CHAPTER 11 - A TOUCH TOO COLD
2264 Words
The clang of silver trays and the soft hiss of running water were strangely comforting. The kitchen was mostly empty, save for the sleepy-eyed cook who barely acknowledged me anymore. This had become my haven—scrubbing plates and wiping down counters, the repetitive motion dulling everything else. For a few coins and the illusion of control, I traded hours of sleep for silence.
I scrubbed the last dish until my knuckles stung. Midnight had long passed, but I stayed a few extra minutes just to delay returning to my dorm. Lira was probably asleep, and I didn’t want her to see the look on my face. Not tonight.
Not after everything.
I stepped out of the back door, tugging my coat tighter against the chill. The academy grounds were hushed, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. I turned the corner, heading toward the side path—
And froze.
A familiar silhouette stood in front of me, lit by the flickering lamp above the archway.
Celene.
My stepmother.
She was wrapped in fur-lined elegance, her blond hair tucked into an elaborate braid. Her presence was like a shadow from the past dragging its claws across my throat.
“Well, well,” she drawled, arms crossed. “I thought that was you.”
I didn’t move. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped closer, heels clicking against the cobblestones like judgment. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for you. Just some business matters with the Chancellor. The Vonder name carries weight, after all.”
My stomach turned at the mention of that name. My father’s name—stolen and worn like a badge by people who’d never earned it.
“Belle, really?” she scoffed, eyeing my dish-stained apron. “Still playing servant? You're in a kingdom’s top academy, and yet here you are—scrubbing dishes like the gutter rat you’ve always been.”
I stiffened. “At least I know how to earn things.”
Celene’s eyes glinted with cruelty. “Earn? Everything you have is because of your father. And he only succeeded because of me. Don’t forget that.”
There it was again—that poisonous idea. That we owed her everything. That we were nothing before she came.
I gritted my teeth. “My father built that business. You just latched onto it.”
Her face twisted. “Watch your mouth.”
“Why?” I snapped. “You afraid I’ll say something true?”
The air between us thickened. I saw it then, that spark of rage she kept buried beneath pearls and perfume. She stepped closer.
“You ungrateful brat. Your mother was a penniless nobody who died giving birth to a burden—”
My hand clenched around the strap of my bag.
“Don’t talk about her.”
“Oh, I’ll talk about her all I want,” she said, venom in her voice. “You know nothing about the sacrifices I made. I gave your father status. Power. Comfort. And all I asked was for a little obedience from his pathetic little daughter.”
I laughed—dry and humorless. “You never wanted a daughter. You wanted someone to control.”
“I wanted you gone.”
There it was.
The words landed like stones in my chest.
She’d never said it aloud before, but I’d always known.
My mind burned with the memory—the day we first met.
10 years ago
I was nine, standing in the parlor in my patched dress, clutching the hem of my skirt. Father had combed my hair twice that day—something he rarely did himself. He told me to be on my best behavior because we had “important guests.”
I didn’t know what that meant then.
The front door creaked open with a flourish, and in stepped a woman unlike anyone I’d ever seen—elegant, sharp, and cold, like porcelain carved into something too perfect to be real. She wore a deep green dress that shimmered in the light, and her golden hair was pinned into a bun so tight it looked like it might c***k. Beside her were two little girls who looked just like her—identical, down to the matching ivory lace dresses and pink satin shoes. They giggled, holding hands, eyes scanning the room like it was a museum, and I was the artifact that didn’t belong.
“Belle,” Father said gently, placing his hand on the small of my back. “This is Miss Celene... and her daughters, Clarisse and Genevieve.”
I gave them a small nod. “Hello,” I said softly.
The two girls turned their heads toward me at the same time, like dolls being wound by the same key.
Clarisse tilted her head. “Your dress is torn.”
Genevieve chimed in, “It looks like it came from a donation bin.”
I flushed, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my skirt.
“Girls,” Celene said, not sounding reprimanding at all. In fact, her voice held a certain amusement. “Let’s not be unkind to Belle. She’s... different.”
Different.
That word sat heavy in my chest, even though I didn’t fully understand what it meant.
Clarisse walked closer and circled me like a cat would a new toy. “Do you have any real toys?”
I shook my head slowly. “I have a doll. Her name’s Lulu.”
Genevieve wrinkled her nose. “One doll? We have over forty. And mom gives us new ones every birthday.”
I didn’t say anything. I could feel Father tense beside me, but he didn’t say a word either.
Clarisse suddenly reached forward and tugged at one of the frayed bows in my braid. “Why does your hair look like that?”
I winced. “Papa did it.”
The girls exchanged a look, then laughed.
“Your Papa doesn’t know how to do hair,” Clarisse said.
“He doesn’t know much, I bet,” Genevieve added with a grin.
That was when Celene leaned over and whispered something to my father. Her lips barely moved, but her eyes stayed on me—calculating, like she was already deciding where I would fit... or more accurately, where I wouldn’t.
Later that night, I sat behind the staircase, hidden by the heavy curtains. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—but my feet had carried me there after dinner, and I froze when I heard her voice.
“She’s not going to work, Eiran,” Celene said plainly. “That girl doesn’t belong in a house like this. If I’m going to be part of this family—if my daughters are going to live here—we need standards.”
