Chapter 35 #3
A knock shakes the doorframe, and Will enters without waiting for an answer. His white hair is a mess, his eyes wide in something I imagine is horror.
“What is it?” I say evenly, though the frustration seeps through my words.
Will doesn’t answer. He stands in the doorway a moment, then lets his gaze drag slowly across the wreckage. The dent in the wall. The shards of glass littering the carpet. The blood.
Only then does he cross the room and kneel in front of me.
“What’s the matter with you?”
I tilt my head slightly, suppressing a smirk. “I presume Christian called you here.”
Will says nothing. Just stares.
And I almost roll my eyes. The silence, the earnestness toward me—it’s so very Will.
And then Will reaches out, lightly taking my chin between his fingers, leaning in as if he intends to steady me.
In truth, all the gesture does is make my skin crawl.
“Stop touching me.”
I jerk back, tearing from his grip.
“Are you alright?” he asks, and it’s almost laughable.
So I laugh. A soft, crumbling sound.
“No,” I say. “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”
He says something I don’t quite hear. I think I may have replied, though I can’t be sure. All I know is I hate the look he gives me. Like I’m something fragile.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say flatly, and with more aggression than I intended. “Like some lovesick dog waiting for scraps.”
Will goes still. His face changes, sharp and pale all at once. His mouth opens, then closes again.
When he finally speaks, it comes out slightly hoarse.
“You’re not serious. Are you, Kai?”
I rise shakily to my feet. “On the contrary,” I say. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
Will shakes his head. “Kai,” he says, and I don’t miss the reluctance in his tone, “I hate to say this, but I think… you need help.”
I glare at him, nostrils flaring as the world reels around me. “And what exactly would I say to them?” I ask coldly. “That I’m going mad? That sometimes, I want to watch everything burn, and sometimes I can’t think of anything else?”
He looks at me. Not startled. Just still.
“Is that what you want?” I ask. “Is that what you fucking want?”
He steps forward, slower now and reaches for my hand.
I shove him. Rather hard, I think.
He hits the ground, glass splintering beneath him, slicing through the back of his shirt. Blood seeps quickly through it, darkening the fabric.
I don’t move, just stare at it. At the blood. At the sight of it blooming.
He gets up slowly, still clutching his side, and meets my eyes. There’s no blame in them, I realize.
“You know I’d follow you anywhere,” he says earnestly. “Whatever you asked, I’d do it. So please—”
“I’d like for you to leave.”
He freezes. And it’s not me pushing him, rejecting him, or making him bleed that causes him to look so betrayed. But it’s this, of all things, that hurts him the most.
“What?” he whispers, and it’s a broken sound. “I can’t leave you.”
“You can,” I say. “And if you mean what you say, you will. Because I ask it.”
Will stares at me a moment longer. His expression shifts, just slightly—not quite sadness, not quite pity. Resignation, maybe. Whatever he sees in my face, it’s enough. He nods slowly.
“I think you’re right,” he says, after a long pause. “I think you are going mad.”
He turns, stepping toward the door. “I’d still do anything for you, you know.” His hand lingers on the knob. “But god, sometimes I really don’t like you at all.”
“I love you,” I say just as he’s about to leave. “You’re aware, yes?”
He freezes for just a second. His back still to me, shoulders rigid.
Then he opens the door, and leaves.
I stand at the window and watch Canterbury disappear beneath the snow. It’s strange, the way it lingers. Odd for Canterbury, for the snow to stay this long. I keep waiting for it to finally melt, for the colour to return.
The grass was green once, I think. But I remember it better blue.
Addie
Lilia was right.
By the time we step through the school doors, I’m immediately overwhelmed. Glittering lights spill across the walls and soft music hums from somewhere down the corridor, and everyone—everyone—looks incredible.
I spot Bea and Kym almost instantly, standing by the lockers near the theatre doors.
Bea’s in a velvet navy dress, sleeveless, fitted, with gold earrings that glint every time she laughs.
And Kym is wearing a pretty brown dress that looks absolutely beautiful on her and fits her in all the right ways. Her hair is curled, too.
Bea sees us first. Her jaw drops. Literally. “Addie! Your hair!” she gasps, already rushing forward.
Kym turns too, blinking like she isn’t sure she’s seeing right, and her brows shoot up.
