Isabelle's POV
I couldn't go to the library. My mind was way too chaotic for that. I was still trying to wrap my head around Dmitri's dad's reaction. When the whispers hit me. Before I knew it, I was branded "The Ghost". The girl with the dead queen's face.
The lunch bell rang and I made my way towards the cafeteria. Maybe a plate of pasta and grilled salmon would calm my nerves down for a bit. I was still thinking of the desserts to settle on when Emmeline's voice brought me back to reality.
"Isabelle!"
Her voice sliced through the cafeteria noise. Way too loud. Everyone stopped eating.
"We're all dying to hear about your... little secret," Emmeline said. She was smiling. "Since you're the star of the show, why don't you come up here? Let's talk."
"Emmeline, I don't think I'm in the mood for a chat," I tried to walk around her, but Arabella and her pack blocked me. Arabella's nails dug into my arm like claws.
"Don't be shy, scholarship girl," Arabella hissed. "Let's see how that crown fits."
They shoved me toward the low stage at the front. A hundred faces tilted up. The sound of forks hitting plates just stopped. It was heavy.
Emmeline stood by the projector screen holding a remote like it was a damn scepter. "We did some digging," she told the room. Her eyes were bright with it. Pure malice. "Found something pretty interesting."
She clicked the button.
A grainy newspaper scan filled the wall behind me. The headline hit me like a physical punch.
SCANDAL AT ST. AURELIA: DUVAL HEIRESS CAUGHT IN THEFT. DISGRACED DAUGHTER WILL BE EXPELLED FOR EMBEZZLEMENT.
The light from the projector was hot on my neck. I felt that sick, burning wave of shame crawl up my throat.
"So? What does that have to do with me?" I threw her a sharp look, trying to remain unaffected but Emmeline pressed for more.
"Guess Elena Duval wasn't just a disappointment," Emmeline sighed. She did this fake little pout. "She was a thief. Stole from the school that fed her." She turned to me, grinning like a shark.
"What are you trying to say, Emmeline? I don't know that woman. You can't just associate her with me just because we share the same surname."
"Oh, Sweetheart. You both share more than 'just a surname'. Don't try to play dumb. We know about the portrait in the great hall. I'm sure you've seen it too. You both share the same hair, the same eyes and you both carry the same tacky violin like your life depends on it. Guess the apple doesn't fall far. So, Isabelle... did you steal the violin? Or did you just steal Julien's heart to get ahead?"
The room exploded. Not just a laugh, but this roaring, ugly sound meant to bury me. It pressed against my eardrums. My brain was screaming: run. Get out. hide.
I looked at the back of the hall, desperate for something to hold onto.
Dmitri was standing there, a black silhouette. Arms crossed. He didn't move. He didn't say a word. He just watched me. His expression reads: Fight or get buried.
The laughter died down. They were waiting for me to cry or run. Like hell I'd do that. I let the silence get awkward.
"You done?" I asked. My voice sounded flat. Different.
Emmeline blinked. "What?"
"The performance," I said. I took a step toward her. "It's pathetic. You're using a twenty-year-old lie because you've got nothing of your own. You're terrified. I see it. You hide behind your last name because without it, you're a nobody. You have to trash a dead woman because you've never built a single real thing in your life."
I looked out at the crowd. My heart was thumping like a trapped bird.
"Fine, I've seen the damn portrait. So what if we look alike? You have no evidence that she is my mother just because you've seen some pictures. Even if she were my mother, she was called a thief because she chose a life your parents couldn't control. If that's a crime, fine. I'm guilty." I looked around the room. "But this? My spot here? My playing? You can't steal what you weren't given. And you can't take back what I earned."
There was a glass of water on the podium. I grabbed it. My hand was steady as a rock. I held it up, let the light hit the water, then just turned my wrist.
I poured it out. A slow, steady stream right onto the stage at Emmeline's feet. It pooled around her shoes, a big, dark stain on the wood.
