RUMORS Secrets, Lies & Alibis

Part 2: Warning Signs

The walk to the east wing gave me time to plan exactly how I was going to handle Alexander when I delivered his precious bag. I cycled through dozens of cutting remarks, each more satisfying than the last, but by the time I reached the chemistry lab, I’d settled on professional indifference. Let him think his little power play had worked.

The Advanced Chemistry classroom was already half full when I arrived. Students clustered in small groups, their voices creating a buzz of excitement and nervous energy. I spotted Alexander immediately—he was impossible to miss, holding court near the windows while underclassmen hung on his every word.

I approached with the same calm professionalism I’d use to deliver any package. “Your bag.”

He turned, those gray eyes assessing. “Efficient. I appreciate that in the help.”

Several students snickered. My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice level. “Will there be anything else?”

“Actually, yes.” He leaned closer, and I caught the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something that was purely him. “Try not to blow anything up, maid.”

The nickname hit like a slap. Around us, the laughter was louder now, more pointed. I felt heat climb my neck, but I forced myself to smile.

“I’ll do my best,” I said sweetly, then turned and walked away before I could do something stupid like deck him in front of witnesses.

I found an empty lab station in the back corner and started setting up my equipment, grateful for the mindless task. My hands were steady, but inside I was shaking with a mixture of humiliation and rage that I couldn’t quite process.

“That was brutal.” The voice belonged to Marcus Chen, a quiet junior whose family owned a tech empire. He slid onto the stool next to mine, his expression sympathetic. “Alexander can be a real a*s when he wants to be.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“For what it’s worth, most of us know you’re not actually staff.” Marcus adjusted his safety goggles. “The outfit threw some people off, but anyone paying attention would realize you’re enrolled here.”

“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. It was nice to know not everyone at Ashwick was completely awful.

The lab door opened, and Professor Hargrove walked in, followed by a stream of late arrivals. Among them was Alexander, who surveyed the room before deliberately choosing the station directly next to mine.

“Miss Virelli,” he said, settling onto his stool with infuriating casualness. “How convenient.”

I ignored him and focused on Professor Hargrove, who was explaining the day’s experiment with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for small children and golden retrievers. Something about chemical reactions and proper safety protocols.

“Safety first,” Alexander murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. “Wouldn’t want the help to get hurt on the job.”

My pencil snapped in half.

I took a slow breath and reached for another one, acutely aware of Alexander watching my every move. He was testing me, pushing to see how far he could go before I cracked. It was a game to him, and I was apparently the entertainment.

“Today we’ll be working with potassium permanganate,” Professor Hargrove continued. “Remember, this is a strong oxidizing agent, so proper handling is essential.”

I measured out my chemicals with precise movements, determined to prove that I belonged here just as much as any trust fund baby. But Alexander’s presence beside me was distracting in the worst way. Every time he moved, I caught another whiff of that expensive cologne. Every time he spoke, his voice carried just enough condescension to make my teeth clench.

“Careful with that measurement,” he said as I added solution to my beaker. “Precision isn’t for everyone.”

That was it. I turned to face him, keeping my voice low enough that Professor Hargrove couldn’t hear. “Is there a point to this, or are you just bored?”

His smile was all teeth. “Just looking out for a fellow student. Academic standards at Ashwick are quite high.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“We’ll see.” He returned to his own experiment, but I could feel him watching me from the corner of his eye.

The rest of the class passed in tense silence. I completed the experiment without incident, recorded my results with methodical precision, and cleaned my station until it sparkled. Alexander finished a few minutes before me, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he lingered, checking his phone with studied casualness.

When the bell finally rang, I gathered my things quickly, desperate to escape his suffocating presence. But as I reached for my backpack, Alexander leaned close enough that his breath tickled my ear.

“See you around, Virelli,” he murmured. “This is going to be an interesting year.”

The threat in his voice was subtle but unmistakable. I straightened, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster.

“I’m sure it will be.”

He smiled—the kind of smile that probably made other girls weak in the knees but just made me want to punch something—and strolled out of the classroom like he owned the place. Which, considering his family’s donations, he probably did.

I waited until he was gone before letting out the breath I’d been holding. My hands were shaking now, adrenaline and anger mixing into something that felt dangerous.

After stuffing my books into my bag, I headed for my locker to grab my literature textbook. The hallway was crowded with students rushing to their next classes, but I barely noticed them. My mind was still replaying every moment of the chemistry lab, every calculated insult, every knowing smirk.

I spun my combination and yanked open the locker door. My literature book was right where I’d left it, but there was something else—a folded piece of paper that definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

With trembling fingers, I unfolded it.

Tell anyone, and it’s over.

The same elegant handwriting as the envelope. The same cryptic threat. But this time, the message was crystal clear: someone was watching me, and they wanted me to stay quiet about whatever they knew.

I looked around the hallway, suddenly paranoid. Students rushed past, lost in their own conversations and concerns, but any one of them could be my mysterious correspondent. The thought made my skin crawl.

I crumpled the note and shoved it into my pocket, right next to the first one. Two warnings in less than twenty-four hours. Someone was escalating, and I had no idea what they wanted or what they planned to do if I didn’t comply.

But one thing was certain: sophomore year at Ashwick Academy was shaping up to be even more dangerous than I’d imagined.