ChapterfiveEnd
760 Words
From all corners of the hall. Like a collective sharp inhale had been choreographed in real time.
A boy in the back muttered, “Ohhhh sh—” before clapping a hand over his mouth.
A girl with bleached hair blinked so hard it looked painful.
The camera flashes stopped.
The drama? Did not.
But Anastasia didn’t flinch.
She didn’t retreat.
She stepped closer to the edge of the stage, her boots clicking with terrifying precision, and locked eyes with him.
There was no smile now.
Only fire.
“If this school admitted people based on intellect instead of inheritance,” she said, her voice a blade sheathed in elegance, “you wouldn’t be sitting there. You’d be in the audience. Taking notes.”
Boom.
It was nuclear.
The kind of line that makes history.
The kind of line that no one forgets—even if they pretend to.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was painful.
Sharp, suffocating, electric.
You could feel it in your skin. Hear it in your pulse.
And then—like thunder chasing lightning—Liam started clapping.
Slow.
Loud.
Deliberate.
Like he wanted Zayden to feel every echo.
A few students followed—hesitant at first, then bolder. A ripple of applause spread through the room. Not unanimous. But enough.
Enough to mark a shift.
Enough to say: She said what we were all too scared to say.
Zayden didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
His face was expressionless, carved from pure aristocratic ice.
But behind his eyes?
There was a storm forming.
The kind that doesn’t just blow through. The kind that levels entire cities.
And Anastasia?
She turned and walked off the stage like it didn’t cost her a thing.
Like she hadn’t just slapped the king across the face in front of his entire court.
Like she wasn’t shaking inside—though she wasn’t. Not yet.
She owned that moment.
Owned the room.
Owned the crown without asking permission.
No one reached out to stop her.
No one dared.
Even Bianca had stopped mid-selfie, her glossed lips parted in pure disbelief.
Outside the Grand Hall, Anastasia finally exhaled.
Not out of relief.
Out of control.
Because while everything inside her was screaming—heart racing, adrenaline spiking—her face remained unreadable.
Like always.
She leaned against the stone column by the entrance, eyes on the horizon, body still humming with energy she couldn’t burn off.
It was over.
The performance.
The punch.
The proof.
But she knew it wasn’t over-over.
Not really.
Zayden Wellington didn’t take hits like that lightly.
He wasn’t a boy.
He was a dynasty.
And she had just cracked the seal on his golden throne.
The doors to the Grand Hall burst open behind her moments later. Voices poured out, louder than before, frantic and charged.
Some were laughing.
Others whispering.
Phones were already out.
Notifications were blowing up.
The school’s unofficial gossip account had posted a photo mid-slide with the caption:
“MICHAELS JUST ENDED THE ROYALTY SYSTEM 😭🔥 #QueenOfStarlight #MicDrop”
Anastasia kept walking.
One step. Then another.
Back straight.
Boots loud.
Smile nonexistent.
But inside?
She was on fire.
Alive.
But one thing was sure, she wasn’t scared.
For the first time since setting foot in Starlight College, she didn’t feel invisible.
She felt powerful.
And she didn’t need a crown to prove it.
Back inside, Zayden stood perfectly still.
Not a single twitch. Not a blink.
The applause had already died down, but the energy in the Grand Hall hadn’t settled. It was thick. Tense. Unspoken questions crackling in the air.
Liam, ever the instigator, leaned in with a half-smirk. “You gonna let her get away with that?”
Zayden didn’t reply.
Didn’t nod.
Didn’t breathe too loudly.
He just kept his eyes locked on the grand double doors—the same doors she’d walked through moments ago with her head high, as if she hadn’t just detonated a verbal nuke in the middle of his kingdom.
He didn’t follow.
He didn’t shout.
But then, slowly, deliberately… a smile began to form on his lips.
Not the charming, practiced one he gave to professors or the press.
This one was different.
Darker.
Sharper.
Calculated.
It was the kind of smile that said: You’ve just made things interesting.
The kind of smile that said: I don’t lose. I adapt.
The kind that didn’t just promise revenge—it promised entertainment.
The game had changed.
No more pawns.
No more rules.
Someone had flipped the board.
And Zayden?
He was ready to play dirty.
- Writer
