Clara's heels echoed furiously down the corridor as she stormed toward the cafeteria. Vivienne trailed behind, wringing her hands.
"Clara, maybe you should calm down—"
"Calm down?" Clara snapped, spinning around. "She humiliated me! In front of everyone! I won't let her walk around smiling as if she's won."
Vivienne bit her lip. She knew better than to argue when Clara's pride was wounded.
Inside the cafeteria, students were already whispering about the morning's scene. The moment Clara walked in, conversations dipped. Some students pretended not to notice her, while others exchanged knowing glances.
Clara's jaw clenched. They're laughing at me.
Her eyes immediately found Elena, sitting gracefully at a corner table with a tray untouched, calmly reading through her notes. She looked as though she hadn't a care in the world.
The sight made Clara's blood boil.
"Watch this," she hissed to Vivienne, then strode forward, her voice loud enough for the entire hall to hear.
"Elena, still pretending to be some innocent angel? Do you think one lucky escape makes you clever?"
The cafeteria went quiet. Heads turned. Whispers rose again like sparks on dry leaves.
Elena didn't look up. She calmly set down her pen, folded her notes, and then slowly lifted her gaze. Her lips curved in a cool, deliberate smile.
"Clara," she said softly, but her voice carried across the room, "you're right. One lucky escape isn't enough. That's why I plan to embarrass you again and again until you finally learn your place."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"She said what?"
"Did Elena just—"
Clara's face turned crimson. "You—!"
She grabbed Elena's tray, intending to dump the food on her. But before she could, Elena shifted her chair back smoothly. The tray tilted forward, and the contents—steaming soup and all—splashed straight onto Clara's expensive blouse.
The cafeteria erupted.
"Oh my god!"
"Clara!"
Laughter broke out in pockets, louder and louder, until even the walls seemed to vibrate with it. Clara stood frozen, her blouse soaked and clinging, her face pale with shock.
Elena, still seated, tilted her head. "Careful, Clara. Your temper is messier than your shirt."
The words landed sharper than any slap.
Clara trembled, fists clenched, but she couldn't retort. Not with half the school laughing at her, not with soup dripping down her designer skirt.
And then..
A shadow fell across the scene.
Adrian had entered, tall and composed, his gaze sweeping the chaos. The laughter quieted almost instantly, students ducking their heads under his cold presence.
His eyes lingered on Clara—dripping, humiliated—before flicking to Elena. For a heartbeat, something glimmered there, amusement or maybe interest, before his mask of indifference returned.
He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than any insult.
Clara's humiliation was complete.
But her pride… her pride was not so easily destroyed.
As Elena gathered her notes and left the cafeteria with unhurried steps, Clara's trembling turned into a sinister smile.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice low but venomous. "If Elena wants war, she'll have it. She won't laugh for long."
Her eyes glittered with hatred, her mind already plotting her next move.