“I can’t just send her away,” my father replied, his voice strained.
“Of course you can,” she said coolly. “There are boarding schools. Far from here. She’ll be fed. She’ll be clothed. That’s more than enough.”
There was silence. Then the sound of a drink being poured.
“She reminds me of her mother,” he said softly.
Celene’s voice turned sharp. “That woman died in childbirth and left you with a burden. I’m offering you a future.”
A moment later, the parlor lights flicked off.
And the next day, everything changed.
End of Flashback
I never got to go.
I stayed.
But she made me invisible.
I blinked, coming back to the present.
Celene was still speaking, but I barely heard her.
Something twisted in my chest.
Without another word, I turned and walked away. Fast. Too fast.
I heard her laughing behind me.
Coward, my thoughts spat. Weak. You just walk away?
I reached the edge of the courtyard, heart pounding. The burn in my chest didn’t fade—it sharpened.
The world was too loud, too sharp, too cold.
My breath came out ragged.
I ducked behind the hedge near the old greenhouse, collapsing to my knees.
The blade from my utility pouch was small. I kept it for string and loose threads.
Tonight, it found another use.
I pressed it against my skin—light, just light.
But light was enough.
The pain was immediate. A flash. A gasp.
I closed my eyes. Just to feel something else. Anything else.
Then—
A hand wrenched my wrist back, hard enough to make me gasp again.
The blade fell.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
My eyes snapped open.
Orion.
He was crouched in front of me, but not gently—not comfortingly. His eyes were dark with fury, his jaw clenched tight, breathing harsh. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall—or maybe himself.
His grip on my wrist wasn’t brutal, but it was firm. Possessive. Controlling.
“I—” I stammered, blinking up at him.
“Don’t lie,” he snapped. “I saw you.”
I swallowed hard, trying to look anywhere but his eyes. My face burned with shame.
“Do you want to bleed out in a bush behind a goddamn greenhouse?” he hissed. “Is that your brilliant plan?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what? You were hurting yourself. Don’t act like it’s not what it looked like.”
I tried to tug my wrist away, but he didn’t let go.
“Let go,” I muttered.
“No,” he growled. “You don’t get to pull something like that and expect me to walk away.”
He glanced down at the red line forming on my arm. His jaw clenched tighter. He swore under his breath.
His thumb brushed over the mark, but it wasn’t soft—it was like he was checking it. Assessing the damage. His hands were warm and rough, and it felt like the heat of them scorched right through my skin.
“Why?” he asked harshly. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drag you to the infirmary right now.”
“I just... I needed something to stop,” I whispered.
His voice turned cold. “So your answer is slicing your own skin open like a coward?”
I flinched.
That made him go still.
He sighed sharply and dragged a hand down his face, looking frustrated. “s**t. I didn’t mean—”
“No. It’s fine,” I said quietly. “You’re right. I’m a coward.”
“Don’t twist my words,” he snapped. “You think I’m mad because you’re weak? I’m mad because you don’t get to give up.”
I blinked at him. My throat tightened.
“She said I should’ve died,” I said, barely audible. “With my mother.”
Orion went still. His eyes flashed.
“Who?” he said, voice low.
“Celene,” I answered.
The air between us thickened.
He stood up suddenly and paced two steps away, his hands clenched into fists. Then he turned back toward me.
“She’s poison,” he spat. “Rot. You should’ve never been near someone like her.”
“She said I was just dead weight,” I muttered. “A debt.”
He marched back to me and crouched again. “Listen to me. You are not a debt. You’re not trash she gets to throw away. She’s lucky I wasn’t there when she said that, because I swear to God—”
His words cut off. His fists were shaking.
“People like her think they’re untouchable. But I see right through her. The fake smile, the silk dresses, the power trips.”
He took a deep breath, then looked at me again.
His gaze was sharp. Unrelenting.
“You don’t get to hurt yourself because of her. Do you understand me?”
I stared at him.
He grabbed my hand again—gentler now, but no less firm—and pulled me to my feet.
“You’re not walking back alone,” he said gruffly.
“I don’t need—”
“I don’t care what you think you need.”
His voice was ice.
We walked in silence, his hand still wrapped around mine like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. His pace was fast. Angry. But he didn’t let me fall behind.
“Belle,” he muttered suddenly.
I glanced up.
“Do you even know what your name means?”
My brows furrowed. “Beautiful.”
“No. It means someone who doesn’t break even when the world tries its damn hardest.”
I blinked at him.
He added, gruffly, “I looked it up.”
“Why would you—”
“Because you’re not easy to ignore,” he snapped. “Even when I want to.”
My lips parted, stunned.
“I’m not good at this,” he muttered. “But I’m not watching you ruin yourself, Belle. You hear me?”
We reached the door of my dorm.
He still didn’t let go.
“You’re not allowed to fall apart,” he said, voice low, furious, but something about it trembled—like it cost him something to say.
“Too late,” I whispered.
His eyes narrowed.
“Then I’ll break every damn piece of this school if I have to... just to keep you together.”
My chest tightened.
I wanted to speak—but he let go and turned away.
And just like that—he was gone.
- Writer
