Emmeline's POV (Friday Evening)
I couldn't shake it off. The way Dmitri had stood there last night outside the Music Hall like a fool frozen mid-step, his eyes glued to the door while that girl played. Hesitating. Dmitri Volkov, hesitating. That was a crack I could use. A big one. If I played this right, I could make her the center of everything, flood her with so much attention that Dmitri would have to do something stupid. And when he did, he'd look weak. The whole school would see it. He couldn't fight everyone, not even him.
Across from me, Arabella was venting about her skin routine, but I wasn't listening.
"Are you even listening, Em?" Arabella snapped, her perfectly manicured hand waving in front of my face.
"You know that new girl, the scholarship one? Isabelle?" I said, stirring my tea slowly, watching their faces perk up. They hated her already, easy pickings.
"The rat? What about her?" Arabella sneered, flipping her hair.
I smiled, just a little. "I heard she played yesterday in the Music Hall. Like, really played. The kind of thing that makes you stop and listen. The boys are talking about it. Calling her the 'Enigma' or something stupid like that."
Camille snorted. "The boys? Like who?"
"Oh, you know, some of the seniors. They're saying her music's… haunting. Like she's got something real."
I paused, let it sink in. "Makes you wonder why Julien's always hanging around her, right? Maybe she's got more going on than we thought."
Arabella's eyes narrowed, like she was chewing on something sour. "Haunting? Please. She's just a freak with a violin."
"But if the boys are into it…" Liliana trailed off, looking at Arabella nervously.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. It's a trick I learned early. If you whisper, people think you're sharing a secret. If you're loud, you're just talking. "I saw Dmitri watching her play yesterday in the music wing. He looked... enchanted. Almost protective."
The table went silent. That was the first spark.
"Dmitri?" one of the other girls, Celeste, whispered. "No way. He hates her. He's been making her life hell."
"Exactly," I said, a slow smile spreading across my lips. "He's trying to fight it. But you know Dmitri. If he can't have her, he'll destroy her. And if he can't destroy her... well. Maybe we've all been looking at her the wrong way. Maybe she isn't just a charity case. Maybe she's the only girl in St. Aurelia who can actually make the Demon Prince lose his mind."
I shrugged. "Just saying. If she's suddenly the 'mysterious talent,' people might start forgetting who really runs things here. You know how guys are, chase anything that shines a little differently."
That did it. Arabella's face went tight, her knuckles white on her cup. "We'll see about that."
I watched the wheels turn in their heads. Jealousy is a powerful fuel, but curiosity is a faster one.
By the time I left the lounge, the narrative had shifted. I hadn't told a single lie, but I had planted the idea. Isabelle wasn't a victim anymore. She was a prize. She was a challenge.
If Dmitri wanted to hide his obsession, I would make it impossible. I would turn the entire school into a mirror, reflecting her back at him until he couldn't breathe.
By lunch, it was rolling. The girls? They hated it, the jealousy was boiling.
"Why's everyone talking about her?" "She's under Emmeline's wing or something?" I didn't correct them. Let them think I was protecting her. Made her look even more "influential." Made them hate her more.
It was working. By the end of the day, she was the name on everyone's lips. Boys trying to impress, girls sharpening knives. And Dmitri? He'd hear it soon. He'd see the attention piling up and he'd crack. He couldn't fight the whole school. Not without looking like a fool.
I watched from the library window as a group of guys crowded around her by the Music Hall Entrance. She looked confused, flustered. Good. Let her shine bright till she burns out.
Isabelle's POV (Saturday Morning)
Saturday was usually my only day of peace. I woke up late, the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains of my room. The memory of the box, the rat and the voodoo doll was still a cold weight in my stomach, but the smell of Julien's sandalwood scent on the blanket he'd left me helped.
I stayed in bed for a while, just staring at his note. Lock the door. Eat the chocolate. He was being so kind. Too kind. Every time he defended me, I felt a little smaller, a little more like a bird with a broken wing. I hated it. I wanted to be the girl who won the scholarship because of her fingers, not because a Rousseau decided I was a project.
I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on my oldest, most oversized cardigan. It was a faded navy blue, three sizes too big and smelled like the laundry soap from the orphanage. It was my armor. When I wore it, I felt like I could disappear into the wool.
I headed to the practice rooms, hoping to lose myself in the Bach Ciaccona. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, things felt... off.
Usually, people looked through me. Or they laughed. But today, a group of boys from the soccer team stopped talking as I walked by. They didn't sneer. They just... watched.
"Morning, Isabelle," one of them said.
I froze, my hand tightening on my violin case. I didn't even know his name. "Morning," I whispered, my head ducked low.
