Chapter 3 SAVED

OLIVE'S P.O.V

I touched my lips, staring back at Amy Banks wide-eyed. “What is wrong with you? Why would you kiss me?”

I struggled to break free from her grip, but Amy was far stronger than she looked.

“Why did you allow it?” she shot back.

She was right. Why had I allowed a girl I barely knew to kiss me?

“Maybe because you forced yourself on me!”

Amy paused. A flicker of fear and remorse passed through her hazel eyes—or so I thought. “Go inside.”

“What?”

“Go now. Your room is on the sixth floor. Take the stairs; the elevators are out of order.”

Before I could press her for answers, she turned and walked away, as though she hadn't just violated my boundaries.

What was wrong with her? And what on earth was that comment about Top Boy? What kind of school was Mors?

I stared after her, my brain struggling to process the chaotic events of the last five minutes.

Bewildered, I gathered my heavy luggage, awkwardly managing them all at once before heading toward the stairwell.

I began the gruelling trek upward, climbing step after agonising step. By the time my destination came into view, my muscles were sore and I was on the absolute verge of collapse. It was the only room on the entire sixth floor.

I set my bags down, bracing myself to knock and introduce myself—but before I could, the door swung open.

A redhead with sun-kissed freckles stood in the doorway. Behind her loomed two other girls, their piercing gazes just as sharp as their leader's.

“Who are you?” the redhead asked.

Despite my exhaustion, I managed to force a polite smile, taking a small breath before answering.

“I’m Olive Hades.”

“Good. Now get the fuck out my way, Olive Hades.”

My smile vanished, as the redhead shoved past me without a thought. I prepared a rebuttal, but her second, a girl in a sleek bun, stepped forward. She had a school bag in her hand. Without warning, she slammed it into my chest, forcing me back a few steps.

My blood boiled. The moment I regained my footing, I braced myself this time, refusing to back down.

“Why? It’s not mine. Carry your own bag.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Her voice was flat, devoid of any human warmth. “Pick it up.”

“No.”

Sleek Bun looked right past me, dismissing my defiance as if I hadn't spoken at all.

“Sparks, take mine.”

After that she spun on her heels walking away quickly to catch up with Redhead.

I watched amused, she had simply dropped the order and left without a backward glance, certain that in the end, I wouldn't dare refuse.

For some reason, refusal felt dangerous.

Regardless, I stepped forward, wanting to give Sleek bun a piece of mind. Why couldn't she carry her own belongings?

A comforting hand settled onto my shoulder. It belonged to the third member of the trio—the brunette.

“It’s time for dinner. You must be starving,” she murmured.

Swiftly, she scooped up my own luggage and tossed them inside the room. She took the one sleek bun handed to her and swung it over her shoulder.

The brunette left, walking quickly to catch up with the fiery redhead and the girl with the sleek bun.

She paused, looking over her shoulder. “Coming, new girl? They’re serving egg whites and pasta.”

The mere mention of food made my stomach growl. I was too hungry, I could overlook how rude my new roommates had been.

In the end, I picked up the bag, swung the straps over my shoulder. The weight settled hard against my already sore muscles.

“They’re probably hungry and in a bad mood,” I thought, trying to give my new roommates a benefit of the doubt.

I hurried to keep up with them.

Other girls in groups of four marched towards the dining hall, sticking closely together in cliques, just like us. Two girls from each clique were also carrying bags, similar to mine and third, neither one complaining or making a scene like I had.

Redhead and Sleek Bun headed straight for the elevators.

“They’re out of service,” I warned them, remembering Amy's words from earlier. “We have to take the stairs.”

Redhead turned to me, flashing a knowing smile. “They’re out of service for your kind. They only work for the elite.”

On that note, Redhead and Sleek bun stepped in. The doors slid shut in my face, leaving me stranded with the third.

“The elite?” I repeated, angrily. “What the hell does that mean?”

The third gently grabbed my hand but I tore it away. "Come on, let’s take the stairs.”

“No… why can’t we just ride with them?” I asked, frustrated.

“It’s not allowed.”

“Why? I'm exhausted,” I groaned, throwing the bag I was made to carry. “I don’t think I have the strength to climb another step.”

The third reached for my hand again, holding it firmly, keeping a safe distance between me and the elevator doors.

“Look, you heard what Joanne said. It’s just for the elite.”

“What does that even mean? Who are the elite?”

“Joanne and Presley Silver, obviously,” she replied, as if it were common knowledge.

If they were the elite, what was I?

The third picked up the bag I dropped and turned away from the elevator bank, dragging me along with her.

“Don’t be stubborn. He hates it when we’re stubborn,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“Who?” I demanded, digging my heels into the floor. “Top Boy?”

A few nearby girls, whom I assumed didn’t belong to this privileged class of the elite, snapped their heads toward me. Their sharp gazes locked onto us, their faces blank.

