Chapter 8: The Name Tag Incident
(Scarlet's POV)
Watching Julian tremble before the Prefects didn't evoke pity. It provoked a dark, twisted sense of amusement.
The irony was suffocating.
My mind drifted back to a rainy afternoon years ago. My mother had dragged me to the Wright estate, hoping to borrow money.
We stood in the grand foyer, water dripping from our cheap coats. Mrs. Wright didn't offer us slippers. She didn't offer us tea. She just stared at our muddy, discount sneakers with a look of absolute revulsion.
"Please, wait here by the door," she had said, her voice dripping with disdain. She stood on the raised marble step, looking down at us like we were insects. "I don't want you tracking mud onto the Persian rug. It's an antique."
There wasn't even a bench for us.
