Chapter 4 CHAPTER 4

CELIA’S POV

The sterile hallway of the hospital wing felt like a distant memory, replaced by the familiar, oppressive grandeur of the academy’s main corridor. My shoes tapped a quiet rhythm on the polished marble, the sound swallowed by the cavernous space. My head was a storm.

Ms. Carter’s face, pale in death, flashed behind my eyes. Her determination. Her promise. I will help you punish them.

And then the oak tree. The three distant figures. The silent verdict.

If I had listened to her… if I had gone to the headmaster with her right away, instead of waiting to be discharged… would she still be breathing?

The guilt was a physical weight, a stone in my gut that pulsed with every heartbeat. It mixed with the icy resolve that had taken root at her graveside, creating a strange, volatile cocktail in my veins. I barely noticed the other students giving me a wide berth, their whispers a meaningless hiss against the roar of my own thoughts.

They killed her. For trying to help me.

The turn toward the dormitory wing was automatic. I just wanted the false sanctuary of my room, the four walls that held the evidence of Krystal’s betrayal. I needed to think. To plan. The revenge Lia and I craved needed shape, needed a first move.

I didn’t see him until I walked right into a solid, unyielding chest.

The impact jarred me, a gasp tearing from my lips as I stumbled back. The scent hit me instantly—cold rain on dark earth, and underneath, something sharp, like turpentine. Zaxer.

He hadn’t moved an inch, just absorbed the collision as if I were a gnat. He looked down at me, his black eyes as empty and depthless as they’d been on the rooftop. As they’d been when he held me under the lake water.

Every bruise on my body screamed in recognition. The phantom burn in my lungs returned. The raw, guttural fear from the rooftop surge. But stronger, rising over it like a tide of black oil, was a rage so pure it stole my breath.

You. You let go. You watched me fall.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. The warmth in my chest, Lia’s presence, didn’t flare with heat. It turned to razor-edged frost, focusing my fury to a single, piercing point.

I didn’t speak. I just glared up at him, letting every ounce of my hatred show in my eyes. Then I stepped to the side, intent on walking around him as if he were a piece of furniture. Nothing. You are nothing.

A large hand shot out, fingers closing like a steel band around my upper arm. He yanked me back, pulling me flush against him. My back hit his chest, hard. I could feel the solid wall of muscle, the heat of his body through both our clothes. It was a different kind of violation than Kaiden’s pinch or Jasper’s clinical touch. This was pure, physical dominance, meant to negate my very will to move.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, even mockery. “You walk into me, you apologize.”

I struggled against his grip, but it was futile. His strength was absolute. The struggle just made me more aware of the hard planes of his body against my back, the way his forearm flexed against my ribs. A traitorous spark of awareness, the same one Jasper had ignited, flickered in my belly. I hated it. I hated him for causing it.

“Get your hand off me,” I spat, my voice low and venomous.

“Apologize,” he repeated, his mouth close to my ear. His breath stirred my hair. “Say you’re sorry for being in my way, omega.”

The old title, meant to demean. It didn’t sting like it used to. Now it was just a lie. A reminder of what they didn’t know.

He doesn’t know, Lia whispered, a cold thrill in her tone. He smells the difference but he doesn’t understand it. He still thinks you’re weak.

I stopped fighting his hold. I went perfectly still. Then, slowly, I turned my head just enough to look at him over my shoulder. I let my gaze sweep over his face—the strong jaw, the scar cutting through his eyebrow, those empty, empty eyes.

“I’m not apologizing to you,” I said, each word clear and measured. “Not now. Not ever. You want to punish me for it? Go ahead. Do it right here.”

I tilted my chin up, challenging him. The hallway wasn’t empty. A few students had stopped to watch, their faces a mix of curiosity and morbid fascination. The Hale brother and the scholarship girl. Again.

“Hit me,” I dared him, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “You want to so badly, don’t you? That’s all you know how to do. Hurt things that can’t fight back. So do it. Let everyone see what you really are.”

His fingers tightened on my arm, a fraction more pressure and it would bruise. His black eyes searched my face, looking for the fear he was used to. He didn’t find it. All he found was cold, defiant contempt. And something else… a glint he couldn’t interpret.

I saw the minute flicker of uncertainty in his stony expression. He couldn’t. Not in the open like this, with witnesses. The rules of their cruel game had layers, and public, outright violence against a female student—even an omega—crossed a line even the Hales had to be careful with. They preferred their torment plausible, deniable.

His hesitation was my victory. A tiny, brittle one, but it was mine.

Using the moment of his surprise, I shoved back against him with all my weight, twisting my arm. His grip, momentarily slackened, broke. I stumbled forward a step, putting precious distance between us.

I didn’t look back. I walked away, my spine straight, my steps even, though my heart was trying to batter its way out of my chest. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, a silent promise of future retribution. But in that moment, I had walked away from Zaxer Hale. I hadn’t run.

The ice in my chest thawed just enough to let a sliver of fierce satisfaction through. First move.

My dorm room door was ajar. I pushed it open, and there she was. Krystal. Perched on the edge of her perfectly made bed, looking like a golden-haired angel concerned for her wayward friend. The sight of her made my skin crawl, but I kept my face neutral, closing the door softly behind me.

