasm there, no spark of rivalry. Just something sharp, protective, almost… dangerous.
"You didn't have to do that," I whispered, my voice cracking against the weight in my chest.
"Yes, I did."
He leaned against the locker next to mine, running a hand through his dark hair. "You think I'm going to stand there and let them tear you apart like that?"
His words stunned me more than the confrontation itself. Because until this moment, I had been so sure that Adrian Cole thrived on my discomfort, on every eye-roll and glare I threw at him. Yet here he was, bristling with anger on my behalf.
"I'm used to it," I muttered, staring down at the floor tiles.
"You shouldn't have to be." His tone softened, but not enough to hide the heat beneath it.
Something cracked in me then. Like glass under pressure, holding for too long until it shatters with the smallest touch. My hands shook as I closed my locker door.
"You don't get it," I said, my voice trembling. "Everyone thinks I'm broken. They see my dad's name and laugh, they see my face and whisper. And my mom—she doesn't even look at me anymore. So don't stand there and act like you can fix this with one heroic speech, Adrian."
The silence that followed was unbearable. I expected him to walk away, maybe throw one of his cutting remarks over his shoulder. But instead, he stepped closer. Too close.
"Laurence."
My name on his lips did something strange to me. It wasn't a tease, wasn't a weapon—it was careful. Almost reverent.
His hand came up, brushing against my cheek, his thumb grazing just below my eye as if he could wipe away a tear I hadn't let fall. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a tremor through me, leaving warmth where there had only been cold.
"You're not broken," he murmured.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat. And then his other hand shifted, brushing against my thigh as he leaned on the locker beside me. The contact was light, almost accidental, but the closeness made my pulse stumble. He was so near I could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet hallway.
"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked, my voice so soft I wasn't sure he'd hear it.
His mouth quirked into the faintest smile, though his eyes stayed serious. "Maybe I like seeing you fight back. Maybe I don't like bullies. Or…" His gaze lingered on mine, heavy and unreadable. He leaned in closer, his lips a breath away from my ear. "Maybe I just don't hate you as much as you think."
My pulse raced. It was ridiculous—utterly ridiculous—that a boy I couldn't stand three weeks ago could unravel me with a single sentence and a few too-close touches. But the truth was undeniable.
Something had shifted.
And when he finally pulled his hand back from my cheek, the absence of his touch was louder than the bell that rang moments later.
The ride home was a blur. I kept replaying the moment in my head—his eyes, his words, the way his hand lingered on me. By the time I reached the mansion gates, I wasn't sure if I was more angry at him for breaking down my walls, or angry at myself for wanting him to.
But that night, as I lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling, the whispers of the day faded. All I could hear was Adrian's voice, low and steady:
"I don't think you're broken."
And for the first time since my father vanished, I almost believed it.