His bought angel

Aria Linton couldn’t sleep. The thought of tomorrow—her first day at Bellemere Academy—was a constant hum beneath her ribs, like the slow rhythm of a heartbeat she couldn’t be quiet. Her small bedroom glowed faintly under the yellow lamp, and the cool air pressed against her windowpane as if the night itself were holding its breath with her. On the wall beside her bed hung a slightly wrinkled poster of Wednesday Addams. Aria’s eyes lingered on it, the corners of her lips lifting faintly. “You’d probably tell me not to care what they think,” she whispered. Her own voice is fragile in the stillness. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, trying to bear how it would feel to walk the polished corridors of Bellemere—the school of heirs, diplomats’ children, and money old enough to smell of marble and power. A scholarship kid from a cramped flat on the poorer side of London didn’t belong there. But she had earned it, and no amount of nerves would take that away. Her eyes softened as she imagined herself in her new uniform: the white shirt crisp against her skin, the navy-blue skirt swinging gently above her knees, the matching blazer carrying the academy crest. It wasn’t just fabric—it was hope. Then came a sound that broke the illusion: the faint rustle of paper, the weary sigh of her mother. Aria turned her head toward the dim crack of light spilling from the kitchen. Her heart pulled tight. She slid from her bed, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet, and moved silently down the short hallway. Her mother sat hunched over the small table, her glasses slipping down her nose, her thin fingers flipping through a pile of bills and receipts. The light above her was too harsh, casting shadows under her tired eyes. Aria stood in the doorway, watching her lips move as she whispered numbers under her breath. There was something about the quiet desperation in that sound—the soft scratch of the pen, the tap of her mother’s thumb against the paper—that hollowed Aria’s chest. Her mother’s back rose and fell slowly, like she was trying not to drown in all those numbers. Aria swallowed the ache in her throat. “I’ll make it better,” she murmured, barely audible even to herself. “One day you won’t have to count like that.” She stepped back before her mother could turn around, returning to her room with her chest tight and her eyes glassy. She crawled beneath her thin blanket, pulling it up to her chin as if it could block out the weight in her chest. The clock on her nightstand ticked softly, and she counted the seconds until the world faded. Her last thought before sleep was a promise: I’ll become one of the best. I’ll make her proud. The alarm tore through her dreams like a blade. “Ugh…” Aria groaned, fumbling for the phone. Her eyes widened. 7:00 a.m. Her pulse jumped. “Oh my God—why didn’t it ring at six?” She threw off her blanket and bolted from bed, nearly slipping on her own shoes. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth with one hand while fixing her hair with the other. The mirror fogged up as the shower hissed to life, and she stood under the water, letting the warmth shock her awake. Within minutes, she was dressed, buttoning her shirt and adjusting her blazer with trembling hands. She dabbed on a thin layer of makeup—foundation, mascara, the faintest hint of lipstick—and stared at her reflection. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered. “You belong there.” She didn’t believe it completely, but saying it made her heart steady. After spraying her perfume—something soft and floral—she grabbed her bag and ran down the stairs. Her mother was by the counter, coffee mug in hand, the same tired smile on her face. “First day,” she said softly. “My little doctor-to-be.” Aria grinned, though her chest tightened. “I’ll make you proud, Mom.” “You already do,” her mother replied, brushing her hair. “Now go to school, before you get late Aria laughed and sprinted out the door, the sound of her mother’s voice following her. She hopped onto her bicycle—a faded blue with chipped paint and squeaky brakes—and began pedaling down the quiet street The air smelled of daisies. She pedaled faster, the wind rushing through her hair, the sunlight flickering over her face through the trees. For a moment, the world was wide and full of promise. But as she approached Bellemere Academy, the air changed. The school loomed ahead like a palace of stone and glass, its tall gates adorned with a golden crest. Aria slowed her bike, her heart fluttering uneasily. As she approached the gate, whispers began. “Who’s that?” “She came on a bike?” “Kind of tragic.” “Maybe she’s lost.” Despite their stares, she held her head high and parked her bike, adjusting her skirt. When she took off her helmet, she felt their gazes cut into her. “Scholarship kid, obviously,” someone muttered. “Morning,” she said, but no one replied. Walking through the courtyard, the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes felt amplified. You earned this, she reassured herself. