CHAPTER 3
1357 Words
Class President’s POV
The moment the classroom door opened, I lifted my head lazily, expecting Miss Collen’s usual cheerful entrance.
But instead—time stopped.
It was her.
The Snow-White girl from last night.
My breath caught in my throat as she stepped inside. For a second, I wasn’t sure if my eyes were lying to me. Her presence felt almost unreal, like she didn’t belong to the noise and brightness of this classroom. Her skin was pale in a way that wasn’t weakness but something haunting, like porcelain hiding unspoken storms. But it was her eyes—cold, angry, and quietly hurting—that froze me where I sat.
The class erupted the way it always does when something new happens—whispers, muffled giggles, eyes sizing her up like hungry critics. They mocked her quietly, cruelly. But she didn’t flinch. She stood there like a wall of ice, untouchable and unimpressed.
“Introduce yourself,” Miss Collen said.
The girl stepped forward, her expression unreadable.
“I’m Michella. Ella or Mich for short. I don’t have any intentions of making friends.”
A shiver ran across the room like a cold breeze had swept in through the windows. Even Miss Collen blinked, thrown off by the pure frost in the girl’s tone. Michella wasn’t just closed off—she was impenetrable.
Her gaze swept across the class, slow and sharp. It wasn’t the look of someone shy or insecure. It was the look of someone who had already measured everyone in the room and found none of us worthy of her time.
She’ll make you kneel if you cross her path, I thought helplessly.
I was still staring at her, still trying to process why seeing her felt like being punched in the chest, when I heard my name being called.
“—President? Class president?
Michelle?”
I blinked twice. “Me?” I croaked out, louder than intended.
Her head turned toward me. Our eyes met for exactly one second.
One second was all it took.
Something inside me jolted. My hand flew to my chest as if my heart wanted to jump out. I turned away quickly, cheeks burning.
What is happening?
Why does she look at people like she’s seeing straight through them? Why does her gaze make me feel like I’ve done something wrong?
The moment class ended, I saw her packing her bag swiftly—as if she wanted to disappear before anyone approached her. I hesitated only a second before walking toward her, completely ignoring the curious eyes behind us.
“Hi,” I said quietly, my voice carrying more nerves than I liked.
Michella’s eyes lifted to mine.
They didn’t just look at me—they studied me.
From my shoes to my hair, she examined every detail with unsettling intensity. Then her gaze locked onto my face. Something darkened there—confusion, anger, maybe recognition—I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I felt small, like her eyes alone could strip me of every bit of confidence I had.
She stood up slowly. Even though I was taller, the way she lifted her chin at me made it feel like I was beneath her.
I swallowed hard.
“I… um… about the school tour,” I managed, forcing my voice steady. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be the one to show you around.”
She stopped mid-step.
For ten long seconds, she didn’t move.
Then she turned toward me, a curl of a smirk on her lips.
“Sorry, Mr. Class President. But I’ll take care of it myself.”
Her voice was flat. Empty.
And she walked out as if I didn’t exist.
A sting I couldn’t explain pricked my chest.
---
Michella’s POV
“I hate this school. I hate everything about it. I hate the people here. And I hate the people who made me come even more.”
My jaw clenched.
“But I hate him the most.”
My leg ached with every step as I limped down the corridor. My arm, still bandaged, weighed heavily on the crutch, and each movement irritated the bruised muscles beneath. The hallway felt too bright, too loud, too full of staring eyes.
“Urrrgh,” I groaned. “Where the hell is the exit in this stupid building?”
I kept my head down. Eye contact was an invitation to stupidity, and I wasn’t in the mood.
Movement caught my attention at the edge of my vision—white shoelaces, sleek sneakers. I recognized them instantly.
Black Jordan sneakers. Limited edition. Only three pairs in the world.
I knew because I owned one.
Or… used to.
My eyes slid up to the girl wearing them.
Her socks were expensive, her skirt was short enough to question the school’s dress code, and her uniform had her name embroidered in pink thread. Of course. A spoiled brat with custom stitching.
She looked like a doll—flawless baby face, glossy hair in a ponytail, lips too perfect for her own good. But her eyes…
Her eyes screamed entitlement.
Then she opened her mouth.
“Well, well. Who do we have here?” she asked, smirking with arms folded. “A transfer student? Or another scholarship case?”
The two girls behind her snickered like trained parrots.
I rolled my eyes.
“Look, princess. I don’t have time for this.”
“Pri—prin… princess?!” she sputtered, offended. “Watch your mouth, newbie. People like you get kicked out on their first day.”
One of her minions nodded aggressively. “Yeah. You better be careful.”
I tried to walk past, but Princess Barbie blocked my path.
Big mistake.
I lifted my head slowly, letting my coldest glare meet her eyes.
She flinched. Actually flinched.
Her name tag glinted under the fluorescent lights.
Krystal.
Of course she was a Krystal.
“Listen, Krystal,” I said, voice dangerously calm. “I don’t have time for this. Continue your investigation tomorrow.”
Her jaw dropped. “How dare you say my name? Commoners like you don’t have the right.”
A spike of pain pierced my skull.
This girl was giving me a headache.
“You have to pay respect to the princess,” Krystal declared dramatically. “I own this school. And you will pledge loyalty to me. I even like you, so I’ll let you join my group—if you behave.”
The laugh that escaped me was humorless.
If eyes were guns, she’d be bleeding.
I moved to walk away again. She stepped forward and blocked me.
Wrong move.
I swung my crutch sharply.
It collided with her shin.
Krystal shrieked and dropped to her knees.
Her minions gasped.
Before she could stand, I placed the crutch firmly on her shoulder, pinning her down.
She froze.
“Take one more step,” I warned coldly without looking away from Krystal, “and I’ll knock her out.”
Her minions stopped dead.
The hallway went silent. Students stared—some with fear, some with fascination, some with pure disgust. I didn’t care.
“I guess I haven’t introduced myself,” I said. “I’m Michella. Michella Caden. Last daughter of the Caden family.”
Someone scoffed from the crowd. “What’s next? Are you gonna say you’re engaged to Andrew Cuomo?”
I ignored them.
My voice lowered.
“I don’t want trouble. So stay out of my way. If you don’t…”
I leaned down so she could see the fury in my eyes.
“You’ll be humiliated again.”
I waited for her to nod. She didn’t.
Before I could insist, someone called, “Miss Caden!”
It was Mr. Cleff—my assigned driver.
“Tch.” I looked back at Krystal. “You’re going to pay for this.”
I pushed her down before standing up straight. The hallway still buzzed with quiet reactions—fear, hatred, anger, admiration. All of it pointless noise.
I didn’t care.
Krystal had pissed me off. And that meant one thing:
She was going to regret it.
- Writer