“Celia! There you are.” She stood, her expression a masterpiece of sympathetic concern. “I heard you were back. I was so worried. How are you feeling?”

You were on the roof. You laughed. I could still hear the sound, tinkling and cruel, mixing with the wind as I fell.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice flat. I dropped my bag on my own, much messier bed.

“You don’t look fine.” She floated closer, her sweet floral scent enveloping me. It used to smell like safety. Now it smelled like poison and lies. “You look tense. And pale.” She reached out as if to touch my cheek.

I flinched away before her fingers could make contact. The movement was instinctive, violent. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise—and maybe irritation—in their caramel depths.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, turning to pretend to unpack my bag. “Just… sore.”

“Of course,” she said smoothly, the mask of concern sliding back into place. “Listen, I know things have been awful. But you can’t hide in here. You need to get out, see something that isn’t these four walls. The boys have a big exhibition game tonight at the arena. Intramural, but it’s always a show. We should go.”

I stiffened, my back to her. The boys. Her boyfriend and his brothers. The idea of voluntarily being in the same space with them, of watching them preen and dominate, made my stomach turn.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said slowly.

“It’s the perfect idea!” she insisted, her voice taking on that persuasive, bubbly tone that had once charmed me. “You need to show them you’re not scared. You’re not hiding. You’re stronger than what happened. Besides,” she added, a conspiratorial whisper in her voice, “we can just watch, have a few laughs at their expense from the stands. It’ll be fun.”

Fun. Right.

But then, a thought crystallized. Sharp and clear. Ms. Carter’s death had taught me one thing: playing their game by their rules got people killed. I needed to change the game. And Krystal, with her false friendship, was the key. She was the link, the conduit for their plans. If I could use her, turn her own schemes against her…

I turned to face her, letting a hesitant, fragile smile touch my lips. The kind of smile the old Celia would have given. “You… you really think it would help?”

Her eyes lit up with triumph. She thought she was reeling me back in. “I know it will. It’s just a game. We’ll go, we’ll watch, we’ll leave early if it’s too much. I’ll be right with you.”

I nodded, looking down as if gathering courage. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

The arena was a thunderous cacophony of sound—blaring music, the screech of skates on ice, the roar of a crowd made up of academy students and local elite. The air was cold and smelled of popcorn, sweat, and testosterone. We found seats high up, away from the most crowded sections. Down on the pristine ice, figures in sleek uniforms darted and clashed. I easily picked out the Hale brothers. Xavier, leading a charge with lethal grace. Kaiden, making a flashy, unnecessary spin. Jasper, efficient and focused. Ryker, calculating every move. Zaxer, a silent, brutal force checking an opponent into the boards with a crack that echoed.

I watched, my face a blank mask. Krystal chattered next to me, pointing things out, her laughter too loud. Every time one of the brothers did something impressive, she squirmed in her seat, a possessive gleam in her eye.

“They’re so good,” she sighed during a lull in play.

“Mhmm,” I hummed noncommittally.

“Oh, I need to run to the little girls’ room,” she said suddenly, standing. “All that soda. Come with me?”

There it was. The invitation. The setup. Memories, sharp and painful, stabbed into my mind. A different bathroom, a lifetime ago. Kaiden’s hands, his lies, the echoing laughter of a crowd as I was humiliated. “She was all over me! Couldn’t keep her hands off!” He’d said it with such convincing shame, and they’d all believed him. Because he was a Hale, and I was nothing.

This was her play. Lure me to a secluded place. Let one of them be waiting. Stage another scene. Destroy what was left of my reputation, or just deliver me for more intimate torment.

My blood ran cold, but the ice in my chest held firm. Yes. Let’s.

“Sure,” I said, my voice light.

We wound our way down the concrete stairs, through the buzzing concourse, and into a quieter hallway leading to a set of restrooms marked for arena staff. It was isolated, the roar of the game a distant rumble here.

“This one’s less crowded,” Krystal said brightly, pushing the door open. It was dark inside. She reached for the light switch just inside the door. “Just a sec…”

This was it. The moment. In my memory, Kaiden had been hiding in the stall. The bucket of ice water, or paint, or whatever it was, was rigged over the door. A childish, messy humiliation.

I didn’t follow her in. I stopped right on the threshold.

She took two steps into the darkness, her hand fumbling for the wall switch. “Celia? Come on, it’s dark.”

“You go ahead,” I said, my voice calm. “I’ll wait right here.”

A fraction of a second of silence. Then a click. Not the light switch.

A mechanical snick followed by a rush of liquid.

Sploosh!

A thick, gloppy torrent of cold, royal blue paint poured directly from the ceiling, drenching Krystal from head to toe. She shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and fury. The paint was heavy, slick, dripping from her honey-gold hair, streaming down her designer top and skirt, pooling on the tile floor around her expensive boots.

She stood frozen for a second, sputtering, coated in blue. Then she whirled around, her face a mask of dripping, furious color, her eyes wide with betrayed disbelief.

I brought my hands to my mouth, my eyes going wide in perfectly feigned horror.

“Oh my god!” I gasped, my voice trembling with just the right amount of shock. “Krystal! What happened?”