Empire of Sin and Roses

Elara's POV I learned two things in college. First — cruelty doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it smiles. Second — some wounds don’t heal. They wait. The hallway smelled like burnt coffee and cheap cologne, and I already knew I was late. My notebook was pressed to my chest, my heels clicking too fast against the tile as I rushed past clusters of students laughing, flirting, living lives untouched by humiliation. Then I heard it. “Hey, Barbie.” My stomach dropped. I didn’t turn. I never did. Turning meant acknowledging them. Acknowledging them meant giving them power. And God knew Lucian Blackwood and his friends already had enough of that. “Careful,” another voice said. “If she walks any faster, she might tip over.” Laughter exploded behind me. My grip tightened around my notebook. Keep walking, Elara. Keep walking. “Relax,” Lucian drawled. “She’s built for attention. Look at her.” I felt it — their eyes on my body, dissecting me like I was something obscene instead of human. My jeans suddenly felt too tight. My sweater too thin. My skin too visible. I hated my body on days like this. Not because there was anything wrong with it — but because they made it feel like a crime. “Do you think she realizes her chest walks into rooms before she does?” one of them added. More laughter. Heat flooded my face. “Or maybe she’s trying to compensate,” another said. “No personality, no brain — just curves.” That one hurt more than the rest. I stopped. Silence rippled behind me. Bad idea. Slowly, I turned. Lucian Blackwood leaned against a locker like the hallway belonged to him. Dark hair, perfectly messy. Jacket slung over one shoulder. A smirk carved into his face like it had been born there. He looked expensive. Untouchable. Like someone who had never once been told no in his entire life. His friends flanked him — smiling, entertained, waiting. “What?” he asked lazily. “You’re not going to thank us for the feedback?” My hands were shaking. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He tilted his head, eyes darkening with interest. “You don’t have to. You walk around like you’re begging for it.” That snapped something in me. “I walk around like a person,” I said, voice trembling but loud. “Maybe you should try it sometime.” One of his friends laughed. “She thinks she’s deep.” Lucian’s smile sharpened. “No,” he said. “She thinks she’s special.” His eyes dragged slowly over me — not with desire, not with attraction — but with calculation. Like he was picking apart everything I was. “And you know what I hate most?” he continued softly. “Girls who think they’re more than what they are.” My chest burned. “And what am I?” I demanded. He stepped closer. Too close. His voice dropped. “Temporary.” The word hit harder than any insult. Temporary. Disposable. Forgettable. Something fragile inside me cracked. I should’ve walked away. Instead, I whispered, “You’re cruel.” He smiled like that pleased him. “No,” he said. “I’m honest.” Then he leaned closer, his voice meant only for me. “Take the hint, Elara. No one here wants you.” His friends laughed again. But this time, something was different. This time, I didn’t feel small. I felt cold. I looked at him — really looked — at the arrogance in his eyes, the ease of his cruelty, the way he enjoyed watching people bleed without ever touching them. And in that moment, something inside me hardened into steel. “I want you to remember this,” I said quietly. Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” “This moment,” I continued. “This hallway. This version of me.” He chuckled. “Why? Planning a dramatic glow-up?” “No,” I said. “I’m planning my freedom.” His smile faltered — just slightly — like he didn’t expect that. Good. “Because one day,” I whispered, “you’re going to regret knowing me.” He laughed outright. “Trust me,” he said. “I won’t remember you at all.” That was the moment I swore. Not out loud. Not dramatically. But in my bones. I would never forgive him. Not for the way he looked at me. Not for the way he spoke to me. Not for the way he made me feel like my existence was something to apologize for. I didn’t know then that years later, I’d be standing in front of him again. In a white dress. With his ring on my finger. And hatred in my heart.