The third’s grip tightened painfully around my hand, nails sinking into my skin.

“Ignore her… she’s new,” she called out to the onlookers.

They gave a collective nod and returned to their own conversations.

I was outnumbered. To avoid causing another scene, I reluctantly took the stairs with the third.

We climbed higher and higher and even without the back breaking bag on my back, my body still throbbed with exhaustion. All around us, the other girls walked in pairs, ascending the steps with the heavy bags strapped on their backs. They climbed it still without complaining or showing signs of fatigue.

The brunette handled both bags on her own. I felt a bit bad about it, but she wasn't complaining, so I didn't bother offering a hand.

A wave of relief washed over me when the dining hall came into view. At that exact moment, a group of boys emerged from the opposite corridor, heading in the same direction.

I followed the third in.

Inside, the air was warmer. The smell of actual food—roasted meat, something buttery—drifted from the far side of the room. The mouth watering smells made myself stomach rumble.

I took in the interior. It was dim, the large windows shut and heavy curtains drawn tight, blocking out the outside world. The only source of light spilled from the centre of the room, where an exquisite chandelier hung from a high ceiling. Round wooden tables were scattered across the floor, each surrounded by five padded chairs already occupied by groups of girls laughing and reaching for hot plates of food. The entire place felt incredibly grand—far too luxurious for a high school dining hall.

“Go sit over there and ask for Mia. She’s our roommate,” the brunette said.

She turned on her heels and left to join four other girls already seated at a table.

My eyes scanned the vast room, quickly spotting Joanne and Presley Silver. They were also seated at separate tables, each surrounded by four different girls.

I walked to my assigned table, wondering why I couldn't sit wherever I wanted. Why on earth were seats strictly assigned?

I stopped short when I recognised the faces already seated there.

Right there were the girls from the bathroom. And to the left... sat the victim.

The girl was not okay. She was badly injured, her tangled hair spilling over her face in an attempt to hide the damage, but from my close distance, it was impossible to miss.

My eyes hadn’t played “tricks” on me in the bathroom; this was real.

“Oh my goodness,” I moved quickly toward her. “Are you okay?”

I reached out to take her hand, but she yanked it away, rejecting my help and concern.

My gaze swept across the faces of the bullies, landing on the tall girl with the sharp fringe. They all wore the same expression—blank and unbothered. Which one was supposed to be Mia?

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” I hissed, unable to contain the horror bubbling up inside me. “And you,” I added, turning back to the victim. “Please, let me help you.”

The poor girl shook her head. When she lifted it slightly, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the left side of her face; her eye was bloodshot.

I watched, mortified but no one uttered a word. I took a seat next to the victim.

This table was different from the rest. It was tucked away in the darkest corner of the hall, with wooden stools which bit painfully into my thighs, nothing like the cushioned chairs the others got to sit on. And on the trays waiting for us sat something dark and thick, more sludge than food. It smelled faintly sour.

My roommate mentioned something about egg whites and pasta. This looked nothing like egg whites or pasta. The dark sludge couldn't be the source of the heavenly aroma I smelt earlier.

Was the good food and furniture reserved only for the elite?

Nobody at the table made a move to eat. My own appetite vanished too, even if the food looked great, I was sure I'd be unable to eat. Each time I looked at the victim, a bitter taste rose in the back of my throat.

I couldn’t bear to watch her; she was in obvious pain. Why was she so stubborn about accepting my help?

Ignoring the cold, watching eyes of the bullies, I dared to move closer. My voice dropped to a whisper

“Please, let me help you,” my voice shook as I pressed my palms together in a plea. “I’m begging you.”

She refused to look at me, staring blankly past my shoulder while nervously fidgeting with her hands.

“We can meet up somewhere secret. I can help clean up your wounds, and I swear I won’t tell a soul… please, just let me—”

“Enough!” she screamed.

The victim bolted to her feet, snatched her food tray, and hurled it in my direction.

The disgusting food splattered across my new uniform.

Stunned, I pushed myself up from my chair and took a step toward her.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your help!” she shrieked.

And with that, a heavy hand smacked across my face, nearly knocking me unconscious.

My cheek burned hot, and my hearing vanished, replaced by a deafening white ring. I stumbled backward, eyes welled with tears, my head spinning into a jumbled mess of confusion and dizziness.

Silence fell over the entire room. Every set of eyes in the dining hall was on me.

Yet, even after the public rejection and humiliation, my stubborn mouth opened anyway. Somehow, I still believed I could convince this girl to accept my help.

She caught my lips moving, and her hand snapped back up, threatening to strike me a second time.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” someone roared.

The sound startled me, and my eyes scrambled through the crowd to find the source. Heavy footsteps approached from behind, and a firm hand reached out, pulling me defensively against a solid chest.

My head shot up, staring at the face of the silhouette towering over me. It was Caleb Norman—my secret boyfriend.