Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
As I watch Kym’s terrified expression and her hurried exit from the classroom, my heart pounds in my chest. I want to run after her, to tell her she’s not alone.
That I’ll help in any way I can. But just as I’m about to pull myself up, our teacher returns to her desk.
For a moment, her gaze lingers on the empty seat next to mine. “Is she okay?” she asks.
I don’t say anything. Because how can I?
Kym clearly wasn’t okay. But I would never tell a teacher that.
Especially when it involves someone else. I made the mistake of trusting a teacher before—I won’t be making it again.
Mrs. Lacey sighs, placing a test paper in front of me. Her disappointment is written all over her face, and it makes me want to shrink into nothing.
“From your previous school reports, I expected better from you, Adeline,” she says, her tone as sharp as the sting in her words.
My grades had been good. Great, even. At one time.
But I knew my grades would surely slip again.
It was inevitable. In school, I had gone from getting almost all A’s to barely managing a pass.
With the bullying, and constant harassment, I had convinced my parents to let me stay home.
My mother would always scold me for it, but my father understood.
I remember Arion. How he’d always defended me, always stood up for me when no one else would. He’d gotten suspended so many times for my sake that his parents started blaming mine.
Then, he died.
A motorcycle accident, they said. And just like that, he was gone. And I was alone again.
It all fell apart after the accident. My grades, my confidence, everything.
Simply put, there was just too much to do, and too many people to take care of.
And now, here I am again, sitting in a classroom I can barely focus in, knowing I’m going to fail.
I’ll surely get kicked out for not maintaining my grades. Eventually.
As my mind wanders, Mrs. Lacey’s speech fades into the distance.
I just feel… ashamed. Ashamed and unable to control the tears that are on the verge of streaming down my face.
I look frantically for the hairband I typically wear on my wrist, my hands shaking as I struggle to breathe through the panic. But it’s not there.
My fingers quiver once again as I feel the need to grasp something as panic churns in my chest. I begin plucking at my skin instead, the searing sting stopping the trembling just enough to ground me.
It’s only when I glance down and see the blood and torn skin that I realize what I’ve done.
For a moment, I just stare, horrified by myself.
“Miss Ross? Were you listening?” Mrs. Lacey’s sharp voice jolts me back.
In order to conceal the mess I’ve caused and to avoid looking again, I hastily pull my sleeve down. I pretend to pay attention while I nod, my face burning. The class continues, but my thoughts certainly do not.
Kym doesn’t come back.
***
The computer room is quiet except for the sound of keys clicking.
My heart pounds as I scroll through article after article, searching for answers I’m not sure I want to find.
The dates, the events– they just don’t add up.
My father’s accident and Wren’s supposed suicide happening on the same day and at nearly the same time is too much of a coincidence.
And something in my gut is screaming at me, telling me there’s more to it. There has to be.
Wren Steele and my father, Johnathan Ross, were from two completely different worlds. Their lives, their paths should never have crossed. As far as I knew, they had no connection.
But my father definitely didn’t tell me everything.
I can’t help but notice there are significantly fewer articles about Wren than there are about my father’s accident.
It’s strange, considering her family’s social standing.
You would think there would be more media coverage, more details and discussions surrounding her untimely death.
Yet, it’s almost as if they deliberately tried to keep it out of the spotlight.
With their influence, I don’t doubt that would be quite simple for them.
What are they hiding?
I stumble across one of the few articles about Wren’s death. The headline reads:
TRAGEDY STRIKES STEELE FAMILY AS YOUNGEST DAUGHTER FOUND DEAD IN BEDROOM
My chest tightens as I skim the details.
Wren’s estimated time of death is 1:15 p.m., during school hours.
But the article says Kai Steele found her body at 3:35 p.m., which would be after he came back.
Something about that doesn’t sit right. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I reread the words, my pulse quickening.
If she died at 1:15, Kai couldn’t have been the one to find her—not right away. He would have been in school, just like I was. Or just coming back from it, at least.
The timing doesn’t make sense.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the screen as the pieces start to shift in my mind. My dad’s accident and Wren’s death happened on the same day. At almost the exact same time. I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s just a coincidence, but now… it doesn’t feel like one.
