Ayla's POV
The moment I left the cafeteria, the whispers followed me like perfume. Fine. Let them choke on it, because I did not give a damn. I walked straight to the teacher's office, backpack slung off one shoulder, confidence faked to perfection. Academy survival rule number one "Never let the rich smell fear or they would use it to make your life unbearable."
I stepped inside, trying to channel the kind of confidence I did not fully feel. The secretary behind the desk looked up, barely lifting her eyes from the stack of papers in front of her.
"Ayla Davul, right? Sit." Her voice was not rude exactly, but it carried the quiet, undeniable weight of someone used to being obeyed.
I blinked. "Me?"
"Is someone else here besides you?" My homeroom teacher, the one who introduced me to the class earlier, cut in before I could recover. "I was just about to call for you, but since you're here, I'll tell you now. You will be moving to the Queen's dorm. Drop your previous dorm key before leaving and move in there today after class."
I froze mid-step. My mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Wait… what? Why? But I was assigned a dorm already this…"
"The dorm you were assigned this morning was a mistake. It's already filled, so it's settled," the teacher said smoothly. "There is no debate. This is the school's decision."
I flinched. "Is the dorm filled, or is someone just playing games?" I asked, my voice rising slightly. "Why should my dorm be changed just because someone wants it…"
"Scholarship student," the teacher interrupted, sharp as a whip, "means you're here on opportunity, not entitlement. Remember that."
My stomach sank. "Opportunity?" I echoed, voice trembling just a fraction. "You're saying I… I can't expect fairness?"
"Exactly," the teacher added almost kindly. "Why did you have to create trouble on your first day here? Didn't you see how even the daughters of wealthy families tiptoe around her? Why did you have to be the one to stand out, to challenge her?"
"But…" I tried to explain, but the teacher did not let me finish. "Settled," she said bluntly.
I wanted to argue, to throw back every ounce of defiance I had, but in that moment, the glimmering weight of Solaria's hierarchy pressed down hard.
The teacher snatched the key to my dorm from me in an instant, leaving me frozen in place before storming to her seat.
"No one dares go against her," the secretary whispered as I stepped out of the office, almost sounding like a warning and advice. "Elena Morgan… not even the teachers. Not only can she make your life miserable, she can make your family's life unbearable too. Even those born with privilege have to curry favor from her. You, on scholarship, should learn this art immediately if you want an easy life here. And if you don't, your loved ones might be in trouble."
I bit my lip. My chest felt tight. Pride battled shame, fire battled fear. I had come ready to fight, to stand my ground, to let Elena and her world know I would not be controlled. And yet, here I was, told exactly where I belonged.
Walking down the hall, whispers clung to me like static. "Did you hear? She's going to the Queen's dorm now! Stood up to Elena on her first day? I guess someone's about to live in hell!" A few passing students smirked, tilting their heads, enjoying my misfortune.
I clenched my fists, forcing my head high. Confidence is armor, I reminded myself, even if the inside of me screamed in panic.
By the time I returned to class, lunch was over. The room smelled of chalk, perfume, and faint designer coffee. Then I saw them. Elena and her crew, waiting like predators in formation. They leaned against desks, elbows resting just enough to look casual, eyes glinting, predator precision in motion. My chest tightened, pulse thudding.
"Well?" one of her friends said, voice loud enough for the front row to hear, dripping with mockery. She blocked my path. "Hey, Lima, how's it now? Did the teachers help you prepare for the Queen's dorm? Or fix somewhere else for you? The look on your face says it all. Guess it didn't go as you planned."
The class burst into laughter.
Elena's icy blue eyes met mine. That smirk, small, precise, deadly, tugged at the corner of her lips. She signaled to her friend Annabel, who immediately vacated my front, giving way to my seat. She did not say a word. She just smirked, her eyes cutting into me like ice.
I did not flinch. I did not rise to the bait. I slid into my seat beside her, backpack thudding lightly against the floor. Silence wrapped around me like armor.
She leaned back, observing me with that unreadable expression. The faint tilt of her head, the subtle narrowing of her eyes, everything screamed interesting.
I stared down at my notebook, pretending my heart was not hammering like a drum in my chest. The room hummed with tension, whispered speculation, and the faint intoxicating scent of someone used to absolute control.
I had always believed and made it my rule that I should not let the rich smell my fear. But right now, sweat prickled my palms, and my stomach twisted in anxious defiance. I was pretty sure I reeked of it anyway.
"Nice day for a scholarship girl to learn her place, huh?" one of Elena's crew whispered, leaning over my shoulder. Their breath smelled like designer coffee and arrogance.
I smiled faintly, cold and calculated. "Slowly getting adapted," I murmured. Not enough to hear? Maybe. Enough to sting? Definitely.
Elena leaned forward just slightly, enough for me to catch the faintest glint of amusement or maybe warning in her eyes.
"Come on," she said, voice smooth as silk. "Don't be so gloomy. Since you're so eager to stand against me, maybe it's better moving to my dorm, share my room, and at least that way you'll be close enough to keep trying."
Her smirk widened, just a shade. "Welcome to the Queen's Dorm, Lima."
My throat went dry. Every word she said felt like silk dipped in poison. Beautiful, slow, and designed to leave a mark.
The bell rang, slicing through the tension like a blade.
Class began or pretended to. I could not focus. My pen hovered over my notebook, my thoughts spinning in fast, panicked circles.
Every second stretched. Every glance felt loaded. Every subtle smirk, tilt of the head, whispered comment said the same thing. Welcome to Elena's world.
I sank lower in my seat, pretending to work, but inside my mind raced. Each glance felt like a pull, precise, intentional, like she was studying me, learning me piece by piece.
The longer she stared, the tighter my chest felt. Confidence, the fake armor I wore, started to crack.
And maybe that's when it started. The quiet infection of her gaze, the smirk I could not shake.
The fear. The fascination. The confusion.
Slowly, it started dissolving the last bit of defiance in me and birthing Elenaphobia.