“I know, I know. I just needed a change.”
Bea’s already closer, circling me. She touches the ends, then pulls back to get the full view. “It looks amazing. Like… grown-up Addie.”
I glance at Lilia, who just shrugs like I told you so is tattooed across her forehead.
I see Ajax with a group of friends a few feet in front of us. He must feel me watching because he turns his head and looks straight at me. He gives me a small nod of acknowledgment, and a polite smile which I hastily return.
We were never the best of friends, I know that, but at least we spoke and joked around. I enjoyed our conversations. Nowadays, this is as friendly as our interactions get. Even in class.
I’m not sure when it shifted. Or why. I used to think it was his doing, but now, I wonder if I gave him reason to. I wonder if I noticed him pulling away at all.
Maybe I didn’t.
The bell rings faintly, signalling the start of the showcase seating. People begin drifting toward the theatre doors, the clack of heels and dress shoes echoing off the walls.
Lilia loops her arm through mine, eyes dancing. “Ready?”
I nod, though a quiet flutter stirs in my chest. Beside me, Kym lingers. “Your hair looks really great,” she says quietly.
I blink, surprised by the softness in her voice. “So does yours.”
A small smile breaks across her lips, and she ducks her head.
We move together through the halls, the four of us, heels clicking in rhythm.
And we file into the theatre, the velvet seats filling fast around us.
The lights are still up, casting everything in a soft amber glow.
Teachers stand near the aisles, directing people, but even they seem different. Somehow happier.
More relaxed, maybe.
“Move,” Lilia hisses under her breath, weaving through the crowd like a woman on a mission. “Move. Out of my way. Elbows in, people.”
Her hand is wrapped tight around my wrist as she drags me behind her, Bea and Kym in tow.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Kym huffs, slightly breathless as we sidestep a group of year twelves.
“Yes. The front,” Lilia says without missing a beat. “Best seats. Every year. Tradition. Move.”
People are already finding their places, and yet, Lilia makes no move to slow down. Instead, she shoves past a tall boy in a blazer who gives us a dirty look. She smiles sweetly and does it anyway.
We reach the front row, and to our collective dismay, Berlin Brooks is already there, looking devastatingly stunning. Flanked by Ava and Zia, of course, who look just as incredible.
Her gaze flicks up. Lands on us. Cold. Assessing.
She sees me.
“Oh, no,” Lilia mutters.
“Don’t,” I whisper back, but it’s too late.
Lilia turns to me with pleading eyes. “Can we switch? I can’t sit next to her. I just can’t.”
I stare at her.
“Please,” she adds.
I sigh, already moving. “Fine.”
We awkwardly shuffle down the row, swapping seats until I find myself settling beside Berlin, whose head turns slightly in my direction.
She gives me a once-over. Her gaze pauses on my hair.
“New look?” she asks coolly.
“Yeah,” I say, matching her tone. “Thought I’d try something different.”
Berlin just nods once, before turning her attention back to the program in her lap.
“Your twin sister is performing, right?”
“Paris,” she says. “She’s dancing Odile. The Black Swan.”
I nod, though the name doesn’t ring many bells. “Is that one of the lead roles?”
Berlin turns her head slightly toward me again, arching a brow. “There are two. Odette and Odile. The White Swan and the Black Swan. Same dancer usually performs both. Not this time.”
“Oh.” I glance at the stage, then back at her. “So, she’s the villain?”
Berlin exhales a faint laugh. “Sort of. It’s complicated. Odile’s not evil for the sake of it; she’s a pawn in someone else’s game. It’s more layered than people give it credit for.”
I glance at the program in her lap. “Is she nervous?”
“Paris?” Berlin shakes her head, just once. “She lives for this.”
“It’s a big role, right?” I ask. “Odile?”
“One of the hardest,” Berlin says without hesitation. “Technically demanding. High pressure. Most girls butcher it.”
I blink. “Sounds brutal.”
She gives a small shrug. “It is. But Paris won’t. She’s better than most.”
There’s no boast in her tone. Just fact.
The lights begin to dim, and the murmur of the crowd quiets. Lilia leans over from her new, safer seat next to Bea and mouths thank you at me.
I nod.
The curtain begins to rise.
***
The performance was… something else.
I’m still not over it.
