The last bell had rung, but no one rushed to leave.
The air in the classroom was thick heavy, humming with unspoken tension. Laughter had died out, footsteps echoing faintly down the corridor.
Only three girls remained.
Chesla. Chantel. Marissa.
Chesla sat at the back, twirling a pen between her fingers, her expression carved from ice. The faint smirk on her lips didn't touch her eyes. Across from her, Chantel and Marissa leaned on the desk, voices low and laced with poison.
"Did you see her?" Marissa murmured, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "That café girl. Walking around like she owns the place just because she got that stupid grant."
Chantel snorted softly. "Grant money can't buy class. She acts like a charity princess. Maybe she's already living in Leonard's apartment, serving him coffee in the morning and herself at night."
Their laughter was sharp, brittle, empty.
Chesla's pen froze mid-spin.
Grant money. Leonard. That girl's smug face the way she had dared to scold her in front of everyone.
The memory burned.
"Oh, Chesla," Chantel cooed, fake-sweet. "Still angry? She humiliated you in front of the whole class. You must be dying inside."
Chesla looked up slowly. Her eyes were calm, too calm the kind of calm that came right before a storm.
"Angry?" she said quietly. "I don't waste anger on insects."
A pause.
"But I don't forget."
The words dropped like a knife.
Marissa's curiosity flared. "So… what are you going to do?"
Chesla didn't answer. Silence stretched heavy, electric.
Chantel's lips curled, pushing the knife deeper. "You can't just let her get away with it. The girl who works at a café dared to lecture you. You, Chesla Gawklow."
That name Adrian De Vere Leone flickered through Chesla's mind like a blade.
He had looked at her once. Admired her once.
Now his eyes followed that girl.
Jealousy slithered under her ribs cold, silent, alive.
"She acts innocent," Marissa whispered. "But everyone knows she got close to him on purpose."
"A snake," Chantel added, smirking. "Pretending to be helpless so men protect her. Pathetic."
Chesla's nails dug into her palm, blood rising faintly beneath perfect skin. Then, she smiled slow, dangerous.
"She thinks she's untouchable because Leonard and Adrian look at her." Her tone dropped, almost a whisper. "Let her think that. Tonight, she'll learn the difference between protection… and pain."
Marissa blinked. "You mean—"
Chesla leaned forward, voice like silk over steel. "Gang leaders. The kind that don't ask questions. They'll deliver the message."
She set her pen down, eyes glinting. "She won't walk properly for months. Her hands they won't even lift a cup again. Let's see if she still smiles while serving coffee then."
Chantel gasped, half thrilled, half afraid. "You're serious?"
Chesla's eyes glinted. "Deadly serious."
She picked up her phone, typed a short message, and hit send.
Tonight. Outside the café. No witnesses.
Then she set the phone down, calm again.
Her heartbeat didn't even quicken.
A predator before the kill.
Marissa's breath trembled. "If Leonard finds out—"
Chesla looked up slowly, her smile razor-sharp.
"Let him. By the time he reaches her, it'll be done."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, soft but venomous.
"He can't touch me. No one can. My father isn't some clerk or teacher. He's the Vice President of A country."
Her smirk deepened.
"People like us don't get punished. We watch others get ruined."
Chantel shivered, equal parts fear and fascination. "You're terrifying, Chesla."
"I'm practical," Chesla replied coldly. "Some lessons need scars."
Marissa whispered, "You'll destroy her…"
Chesla rose from her chair, the scrape of metal against tile slicing through the silence. She slung her bag over her shoulder, her eyes dark, distant.
"She destroyed her own peace the moment she looked down on me."
Chantel exchanged a grin with Marissa, lowering her voice. "Now we don't have to worry. Even if Adrian finds out, it'll all point to Chesla, not us."
Marissa nodded. "We'll keep our hands clean."
Chesla glanced over her shoulder, her smirk like frost. "Just make sure your lips stay sealed."
The three of them walked out together. Their heels clicked down the corridor sharp, deliberate, echoing like a countdown.
The last rays of sunset bled through the windows, painting their faces in gold and crimson. Beautiful. Dangerous.
At the end of the hall, Chantel whispered, "You think she'll cry?"
Chesla's eyes glimmered, cold and cruel.
"She'll beg."
Their laughter drifted behind them, soft and poisonous.
Far across campus, in a small café, Valeria hummed quietly while wiping a table her hands steady, her smile easy.
She had no idea that the night had already chosen her name.