Stolen Bruises (Silverwood Heirs #1)

Chapter One

Aurora

All I wanted was to pass my class. That’s it. But apparently, one of the hidden requirements included crawling through mud like a half-drowned earthworm while the entire campus looked on. Perfect. Just brilliant. What a great welcome back after the autumn break, Silverwood.

He really did it in front of everyone.

Joshua Maxine Lockhart, campus rich spoilt heir, decided his morning entertainment would be pickpocketing, and guess who he chose as his target?

Me.

And what did he decide to throw into the muddy field at eight in the morning? My key to my locker, where my final project for my course is. And because everyone saw it, I can't pretend I didn’t.

No, I came out here like some little volunteer, walking around the edge of the field like that would somehow save me.

Spoiler: It didn’t, because since my day is going so well, I ended up here. Hands and knees. In front of the entire campus. Crawling through the mud like a rejected extra in a war movie.

It seems ridiculous that a girl wearing a white shirt would willingly crawl through a muddy field, but it’s not. It’s really not. My scholarship would be on the line if I were late, even by a minute.

And with my last name, Campbell, I was always one of the first to hand things in. C. I’m a C. That’s a cursed third letter. So, while everyone else was safe in the back half of the alphabet, the scholarship girl had to crawl.

“You got a little something.”

I glanced up. His figure towered above me, blocking out the sun. My eyes dropped to my white shirt, mud-streaked and ruined.

Perfect.

I balled my fist into the muck, grit squeezing between my fingers, and ignored him.

My key is still out here somewhere, and I’m not giving him the satisfaction of watching me break.

“Looking for something? Need help?” His voice was sharp, cold, but also flat.

I didn’t look up. My hand stayed buried in the mud, searching, as if determination alone might make the key appear.

“Sure?” He was closer now. I could feel his shadow stretch across me.

Please just walk away and leave me alone.

“So, you don’t want this?”

Something glinted in my peripheral vision. I finally glanced up, and there it was. Dangling from his index finger, swinging ever so slightly in the sunlight, was my locker key. My key.

My eyes shifted to his face. His eyes were sharp, degrading, maybe empty, but I was sure deep down he was secretly enjoying my misery. It just didn’t reach his face, never does.

As my hands shook, I reached towards the key, fingers trembling, desperate to snatch it away from him, away from that stare that always made me feel small.

He didn’t budge, so I took the key from him. He didn’t even try to snatch it back, just turned around and walked off, back in the direction of the campus building.

What?

I looked down at the key, wondering if it was real or if it was another one of his games. Did he give me a fake key? Or—I shook my head. I didn’t have time to think. I needed to move, or I was screwed. My project, toast. My scholarship, toast.

I forced myself up to my feet, and I ended up making eye contact with at least half of the campus who were staring at me.

My fist tightened on the key as I started feeling nauseous.

My knees were shaking, the oxygen ceased to exist, and I flung my palm to my chest, squeezing onto the fabric as tightly as I could, hoping for it to ground me, keep me standing on my two feet, because any second, I might just sink back down again.

“Shit, what the fuck?” A loud thud echoed across the field. I looked up to see three girls dropping their designer bags onto the concrete as if they couldn’t care less before stepping into the mud with me.

One reached out immediately. I flinched back, clutching the key tighter in my fist. Her hand froze, but her eyes didn’t leave mine. The other two hovered just behind her, watching and waiting.

I didn’t know them. How could I trust them?

“Hey,” the girl in the middle said softly. She didn’t push, didn’t move closer. Just held her hand out, patient. Her voice was steady, not pitying. “You’re okay.”

I scanned her quickly. Five foot seven—no, five foot eight. A fitted tank over her hourglass frame. Her sharp features were softened by her round brown eyes. Long hair, dyed brunette with red roots. Pretty. Confident. The kind of girl who never cared what people thought.

To her left stood another girl, a little shorter, with shoulder-length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that looked like they noticed everything.

And the last one… she was smiling. Sweetly. Reassuringly. Straight dark hair that fell all the way down to her hips. Warm brown eyes that didn’t feel sharp at all. Just kind.

My chest squeezed. Too much. Too close. I shook my head quickly, lips pressed tight, taking a small step back.

The blonde tilted her head. “Can you—” she hesitated, eyes narrowing as if she were genuinely trying to figure it out, “not speak?”