I sat in stunned silence the entire time, and I hardly know anything about ballet. And Paris Brooks—god. She didn’t just play Odile. She became her.
No wonder Berlin was so calm earlier. Paris was born to be on that stage.
And according to Lilia, this wasn’t even the traditional version of Swan Lake.
“They put a spin on it,” she whispered to me somewhere around act two. “It’s darker this time.”
And she was right.
In this version, Odile wasn’t just some manipulative seductress. Berlin was right, she was a pawn. A weapon crafted by Rothbart to trick Prince Siegfried and keep him from Odette. But somewhere in the middle of all her deceiving, Odile started to feel. Started to want more than just revenge.
Started to fall for him.
Because she couldn’t have both, her freedom and her feelings. So, when she tried to help Siegfried break the curse, Rothbart turned on her too. Killed her for her betrayal.
She dies in Siegfried’s arms, who dies later on as well, with Odette, to break the curse.
And when the curtain came down, there was complete silence for a full five seconds after the lights went dark, but then, the crowd had roared. People were on their feet. Some of them crying. I think even Bea might’ve teared up, but she’ll deny it for the rest of her life.
“Paris was incredible,” Bea says, almost breathless as we make our way down the front steps. “Seriously. That role was made for her.”
Lilia snorts. “Oh, trust me. We all know how much you enjoyed that. Could’ve sworn I saw you tearing up.”
Bea glares at her. “I was not tearing up.”
I laugh under my breath, hugging my coat tighter around me. The quad is still dotted with students, groups chatting in clusters, as they start heading home, or to the Steele house for the afterparty.
As we cut across the courtyard, I spot Kai, Paris and Berlin by the lockers.
Paris has changed out of her costume but still wears the dramatic stage makeup, and she’s got a small bouquet tucked in the crook of her arm. Her hair’s tied back in a loose bun, and she’s smiling. Actually smiling.
At something Kai just said.
It catches me off guard.
Lilia follows my gaze and nudges me with her elbow. “C’mon. We should go congratulate her.”
We start walking across the courtyard, the four of us in a slow line. And the closer we get, the more I feel the cold retreat from my skin, replaced with something warmer.
Kai looks up first.
He sees us. Sees me.
He says nothing, but his expression gives him away. The slight widening of his eyes. The subtle parting of his lips. The crease forming between his brows.
He’s… shocked? Is it the hair?
Paris notices his shift, turning slightly to follow his line of sight.
“Oh,” she says, smiling at us tightly as we approach. “H-hey.”
Berlin just nods, arms crossed. Composed and cool, as always. But it’s Kai I can’t stop looking at.
And he still hasn’t looked away.
He’s in a black velvet suit jacket, and beneath it, a deep charcoal shirt, top buttons undone. No tie.
Flashy, but never tacky.
Even standing still, he draws the eye.
And not just mine.
People glance over from across the courtyard, whispering and staring. Like he’s not a person at all, but something brighter.
His light brown hair is messier than usual, pushed back carelessly, one lock falling across his forehead. Messy, and yet somehow, he makes it work.
But tonight, there’s something off. Barely there, but I see it.
He’s paler than usual. Not sickly, but enough that it stands out against the dark of his clothes.
The usual glow beneath his skin is dulled, like someone’s dimmed a switch behind his eyes.
And there are shadows under those eyes too, fine, smudgy ones, almost artfully placed, if not for how real they look.
He still looks good. Of course he does. Too good, if I’m being honest.
But most of all, I realize he looks… tired.
“Paris,” Lilia says gently, finally breaking the tension. “You were incredible. Seriously.”
The shy smile that pulls at Paris’s lips is instant and genuine. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“That role was made for you,” Bea chimes in.
Paris glances down, then up again, cheeks flushed even under the last of her dramatic stage makeup. “Thanks. I—really appreciate it.”
She hugs her bouquet closer, fingers gently adjusting the crinkled cellophane. Her eyes drift back to Kai, just briefly, and it’s almost like they have a silent conversation at that moment.
One only they understand.
And then finally, he speaks.
“You changed your hair,” he says and it’s quiet, careful.
I meet his eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “I needed a change.”
He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smirk or tease or ask why.
Just stares. Like he’s remembering something. Or trying not to.
And for one stupid second, I almost ask what he sees.