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and perfume. Her shoes squeaked against the marble as she found her locker. Panic surged when it wouldn’t open. “Come on,” she whispered. Finally, it clicked open. She checked her reflection—hair fine, lipstick perfect, eyes less brave than she wished. Then she turned and collided with something warm and wet. “Oh my God!” The shrill voice cut through the hall like glass. Caramel-colored liquid dripped down a designer handbag clutched by a tall blonde girl with sharp features and expensive everything. Her curls shimmered like they’d been professionally placed there, and her disgust was almost theatrical. “You—” the girl snapped, glaring. “Do you have any idea how much this Gucci bag costs?” Aria froze. “ I-I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean—” The girl laughed, but it was a cold, cruel sound. “An accident? You think you can just walk into my academy and spill your cheap coffee all over me?” People began to gather. The circle tightened. “I didn’t— It was your drink—” “Do you know who I am?” the girl demanded. “My father is the principal, sweetheart. I could have you mopping floors by lunch.” “Tessa!” another student whispered. “Leave it—” Tessa ignored her, stepping closer until Aria could smell the sugary perfume on her skin. “Apologize properly. And you’re buying me a new bag.” Aria’s heart pounded. “I… I can’t afford that,” she said softly. The words hung in the air, fragile and humiliating. Someone snickered. Tessa’s smirk widened. “Then maybe you should’ve stayed wherever people like you come from.” Before Aria could react, the sharp crack of a slap filled the hall. Her head jerked sideways, her cheek burning instantly. A collective gasp rippled through the students. But before Tessa could raise her hand again, another girl caught her wrist. “Enough,” said Lyra. Her voice was calm but hard as steel. She had dark hair, storm-gray eyes, and an expression that didn’t waver under Tessa’s glare. “She said she’s sorry.” Tessa yanked her hand free. “Oh, great. The knight in shiny armor.” Lyra didn’t blink. “It’s not like you don’t have twenty of those bags at home. Get over yourself.” Murmurs stirred in the crowd. Tessa’s eyes flashed, but Lyra’s composure didn’t crack. Finally, Tessa huffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Keep your little charity case. But if she ever touches me again—” “She won’t,” Lyra said flatly. Tessa stalked off, her heels echoing down the corridor. The crowd dissolved soon after, whispering in every direction. Lyra turned to Aria, her voice softening. “You okay?” Aria touched her cheek gingerly. “Yeah. Just… embarrassed.” “Don’t be,” Lyra said, offering a small smile. “She thrives on that.” She nodded toward the nurse’s office. “Come on. Let’s get you some ice before it swells.” Aria followed her quietly, still dazed by the sudden violence. The nurse gave her an ice pack, and she pressed it to her face, feeling the sting of both pain and humiliation. Lyra leaned against the wall, studying her. “First day?” Aria nodded. “Is it that obvious?” Lyra chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. Bellemere’s a jungle. Just… don’t let them see you scared.” Aria gave a small, shaky laugh. “Thanks. For stepping in.” “Anytime,” Lyra said. “You have English next, right? With Professor Julian?” “Yeah.” “Then we’re classmates. Let’s go before he gives his famous death glare for tardiness" Professor Julian’s classroom was quiet when they arrived. He stood at the board, silver hair perfectly in place, eyes sharp as he noticed them. “You’re late,” he said, his tone even but firm. “Sorry, sir,” Lyra replied quickly. “Find your seats.” They nodded and moved to the back. Aria felt a few curious stares but focused on her notebook. “Hey,” Lyra whispered. “Don’t let him scare you. He’s strict but fair.” Before they could chat more, the door opened again, silencing the room instantly. Every head turned as two boys entered—one exuding confidence, the other walking in silence. The quiet one moved as if the world bent around him. Dark hair framed his sharp jaw, and his cold, unreadable eyes swept the room. He wore the same uniform, but it looked different on him—expensive and commanding. “Lucian Moretti,” Lyra whispered, her lips barely moving. “Don’t stare.” Aria blinked. “Who is he?” Lyra leaned in. “His family practically owns this place.” Before she could ask more, Lucian’s gaze locked with hers for a fleeting second, sending a shiver through her. Then he looked away, taking a seat behind them. The rest of the class was silent until the bell rang, signaling students to leave.