The words hit like a dart.

Mocking?

Or real?

My throat closed anyway. I could speak. Of course I could. I just couldn’t… now. Not here. Not like this.

For a second, I expected them to leave. To roll their eyes, walk away, pretend they never stepped into the mud for me. Everyone else did. Why wouldn’t they?

I crouched down, fingers brushing the strap of my bag before yanking it over my shoulder, mud streaking across my palms.

“Hey, it’s okay—” the girl in the middle started, voice soft.

But I slipped past her, head low, clutching my bag like a shield. I didn’t need help. I didn’t need their looks. God knows I already drown in enough of that.

I’d never even seen them before in my whole year here. Strangers don’t just… do that. They don’t drop luxury handbags onto the mud, ruin shoes that probably cost more than my rent… for me.

No, people aren’t kind like that. Not without a reason. The whole campus had been watching; maybe they wanted an audience, maybe they wanted to look good.

I’d been here for over a year now, and no one had chosen to save me. No one. So why would I believe that this wasn’t for show? The golden trio saving the girl no one else wanted to touch?

I tightened my grip on the bag’s strap, the key biting into my palm. Better to believe that than let myself fall for the idea that someone might actually mean it.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the echo of their soft smile, their patient voices, that warmth I couldn’t afford to want. My chest tightened, but I shoved it down and slipped into the nearest bathroom.

The mirror didn’t lie. Mud on my clothes, streaks across my skin, hair plastered to my face. A wreck.

I gripped the sink, staring myself down. Focus on me. Not them. Never them.

I dropped my bag on the floor and turned the tap; the rush of water was loud enough to drown out thoughts that didn’t belong. My hands shook as I cupped the water, wiping at my arms, at my jeans… pointless, they were ruined. Still, I kept trying. Anything to erase the mess.

Maybe this should be my lesson. Always be ready. Keep clothes in my locker. Because deep down, I know this wouldn’t be the last time.

I never thought he would go this far…

No, not ever.

Fake throwing my key into the muddy field in front of everyone just so I could humiliate myself?

That was new.

This was completely different from the quiet insults he used to always give me, the glares or whatever else, but never in my life did I think he would make me get on my hands and knees in front of the entire campus.

I scrubbed at the same patch of mud on my shirt, over and over, my hand trembling harder with each pass.

Why me?

Why always me?

I’ve been nothing but nice. No, worse. I’ve been nothing at all. Quiet, small, invisible. Air. That’s what I should be. So why am I not air to him? Why, out of everyone, did I attract someone like him?

My chest ached as I bit my lip, holding in the sound clawing its way up my throat.

I was tired.

So tired.

The same routine, the same humiliation, the same silence. Over and over until it broke me. All of that just to end up here. Alone.

A knock at the door jolted me out of my spiral. I froze, heart hammering, before forcing myself to move.

I unlocked the door and peeked out. Empty. Just a stack of fabric in front of me. I stepped closer, hesitating. A note sat on top in neat handwriting: Wear this.

I glanced down the hall just in time to see someone turn the corner, brown hair swishing behind her. Too quick to catch who it was.

I grabbed the clothes and slipped back inside, shutting the door and twisting the lock tight. My hands shook as I set it on the counter. I didn’t move; I just stared at it.

Black leggings sat on top, crumpled as if they’d been dragged out of lost and found. Above them was a hoodie.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

Because I looked familiar.

The same cloud as the hoodie I’d seen earlier, poking out of the middle girl’s bag.

Why? Why give this to me?

All this time, all the torture I endured…I had never had someone want to step in and help me before. So who was this? Who would bring me this? The same people who saw me suffer, never helped, then suddenly feel bad and want to? Or no, maybe it was pity.

Pity.

Odd, no one had ever pitied me before.

They just… don’t care.

I shook off those thoughts and peeled my mud-soaked shirt over my head, the heavy fabric slapping the tiles when I kicked it aside.

My jeans followed, sticky with filth. Mud clung to my legs, streaking down my skin, so I turned the faucet on and scrubbed hard, determined not to stain what didn’t belong to me.

When I finally pulled the clean clothes on, the softness of the fabric made me freeze. My mind, traitor that it was, wandered back to the three girls.

They’d wanted attention earlier. I was sure of it. Saving me in front of everyone.

My throat tightened. Was it… them?