This new guy was just... kind!

Liana’s POV

By lunchtime, I was a walking, breathing testament to exhaustion. Not the pleasant weariness after a good workout, but a profound, bone-deep fatigue that seeped into my very soul. Emotionally, I was a frayed nerve. Mentally, my thoughts were a chaotic swarm, replaying Dante’s taunts, his infuriating confidence, his chilling possessiveness. Physically, I felt wrung out, as if every ounce of my energy had been siphoned away by the constant, invisible pressure.

Every hallway I passed, someone stared. A flicker of curiosity, a knowing smirk, a whispered comment that died on their lips as I drew near. It was a suffocating sensation, like being perpetually under a spotlight, stripped of anonymity. Every whisper behind my back was laced with curiosity and something darker, something vaguely contemptuous. Like I was entertainment. A new chapter in their private gossip diaries, a fleeting distraction in their privileged, insulated lives. I was the "new girl," yes, but more importantly, I was "the new girl who arrived with Dante Ashford." That single fact had cemented my status as a curiosity, a pariah, a subject of endless speculation.

All because I showed up in his car. That one simple act, born of a mother’s well-meaning practicality, had branded me.

I stood at the edge of the sprawling, cacophonous cafeteria, my tray clutched in hands that felt clammy and clumsy. The clatter of cutlery, the roar of hundreds of conversations, the pungent smell of lukewarm pizza and stale fries—it all assailed my senses, making the simple act of finding a seat feel like an insurmountable challenge. Clusters of students huddled around sleek, modern tables—designer bags slung carelessly over expensive chairs, laughter echoing like brittle shards of ice in a cold, vast hall. Their casual camaraderie felt utterly alien, a secret society I couldn't possibly infiltrate.

And then I saw him.

Dante.

He was a magnetic north, drawing all eyes, even mine, despite my desperate attempts to avoid him. He was leaned back against the cool, glass wall, legs spread in an attitude of insolent ease, an undeniable king on his invisible throne. He was surrounded, of course, by his usual pack of silent shadows—a retinue of perfectly sculpted boys who radiated an aura of quiet power, and a girl with glossy black hair, so dark it seemed to absorb all light, practically sitting in his lap.

Sasha.

I remembered her name from the whispers, from the subtle shift in focus whenever she entered a room. She was Blackgate’s reigning queen bee, sharp-edged and beautiful, with eyes that seemed to constantly calculate. She laughed at something he whispered against her ear, her perfect, red-manicured nails trailing possessively down his arm, a silent, blatant declaration that she was staking her claim. The sight was a punch to the gut, a confusing mix of relief and something uncomfortably close to jealousy.

I turned away before my stomach could twist into a tighter knot, before I could betray the unsettling reaction simmering beneath my skin.

But not fast enough.

Because his eyes found me. Even from across the cavernous room, even through the swirling chaos of students, his gaze cut through the noise, through the distance, with unnerving precision.

Locked on.

Watching.

Tracking.

It felt like a physical tether, pulling me, dragging me into his orbit, no matter how hard I resisted. A possessive heat flared in his dark eyes, unmistakable, and utterly illogical.

I finally found a small, empty table in the far corner, tucked away behind a large pillar, a desperate attempt to create my own island of anonymity. Head down, I feigned engrossment in my phone, scrolling through old photos, anything to avoid eye contact. I poked at my lukewarm pizza, pushing the soggy crust around the tray, the thought of eating utterly unappealing.

“Hey.”

The voice was smooth. Male. Friendly. It was a refreshing sound after a day filled with whispers and Dante’s barbed remarks.

I looked up, hesitantly, half-expecting another curious stare or a sarcastic jab.

Instead, I saw a boy—tall, with a shock of messy brown hair that fell charmingly over his forehead, and eyes that were the color of warm honey. He had a casual, easy smile that was genuinely welcoming, devoid of any hidden agenda. He looked… normal. A breath of fresh air.

“You’re Liana, right?” he asked, pulling out a chair opposite me without waiting for an invitation, his movements confident but not arrogant. “New girl. Dante’s…” He paused, his smile faltering slightly, clearly unsure what word to use in polite company. The unspoken ‘girl?’ or ‘thing?’ hung in the air.

“Sister,” I supplied flatly, a slight edge to my voice, my expression carefully neutral. I made sure to emphasize the ‘step’.

He grinned, a flash of genuine amusement in his eyes. “Step. Right. That makes it… less weird, I guess.” He shrugged, his honesty disarming. “My name’s Kieran. Kieran Hayes. No relation,” he added quickly, a chuckle in his voice, breaking the tension. “But if you’re looking for a tour guide, or someone who doesn’t bite, or just a friendly face who won’t gossip, I’m your guy.”

I smiled, a real one this time, a genuine curve of my lips that reached my eyes for the first time all day. It felt foreign, exhilarating. He was the first person today who wasn’t glaring, or smirking, or treating me like a social pariah. He was just… kind.

“I’d like that, Kieran,” I said, my voice softer, more relaxed than it had been all morning. “Thank you.”

We talked, just for a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity of peace. About our classes, about my old school, about his favorite horror films (which he surprisingly debated with intellectual vigor), and the overwhelming, terrifying nerves of my first day at Blackgate. He was easy to talk to, his gaze steady and engaging, not lingering or judging. It was nice. More than nice. It was a lifeline.

Until the temperature in the room dropped.