Thrice Blessed with the Dragon Princes

Chapter 3

Justin and the other two seemed to catch wind of the commotion. They stopped in their tracks and turned around, their eyes cold and dismissive as they glanced in our direction. It was clear they found the whole scene beneath them, their expressions dripping with disdain.

Tiffany and her gang surrounded me, their laughter sharp and merciless. I tried to back away, but the crowd pressed in, trapping me. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a frantic drum of fear. I knew what was coming. It was always the same, words first, then hands. But this time felt different. This time, it felt worse.

“Look at her,” Tiffany sneered, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “The beggar princess, always hiding behind her rags. What are you so ashamed of, Alice? Or should I call you the clan’s w***e?”

The others laughed, their voices blending into a cruel chorus. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but I knew it would only make things worse. So I stayed silent, my eyes darting around the hallway, searching for an escape.

But there was none. Tiffany stepped closer, her smile widening. “Let’s see what you’re hiding under those clothes,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Maybe you’ve got something to show off.”

Before I could react, her hands were on me, yanking at my shirt. I struggled, my heart racing as I tried to pull away. “Stop!” I cried, my voice trembling. “Leave me alone!” I fought back, my hands gripping the fabric of my shirt to keep it from being torn away, while I kicked out blindly, trying to fend them off.

But they didn’t stop. Hands seemed to come at me from every direction, pulling, tearing, and yanking at my clothes. I thrashed wildly, my arms swinging in a futile attempt to push them away, but there were too many of them. I heard the sickening rip of fabric as my shirt was torn, the cold air hitting my skin like a slap. Terror surged through me, sharp and paralyzing.

“No!” I screamed, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation. I tried to cover myself, to shield the scars that marred my body—silent witnesses to the torment I had endured. But it was too late. My shirt was wrenched up, exposing the jagged, crisscrossed lines that told a story I never wanted to share. And there, etched into my abdomen, was the scar that haunted me most—a cruel, cross-shaped mark, a permanent reminder of a pain I could never outrun.

The crowd around us erupted in gasps and whispers. I felt their eyes on me, their stares burning into my skin. I wanted to disappear, to vanish into the floor and never come back. But I couldn’t. I was trapped, exposed, and utterly alone. No one stepped forward to intervene, no one offered a hand to help.

Desperation clawed at my chest as my eyes darted toward the edge of the crowd, where Justin, Bryan, and Nate stood. For a fleeting moment. I locked eyes with Justin, my gaze pleading, my voice barely above a whisper as I choked out his name, “Justin... please.”

I thought maybe, just maybe, they would step in. For a moment, I thought I saw his eyes widening in recognition. But then the moment passed, and he turned away, his expression unreadable. Bryan and Nate didn’t even look at me. They just stood there, cold and indifferent, as the crowd jeered and laughed.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. No one was going to help me. No one cared. I was on my own.

With a surge of desperation, I pushed through the crowd, my torn shirt clutched tightly to my chest. I didn’t look back, didn’t stop to see if anyone was following me. I just ran, my feet pounding against the pavement as I fled the school grounds.

I didn’t stop until I reached the football field. The stands were empty, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos I had just escaped. I crawled under the bleachers, my body trembling as I collapsed onto the ground. Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable, as I curled into a ball, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t face the cruelty, the humiliation, the pain. It was too much. I felt broken, shattered into a thousand pieces that could never be put back together.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, crying in the darkness. But eventually, I forced myself to get up. I couldn’t stay here forever. I had to go home, even though I knew what awaited me there.

I clutched the torn pieces of my shirt, trying to cover myself as I ran home. Our clan’s territory was the closest to the school, a fact that usually brought me no comfort. But today, it meant I could escape the jeering crowd faster, even if it meant facing what waited for me at home.

As I stepped through the door, the room was thick with smoke, the air heavy and suffocating. My father was already there, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his presence oppressive, like a storm cloud ready to burst. His face was contorted with rage, his eyes blazing as they swept over my torn and disheveled clothes.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice a low, menacing growl that sent a chill down my spine. His gaze lingered on the state of my clothes, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “What the hell happened to you? You look like a slut.”

I opened my mouth to explain, to beg for understanding, but the words caught in my throat, choking me. Before I could force them out, his hand struck my cheek, the sharp c***k of the slap echoing through the room. The force sent me stumbling backward, my vision blurring as tears welled in my eyes.

“How dare you embarrass our clan like this,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom.

I just stood there, my cheek burning, my heart heavy with despair. And then, without another word, he grabbed me effortlessly, his hands like iron as he hoisted me over his shoulder. I struggled weakly, but it was no use. He carried me down to the dungeon, the cold, damp air closing in around me as he threw me inside and locked the door. The sound of the bolt sliding into place echoed in the silence, sealing me in darkness. Alone. Again.