Scarred Hearts, Twisted Fate

Ann McBrown moved through the sea of students like a ghost slipping beneath waves—unseen, unfelt, unnoticed.

Growing up in the SOS Orphanage had its share of advantages and disadvantages. Being the smallest child among the rest often meant she was forgotten, overlooked. But sometimes, that worked in her favor. She was only seven months old when she was abandoned at the orphanage’s gates.

It was a story she’d been told so many times, in such vivid detail, that she could recite it step by step. Sometimes, it almost felt like she remembered it herself. She left the system that abused her since she learned how to talk immediately she turned eighteen years old. She raised herself working odd jobs and living on handouts.

She sighed as she reached her locker, the kind of sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep, like it was carrying the weight of her entire life. She twisted the lock open, about to place her books inside, when she was shoved hard from behind.

Her body tilted dangerously forward, and her heart lurched—until two tiny hands caught her just in time.

Mocking laughter followed behind her, the squeals and high-fives of Aurora and her plastic entourage. Their taunts bounced through the hallway like secondhand perfume—loud, artificial, and impossible to ignore.

Ann didn’t flinch. She didn’t turn. She didn’t give them the satisfaction. Her jaw clenched as she thought bitterly, 'If not for those hands, I would’ve fallen straight to the floor… maybe cracked my skull. But who could it have been? I don’t have many friends. Just Judith'.

Before she could turn to thank her rescuer, a familiar voice cut through the noise—low and brimming with frustration.

“Ann, I don’t know why you put up with that self-proclaimed queen bee and her minions. You’ve never wronged her. But every single day since third grade, she and those sluts torment you.”

Ann turned just on time to see Judith standing there, arms folded, eyes glaring daggers at the retreating backs of Aurora and her gang.

She smiled faintly and let Judith help her back onto her feet. “Don’t let them get to you. You know… in my eighteen years of life, I’ve been through worse. What they’re doing? Child’s play. It doesn’t shake me.”

Judith scoffed, brushing imaginary lint from Ann’s shoulder. “You always say that—‘I’ve been through worse’, but you never tell me what you mean. We’ve been friends since fourth grade, Ann, and I still don’t know what you’ve actually been through.”

Ann’s smile didn’t waver, but it didn’t reach her eyes either. There were some stories even friendship couldn’t touch. “It’s not important,” she said softly. “Come on, let’s get to class. We need to study hard if we want a future. Girls like Aurora? Their futures are already laid out for them. Rich parents. Fancy cars. Gold-plated last names. You still have your family, but… your family’s worth is like an ant compared to theirs. Me? I have no one. Just this mind. We have to work twice as hard to shine.”

Judith rolled her eyes but followed her friend toward the lecture hall. “You make a point, but damn it still pisses me off.”

By the time they reached the classroom, the professor was already at the podium, glasses perched low on her nose, going over notes. The lecture hall buzzed with chatter, but quieted slightly when the girls entered.

Ann could feel the stares like pins against her back. Whispers followed her, the familiar melody of mocking tones and sneers—an unwelcome soundtrack she’d grown used to over the years. But she didn’t react. She walked straight to the back and pulled Judith along with her.

They slid into the last row, the furthest point from anyone important. Ann pulled out her worn notebook and a pen with faded blue ink. Around her, tablets and sleek laptops flickered to life like tiny cityscapes. But Ann didn’t flinch. She was used to this too.

Halfway into the lecture, something shifted. The door creaked open and the professor paused mid-sentence.

Principal Deborah entered, her heels tapping authoritatively against the polished tile.

“Attention, students,” she said, voice too cheerful to be apologetic. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a new student joining us today.”

Ann glanced up, already disinterested, but something about the glint in the principal’s eyes made her curious. The woman looked excited—as if she were announcing a celebrity, not just a transfer student.

“Rex Radford has been enrolled in our school by his father, Alfred Radford.”

The name dropped like a pebble into still water—and the ripple was immediate.

Excitement exploded across the room. Girls gasped, scrambling to fix their hair, smooth their shirts, and swipe on lip gloss. Laughter, whispers, and shrieks of recognition filled the space. The boys looked mildly annoyed, like they already knew this guy would be trouble.

Ann tilted her head, blinking. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She turned to Judith.

Her friend was fluffing her curls and reapplying tinted lip balm with trembling hands.

Ann’s eyebrows shot up. “Jud… are you seriously doing what they’re doing?”

Judith froze, then gasped. “Ann! Don’t tell me you don’t know who Rex Radford is!”

Ann blinked at her, expression blank. “Should I?”

Judith groaned and nearly smacked her forehead. “Your TV’s older than Moses, so I’m not even surprised, but come on! Rex Radford is the Rex Radford. Son of Alfred Radford—tech mogul, billionaire, owns like half of the country’s economy?”

Ann’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

Judith gave up, slumping dramatically. “You are a hopeless case.”

The principal called for silence again. “Everyone, please be respectful. Here he comes. Make him feel welcome.”

The door opened—and in walked Rex Radford.

Every breath in the room stalled. The energy shifted in an instant, like the oxygen had been sucked out and replaced with something heavier, more electric.

He didn’t just walk—he moved, like the world made space for him. Like the air bent around his presence. He was tall, lean but muscular, with broad shoulders and an effortless kind of grace. His hair was raven-black, tousled just enough to seem unbothered but clearly styled. His eyes—gray, stormy, unreadable—swept over the room with quiet disinterest.

Girls audibly gasped. One knocked her iPad off her desk and didn’t even bother picking it up.

To say he was handsome felt like calling the ocean “wet.” His beauty wasn’t soft—it was sharp. Chiseled cheekbones, a jawline you could cut glass with, thin but expressive lips, and a faint scar above one brow that made him look like he’d stepped out of a dark fairytale.

But more than that—it was his presence.

He didn’t demand attention. He didn’t have to.

He simply was.

And everyone else responded instinctively. Girls adjusted their posture. Boys straightened their backs, sizing him up. The silence was awkward and too reverent.

Ann studied him with narrowed eyes.

Yes, he was attractive.

Yes, he had that effortless power woven into his stride.

His beauty was arresting—almost otherworldly. He was tall and lean, but strong. His face was a masterpiece of angles and symmetry, yet softened by the faint dimples that appeared when he gave a polite nod.

His eyes were a stormy shade between black and gray—piercing and unreadable.

There was no denying it: this boy was built to draw attention. He didn’t ask for it. It simply followed.

He smiled, modest and reserved, and that was the final blow. The girls fell harder. The boys looked ready to explode.

Ann stared, unimpressed. Still, a strange feeling crept into her chest. A shift. A quiet warning from somewhere deep within.

But she didn’t feel what the other girls felt.

No butterflies.

No heart skips.

Just a strange sense that something had shifted—and not necessarily in a good way. She didn’t know it yet, but this was the boy who would remake her world… and eventually destroy it.