Don't Provoke The Queen

A sleek black Centurion card slid across the cafeteria table, coming to a halt right next to my plastic tray.

"Hey, new girl. The food in this dump really is garbage, isn't it?"

I looked up. Jace was leaning over the table, propping himself up on both hands. He flashed me a warm, winning smile. Blond hair impeccably styled, a tailored school blazer, and a Richard Mille watch strapped to his wrist—a timepiece worth enough to buy a decent house in this suburban wasteland.

"You look a little pathetic sitting here all by yourself," he said, tilting his head. "Let me buy you lunch?"

Fifteen feet away, at the cheerleaders' table, Chloe was burying her fork so deep into an apple it looked like murder.

"Another bitch."

I felt the searing heat of Chloe’s psychotic jealousy drift over, then shifted my gaze back to Jace. From the corner of his eye, he tracked Chloe’s reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched, barely perceptible.

It wasn’t nervousness. It was profound satisfaction.

"No, thanks," I said, pulling my gaze away and picking up my tray. "Cafeteria food is fine."

Jace’s smile didn’t waver, but a microscopic frown creased his forehead, as if his brain couldn't process the concept of rejection.

"Don't be like that," he murmured, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register. "I don't mean anything by it. Just wanted to make you feel a little more welcome."

He reached out and gently clamped his fingers over the edge of my tray.

I looked down at his manicured hand, then dragged my eyes back up to his face.

He had nice eyes. Ocean blue, like the surface of a frozen lake in dead winter. But deep down, something dark was burning—that sick, frantic heat of a hunter watching prey step directly into a steel trap.

"Thanks," I said. "But I’m allergic to being 'welcomed.'"

I yanked the tray out of his grip and walked right past him. He didn’t try to stop me again, but I could feel his gaze sticking between my shoulder blades like wet tar.

First period after lunch wrapped up. I headed toward the girls' room at the end of the hall. High school life really was painfully dull—no turf wars, no gunfights, no snipers perched in the shadows waiting to blow my head off.

I pushed casually through the swinging restroom door.

Splash.

Half a bucket of filthy, metallic-smelling mop water hit me dead in the face. The freezing liquid instantly soaked through my hoodie, dripping steadily from my chin onto the tiled floor.

"Oops. My hand slipped."

Chloe stepped out from behind the door, arms crossed over her chest. A couple of her mindless minions trailed behind her, their phones already up and recording.

"How's the water, transfer?" She leaned in close to my ear, a cloud of cheap, suffocating perfume invading my nostrils. "Lesson number one: Jace is off-limits. If you ever let him smile at you again, it won't be mop water getting dumped on you next time."

I stared at her in dead silence. Her neck was incredibly fragile. The carotid artery pulsed right there, fully exposed, just inches from my fingers.

"That’s it?" I raised a hand and wiped the grimy water from my eyes. "In all these years, this is the best this school can come up with?"

Chloe scowled, visibly rattled by the utter void in my stare.

"Let's go," she snapped. She swiveled around, leading her entourage out with a sharp clatter of designer heels.

I watched them leave. Well, maybe this little vacation of mine wouldn't be so boring after all.

I reached down and wrung out the hem of my soaked hoodie. I was just debating whether to walk home to change or call the old man and have him buy this miserable institution just to bulldoze it to the ground, when a sound interrupted me.

From the stall tucked in the furthest corner, there was a faint click.

A girl in an oversized school blazer and thick-rimmed glasses slipped out. Her head was tucked low. She had clearly witnessed the whole pathetic show.

She fished a pack of tissues out of her pocket and offered it to me.

"Here... for you." Her voice was no louder than a mosquito's buzz, her eyes glued to the floor tiles.

I looked at her small hands. They were trembling with pure fear.

"Aren't you afraid she's going to make you her next target?"

She swallowed hard. But instead of pulling away, she rapidly shrugged off her clean blazer. She shoved it into my arms, along with the tissues.

"Your clothes are wet. You'll catch a cold," she whispered in a rushed panic. "Just put mine on. I have a spare in my locker... go change."

I stared down at the dry jacket bundled in my arms. For the past eighteen years of my life, every single person who approached me wanted something—money, power, or my head on a platter. In my world, weakness was the deadliest original sin.

But her...

"My name is Siena," I said, draping her blazer over my ruined hoodie.

"Maya..." She flicked a terrified glance at me before ducking her head again like a startled rabbit. "You... you should go. Don't stay in here."

With that, she pushed through the door and bolted down the hall.

I watched her vanish, a genuinely amused smirk tugging at my lips. Was this the "normal life" the old man was so desperate for me to experience?

Not entirely terrible.

I dried the remaining streaks of water from my face and pushed open the door. The moment I stepped out into the corridor, I froze.

Jace was leaning casually against the wall by the corner. The second he saw me, he stood up straight, his face morphing into a mask of perfectly measured concern.

"Siena." He stepped into my space, his voice dripping with gentle sympathy. "I heard. Chloe, she..."

He reached out, his fingers aiming to brush a wet strand of hair from my cheek.

"Are you okay? I am so sorry. She takes things too far sometimes."

His eyes were incredibly tender. His tone was flawlessly sincere.

But I saw it. I caught that fleeting spark buried deep in his pupils. He was getting off on this.

Smack.

I slapped his hand away.

His smile froze for a fraction of a second, but he instantly snapped back into his innocent act. He rubbed the back of his bare hand, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle.

"I know you're angry. But Chloe is just..."

"Just what?" I took a hard step forward, closing the distance. "Just falling right into your setup? You deliberately let her see you talking to me, then sat back and waited for her to come mess with me."

The smile finally dropped from his face. It was replaced by the stark panic of a man who suddenly realizes he’s completely transparent. Only for a split second. But it was enough.

"Siena, what are you talking about?" His voice was still soft, but a thick layer of defensive armor had slipped over it. "I only wanted to help you."

"Help me?" I stared dead into his icy eyes. "Or did you just want to see if I'd cry?"

He didn't answer.

"You get a kick out of watching them fight over you, don't you?" I dropped my voice to a lethal whisper. "The new girl, the jealous ex, the pathetic bathroom bullying—it's all just your own private reality show."

He pressed his lips together into a thin line. The temperature in those blue eyes plummeted to absolute zero. The gentle mask was technically still intact, but the rot underneath was bleeding through.

"You have a very wild imagination," he said. The tone was light, but entirely devoid of warmth.

"Do I?" I gave a hollow laugh. "Then tell me, why did you go out of your way to talk to me today?"

"Because you're new. I just wanted to make you feel—"

"Welcome?"

Heavy silence settled between us.

"Next time you want to use the new girl to go fishing," I said, jabbing a single finger hard into the center of his chest. "Don't use me as bait."

"Because I will grind you down to splintered bone and toss you out with the rest of the trash."

I didn't even bother looking at his pale, distorted face as I brushed past him and walked away.