[Damien's POV]
She sat alone at lunch — not because she had to, but because she chose to. Like solitude was a throne, and she was perfectly content ruling from it.
Rosella Rivers.
Every time I think I've got her figured out, she rewrites the rules.
First, she spars with me in the parking lot like we're equals. Then she walks into Lit class and schools the teacher on The Tempest. And now? She's out here bodying Veronica Hastings in broad daylight. The Social Committee is still recovering.
I don't know whether to be impressed…
Or annoyed that she's making me feel anything at all.
---
My day used to follow a perfect rhythm. Clean, controlled. Predictable. But now?
Now I find myself noticing things.
How Rosella taps her pen twice before writing.
How her lips twitch like she's fighting a smirk during arguments.
How the room seems sharper when she's in it.
And yeah — it's distracting.
Dangerously so.
I'd tried to ignore her after Lit. Sat through Econ without replaying her Prospero take in my head (failed). Watched her dodge Veronica like it was choreography (incredible). Even at lunch, I told myself to just walk past.
Instead, I sat across from her.
Her expression when she looked up? A perfect mix of exasperation and disbelief. Like I was a pop quiz she didn't study for — and didn't care to.
> "Just the ones with superiority complexes and overpriced cologne."
Direct hit. I should've been offended. I wasn't.
I was amused.
---
I never liked games I couldn't control.
And this girl? She's all chaos.
It's not just the mouth — though God, that mouth. It's the way she refuses to bend, refuses to beg, refuses to care about the social food chain that everyone else treats like gospel.
She's not playing to win popularity. She's playing to survive with her soul intact.
And that's what makes her dangerous.
Because people like Rosella? They don't just shake the system —
They burn it down.
---
Later, I cornered Veronica near the common room. She was still fuming from earlier, lips pursed tighter than her overpriced blouse.
"You told her she wouldn't last," I said, coolly.
"She won't," Veronica hissed. "Girls like that always snap."
"No. Girls like that snap back. You underestimated her."
She folded her arms. "Why do you care?"
Good question.
I walked away without answering.
---
I found the note she crumpled — pulled it from the bin after she'd gone. Six words. No signature. Just enough venom to rattle most people.
> "Careful, Rose. This school eats queens."
But she'd tossed it. No fear. No drama. Just defiance.
And I knew right then — she wasn't the prey.
She was the storm.