The cafeteria at Crescent wasn’t a cafeteria. Not really. It was a throne room disguised with glass walls and designer lighting, where meals came plated like art pieces and reputations were carved out as delicately as the marble countertops.
Aria hated it.
She had grown up in ballrooms and private clubs, in restaurants where waiters bowed low enough to break their spines. She knew performance when she saw it. But Crescent’s dining hall wasn’t just performance—it was survival. One wrong move, one slip, and you weren’t just forgotten. You were erased.
Today, she felt the weight of every stare.
Whispers had followed her since the debate. Heads bent close, voices low but sharp enough to cut. She didn’t need to hear every word to know what they were saying. Damian had planted the seed, and