Wren wasn’t supposed to be home that day. The article mentions she had been excused from school, but doesn’t say why. What was she doing there? And my dad… he shouldn’t have been on the road either. He only went because I called him.
I suddenly feel sick. Because the only possible conclusion of my thoughts is horrible. And so wrong. I might be overstepping or overlooking something, but it would make sense.
Wren and my father died on the same day, at the exact same time.
“Oh my god,” I mutter, realisation slowly seeping in.
My dad must have hit her. Wren Steele. That’s why the dates and times align so perfectly.
Wren never made it home.
And Kai must have found her on his way back from school.
***
My heart pounds loudly in my chest, I actually look around the room to see if anyone hears it.
It’s my fault.
It’s my fault.
Over and over, the thought repeats in my head, each time louder, sharper, more damning.
If I hadn’t called my father that day, he wouldn’t have rushed to pick me up. He wouldn’t have been on that road at that time, and maybe… maybe Wren would still be alive. The horror of the thought consumes me, my stomach twisting violently.
And yet… what if I’m wrong? What if it didn’t happen that way? But deep down, I know it did. It all fits too perfectly.
I’m gonna be sick.
I bolt out of the computer room, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t control. Each one of them just as horrifying as the one before. The walls feel too close, the noise too loud. I need to get out. Away.
But as I turn a corner, I collide with something solid, the impact knocking the breath out of me.
“Ouch,” I mutter, rubbing my shoulder. I look up and freeze. Kai Steele. Of course.
He’s staring down at me flatly, and I quickly try to move past him. There’s something about him that makes me feel exposed every time. Especially now, when I’m sure the panic is written all over my face.
But as I try to sidestep him, his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist.
Pain flares, and I let out a small hiss. He lets go immediately, but his eyes dart to my wrist. For a moment, I wonder what it is he’s seen—before I finally realize. The marks. The torn skin.
Kai’s eyes stay on my wrist, and I notice something else in his gaze. A fleeting emotion I can’t quite make out. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by an intense focus on my wrist. His tongue rolls to the side of his mouth, before he opens his mouth as if to say something, but stops himself.
What is he thinking?
“I-I need to go,” I stammer, yanking my sleeve down to cover the damage. My voice is shaky, my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t do this. Not now. Not with him.
But Kai doesn’t move.
“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice steady despite the look on his face.
I blink, slightly taken aback. “W-what?”
“Don’t do that shit,” he repeats, his tone harder now. Impatient. Angry. But beneath the frustration, there’s something else. Concern, maybe. It’s hard to tell.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat. What am I supposed to say to that? Instead, I just shake my head, trying to brush him off. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I snap, though my voice trembles.
Kai’s eyes bore into mine, and I stare back at him—matching his intensity despite how small I feel under his gaze.
“Why?” he says, his voice quieter now but no less firm.
“Why do you care?” I finally manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t give one.
He looks at me blankly for a few seconds. Then he steps back, his eyes moving away from mine, as if looking at me genuinely angers him.
Like he regretted even looking at all.
And he turns to walk away.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a whisper before I can stop myself, and Kai pauses for a fraction of a second, but he doesn’t look back—he just keeps walking, his shoulders slightly stiff. And as I watch him go, the guilt in my chest only deepens as I think about the article.
He must hate me.
***
I walk into Business class and immediately spot Lilia at her desk, looking like the definition of done with life. Her pen’s tapping furiously, her jaw’s set tight, and she’s glaring at her notebook.
“Rough day already?” I ask, leaning against her desk. My attempt to hide a grin? Not going great.
“No. Mr. Anderson is a sad old man who likes to torture his students,” she announces. “I’ve been sentenced to sit next to Ava Grey. For the rest of the term.”
I stifle a laugh. “How bad can it be?” I ask, earning an instant glare.
“Her voice actually makes me want to poke my ears out,” she groans. “It’s so bad, it’s practically a crime. If I survive this without losing my mind, I’ll deserve an award.”
This time I do actually laugh.