The whole room gasped at once.
I didn't spare her a second glance. I walked off the stage. The crowd split apart like I was contagious.
Dmitri's POV
I watched her walk out. Her back was like a steel rod, but I saw her hands shaking before she hid them in her pockets.
Emmeline was still on stage standing in a puddle, looking like a total idiot. Her big "moment" had just backfired into cheap theater.
I moved. The crowd got out of my way without me even having to look at them. I reached the projector, grabbed the power cable and ripped it out of the wall. The screen went black.
I looked down at Emmeline. She was shaking. Her makeup was a mess and she looked like she was about to scream.
"Don't ever try this stunt again," I said. I kept my voice low. Almost a whisper. "You're going to look through her like she's air. If you even breathe in her direction, I won't come for you. I'll go for your father. I'll pull his company apart bolt by bolt and put the wreckage on the front page of the news. You get me?"
She got it. She went white. She gave this jerky, terrified nod.
I found Isabelle by the fountain. She was leaning against the stone. The adrenaline was gone and she looked hollow.
"Nice hit," I said, stopping next to her.
"I'm sick of being the prey," she muttered. Her voice was raw.
"Then be the predator." I stepped into her space. I reached out and tilted her chin up. Her eyes were like live wires. "My father wants you gone. The school wants you forgotten. Julien wants to put you in a nice, safe cage."
I ran my thumb along her jaw. Her pulse was going a mile a minute.
"But I see you. The real you. And I don't want you quiet. I want you dangerous." I leaned in. "They want to put you out because you're the key to a vault they robbed. I'll make you the lockpick. I'll be the one to help you burn this whole school down. And when it's nothing but ash, you'll be the one standing on top. With me."
She searched my face, looking for the lie. She couldn't find one. This wasn't about being nice. I was offering her a war and myself. It was the most honest I'd ever been.
Seeing her alone by that fountain... it did something to me. It wasn't just wanting her. It was this possessive, angry certainty. They'd touched what was mine. They'd drawn blood.
I left her there and went to find the source.
Emmeline's little show wasn't a random act of bitchiness. It was a test. Someone wanted to see how much the "ghost" could take before she snapped. And I knew exactly who gave the order.
I found my father in the guest lounge. He wasn't the guy who'd fumbled in the hallway anymore. He was sitting in a high-backed chair with a glass of vodka. Calm. Cold. Like stone.
I didn't knock. I let the door slam against the wall.
He didn't even look up. "Your drama is getting old, Dmitri."
"Who is Elena?" I asked.
He took a slow drink. The ice clinked. "A memory I buried. A girl who wasn't supposed to come back."
"She looked exactly like Isabelle," I said. I kept my voice dangerous. "Isabelle's mother was Elena Valois. You didn't just see a ghost today. You saw the bloodline you thought you erased."
My father finally looked at me. He looked pissed, but there was something else. Bitterness.
"She was a noble's daughter," he said. Every word sounded heavy. "A virtuoso. She was supposed to be the prize of our group. But she picked a man who was... more than a match for all of us. A guy whose name we weren't even allowed to say."
He stared into his glass. "Isabelle's father wasn't some musician. He was royalty. A prodigy. His talent was something we couldn't buy or control. Elena and he... they didn't just leave a crown. They built a world where our money was worthless. We tried to break it. We thought we did."
I just stood there. The weight of it hit me. This wasn't just a scandal. It was a war and my father's side had lost. Isabelle wasn't a charity case. She was the living proof that Viktor Volkov was beaten.
I looked at him and saw the cracks. He hadn't just lost a rival, he'd been outplayed by something he couldn't bully.
I turned for the door. The game had changed. It wasn't about school crap or money anymore. It was about a throne that had been empty for eighteen years.
He wanted her gone.
I wanted her crowned. And I was going to be the one to put that weight on her head. I was going to take that power for myself.