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“Yes girl, because you handed it to him on a silver platter. You were vulnerable in front of him, and he weaponised it.” Maddie’s tone softens.

She reaches out, carefully sliding her palms under mine, lifting my hands with a gentle, deliberate touch that is mindful of my painful joints.

“Belrose treats him like a God, which means he is used to people bowing down or running away. The second you show him you aren’t afraid of his little mind games, he loses his leverage. He will hate that.” She rolls her eyes. “The students spend all day pussyfooting around him like he’s untouchable, practically tripping over themselves to stay in his good-books… It’s utterly pathetic. Do you want my advice? Don’t take his bait, and play him at his own game.”

She makes it sound so simple.

Maybe it really is that simple.

12

Julian

“That chick is a total fucking nightmare, dude!” Josh leans back against the stone pillar, crossing his arms over his dark grey Loro Piana jacket.

Josh and fashion is something else entirely. This guy is the undisputed King of Fashion, though you’d never catch him wearing anything loud. He hates logos of any kind, as he thinks they are cheap. Instead, he opts for quiet luxury—pieces that cost a small fortune but only obvious to the trained, equally wealthy eye. Like this Loro Piana jacket of his, a “winter staple,” in his words.

I still think it’s hilarious remembering the time he started talking to me about it back in Houston. Listening to him drone on about thread counts and fabric weights, I genuinely thought he might have been better suited to a career in high-end textiles than classical piano.

Sometimes, I wonder how we are even friends.

He is the complete, polar opposite of me. While Josh coordinates his wardrobe, I have my rotation: my worn leather jacket, my plain black tees, black jeans, and my boots. It’s simple, it’s dark, and it requires zero thought. Perfect.

I reach for my phone in my jacket pocket, my eyes tracking the single figure he’s staring at as she cuts through the sea of students across the hallway.

Ellise Vance.

“Yeah,” I mutter, shifting my weight against the stone, my posture deliberately casual, a practiced shield to mask the sudden spike in my pulse. I bring the paper cup to my lips, taking a long sip of coffee. “I guess.”

I’m trying my absolute best to act like she doesn’t bother me. I’m trying to pretend that she doesn’t get entirely under my skin, hijack my thoughts and make my blood boil, but I'm failing miserably. It’s a blessing that Josh is so consumed by his own voice that he doesn’t pay much attention to me.

The Grand Hallway of Belrose is a chaotic stress of students, full of noise and raw ambition. By late afternoon, the marble corridors are a total blur of hustle and bustle, packed with students sprinting from one gruelling session to another.

I lean my shoulder against the cold stone column near the Music Theory and Composition wing, watching the crowd as Josh continues to drone on. Back in Houston, I used to think his endless commentary was just banter—that he just loved the sound of his own voice. But lately, with my own head feeling like a war zone, the sheer volume of shit he talks is testing my last nerve. Don’t get me wrong, Josh is my brother. Metaphorically speaking. He is the only person in this soul-sucking, uptight conservatory who actually knows me, and I’d probably take a bullet for the guy.

But right now, I desperately need him to shut up.

“Seriously, what is even the deal with her?” Josh scoffs, checking his reflection in the glass of a notice board, smoothing down the collar of his coat. “She’s so uptight.”

“She’s different. I’ll say that.” I keep my tone flat, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction of allowing him to use my words to mock her any further.

My eyes lock onto her as she walks straight past us. Her gaze is focused entirely forward, her blue eyes icy and remote, fixed on some invisible point on the wall. She’s completely tuning out the crowd, the noise, and me. It’s a little weird, though I wouldn’t dare say that to Josh.

She passes close enough that my stupid brain automatically expects to catch that soft vanilla scent again, but today there’s a sharp, clinical undertone. Menthol. She continues to walk, not acknowledging my existence by even a fraction of an inch, as she disappears behind the heavy wooden doors towards the library.

Josh lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go anywhere near her, man. I bet she is so frigid. Probably a virgin.”

I cut my eyes towards him. “Did I say I was going near her?”

“She’s nothing like Nance. Nance actually knows how to have a good time and doesn’t make you work for it. Or Kara. God, Kara is so filthy.” He smirks, as he nudges my ribs with his elbow. “But…” Josh mocks, “I bet that Vance chick is a total wreck behind closed doors. It’s always the quiet ones, you know? The good girls always have a dirty little secret.”

Listening to him talking about Ellise, in that casual, dismissive tone tightens a dark knot in my chest.

The hypocrisy of it is staggering.

I’ve spent the last year being a total prick to her—taunting her, pushing her to her limits, testing her integrity to see if she would snap. But hearing these words come out of Josh’s mouth doesn’t make me laugh. It makes a cold wall go up inside me.