I hurried past, my heart hammering against my ribs. Why are they talking to me?
In the music wing, it was worse. I found a small practice room in the back, but every time I stopped playing, I could hear whispers in the hall. Through the small glass pane in the door, I saw faces. Just glimpses. Someone would walk by, slow down, stare for a second and then keep going.
I felt like an exhibit in a museum.
"Isabelle?"
I jumped, nearly dropping my bow. Julien was standing in the doorway, looking concerned. "You've been in here for four hours. Have you eaten?"
"I'm fine, Julien," I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. "People are acting weird today."
Julien frowned, stepping into the room. He took my violin from me, setting it gently in its case. "Define weird."
"They're... looking at me. Not like they're going to trip me in the hall. Just... looking. And Jean-Marc Dupont tried to open the door for me earlier. He's never even acknowledged I exist."
Julien's expression darkened. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he only did when he was stressed. "It's the rumors. The school is a pressure cooker, Isabelle. Everyone's talking about how you stood up to Dmitri. They're calling you 'fearless.'"
"I'm not fearless," I snapped, the frustration finally bubbling over. "I was terrified. I'm still terrified. I just want to play my music and get my degree. Why can't everyone just leave me alone?"
"I'm trying," Julien said, his voice dropping to that soft, protective tone that made me feel like a child. "I'll handle it, okay? Just stay close to me."
"I don't want you to handle it!" I said, my voice cracking. "I don't want to be handled, Julien. I'm not a piece of glass."
He looked hurt, his hand dropping from my shoulder. "I'm just trying to keep you safe, Isabelle."
"I know," I sighed, feeling the guilt wash over me. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm tired."
Emmeline's POV (Sunday Night)
The weekend had been a masterpiece of social engineering. By Sunday evening, the "Isabelle Fever" was at a breaking point. I'd spent the last forty-eight hours dropping hints to the right people.
To the boys, I whispered about her "hidden depth" and how she was the "unattainable muse." To the girls, I spoke of her "calculated innocence."The best part? No one knew I was the source. I was just the observant friend, the one who noticed things.
I sat in the library, watching Dmitri from three tables away. He was staring at a textbook, but he hadn't turned the page in twenty minutes. He was listening. He was listening to the two boys behind him talk about Isabelle's "ethereal" eyes.
I saw the way his pen snapped in his hand. I saw the way his jaw tightened until the bone looked like it might break through the skin.
He was unraveling. And the best part was, he couldn't blame me. He couldn't blame anyone. How do you fight a feeling that has infected an entire school?
I leaned back, taking a slow sip of my tea. Tomorrow was Monday. The start of the new week. The day the pressure would finally blow the lid off the pot.
Poor Isabelle. She has no idea that by tomorrow morning, she won't just be the scholarship girl. She'll be the most hunted person in St. Aurelia.
Isabelle's POV (Monday Morning)
I woke up on Monday with a sense of impending dread. My skin felt too tight for my body. I didn't want to leave my room. I didn't want to face the needles of their gazes.
I pulled on my navy cardigan again, wrapping it around myself like a shroud. I didn't do my hair; I just pulled it into a messy, lopsided braid and grabbed my violin. I didn't even put on makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to be a shadow.
I walked toward the main courtyard, my head down, counting my steps. One. Two. Three.
The silence hit me first.
Usually, the Monday morning courtyard was a riot of noise, shouting, laughing and the sound of a hundred private conversations. But as I stepped onto the cobblestones, the noise died. It didn't stop all at once, it faded out in ripples, starting from the fountain and moving outward.
I looked up and my heart stopped.
The students weren't moving. They were standing in small circles, their eyes fixed on me. It wasn't the sneering silence of last week. It was something else. Something heavy. Something expectant.
In the center of the path, standing right in front of the fountain, was Jean-Marc Dupont.
He was walking towards me, his face a bright, burning red. In his hand, he held a single, blood-red rose.
The entire school was watching. I could feel Dmitri's eyes from somewhere in the crowd, a cold, sharp blade against the back of my neck. I could feel Julien moving toward me from the side, his face a mask of confusion and anger.
Jean-Marc took a step forward, his hand trembling as he held the rose out toward me.
"Isabelle," he said, his voice cracking in absolute silence. "I... I wanted to ask..."
I stood there, frozen, the oversized sleeves of my cardigan swallowed my hands. My breath was shallow, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
The world narrowed down to that red flower and the hundreds of eyes waiting for me to move. I felt small. I felt naked.
The walls I'd built were gone. The game was starting. And I was the only one who didn't know the rules.