The academy bell echoed across the courtyard as students filed out for the weekend. The air carried the buzz of freedom—plans of trips to town, late-night gatherings, secret rendezvous. But Elena walked with her head down, shoulders tense, as though carrying a weight no one else could see.
Damian was watching her. Always watching.
From across the courtyard, his gaze followed every movement, sharp as glass. Once, his eyes had been warm, bright with quiet laughter. Now, they were filled with a feverish intensity, a storm on the edge of breaking.
He clenched his fists when he saw Adrian fall into step beside her. Adrian moved effortlessly, as though the world itself bent to make room for him. He said something that made Elena's lips curve into the faintest smile, and Damian's chest burned like someone had driven a blade through his ribs.
She was mine first.
Elena didn't see Damian following her. She didn't see him slip into the shadows when she and Adrian ducked into the old greenhouse that the academy had long abandoned. Vines clawed through broken glass, dust motes floated in the golden light, and the air smelled faintly of soil and forgotten things.
"Why here?" she asked softly.
Adrian shrugged, leaning casually against a cracked pillar. "It's quiet. And no one will interrupt us."
Her pulse raced at his choice of words. He made everything sound dangerous, even when it wasn't.
"Elena," he murmured, stepping closer, "you've been holding back. Afraid to let go." His hand brushed against her arm, trailing upward until it rested gently at her nape. "But you don't need to be afraid with me."
Her breath hitched. The memory of their kiss still lingered on her lips, haunting her even in her dreams. And now, standing here with him, every wall she had carefully built began to crumble.
"Adrian…" she whispered, almost as if saying his name could anchor her.
But before she could say more, a sudden crash echoed through the greenhouse.
They both turned.
Damian stood at the entrance, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. A broken flowerpot lay shattered at his feet.
"You," he hissed, glaring at Adrian. "Always slithering into places you don't belong."
Adrian's smirk was ice-cold. "Funny, I was about to say the same about you."
Elena stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Damian, please, this isn't—"
"Don't defend him!" Damian snapped, his voice cracking. "Can't you see what he's doing to you? He's corrupting you!"
Adrian chuckled darkly, his tone sharp as a blade. "No, Damian. She's finally waking up. Something you could never make her do."
Rage erupted across Damian's face. Before Elena could stop him, he lunged forward, grabbing Adrian by the collar and slamming him against the glass wall. Shards cracked under the impact.
"Damian, stop!" Elena cried, rushing toward them.
Adrian didn't flinch. He looked down at Damian with calm, predatory eyes, his smirk never faltering. "Is this what you've been reduced to? A jealous child throwing tantrums?"
Damian's grip trembled with fury. "I'll kill you."
The words hung in the air, sharp and poisonous.
Elena's heart dropped. She had never heard Damian sound like that before—so consumed, so unrecognizable.
"Damian," she whispered, tears prickling her eyes, "look at yourself. This isn't you."
For a fleeting second, her voice seemed to reach him. His grip loosened. His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to her face—pleading, desperate, broken.
But then Adrian's mocking laugh cut through the air.
And Damian snapped.
He swung his fist. Adrian tilted his head slightly, letting the punch smash harmlessly into the cracked glass instead. Blood dripped from Damian's knuckles, his breathing ragged.
"Elena," Adrian said smoothly, stepping away from the wall, "you've seen it now, haven't you? The side of him he tried to hide."
Damian staggered back, his chest rising and falling in violent rhythm. His eyes—red-rimmed, frantic—locked onto hers. "Don't believe him. Please. I did it because I love you. Everything I do, it's for you."
Elena couldn't answer. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, torn between fear and sorrow.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to scream.
But most of all, she wanted to cry for the boy Damian used to be—the one who was slipping further away with each passing second.
That night, Elena sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. The echoes of the confrontation haunted her—the rage in Damian's voice, the blood on his hands, the twisted desperation in his eyes.
She whispered into the dark, as though admitting it would make it real.
"He's changing. And I don't know if he'll ever come back."
Outside, the wind howled against the academy walls, carrying with it the promise of storms yet to come.