His Beautiful Rival

2.STRIPPED

I stared blankly at my father, my mouth dry. I wanted to speak, to protest, to yell that I wouldn’t walk the path he had laid out for me, but I stayed numb, unable to look away.

“Say that again,” I whispered, my voice echoing in the empty classroom beside the principal’s office.

Earlier that morning, as I headed toward the field, the peon called me urgently to the principal’s office. I rushed there without a second thought, and my heart sank when I saw my father opening his mouth.

“You aren’t going to be selected for the football team unless you score fifty out of fifty in the first test of the year.”

I inhaled sharply, trying to remain calm, even though my patience was wearing thin. “I don’t know if this is some petty drama you’re playing, but I need you to understand that this is my school, not your business. You can’t dictate what I do.”

My voice was low and husky, desperate to make him comprehend the weight of his words.

“Honey, money can buy anything, and as the new trustee of your school, I can easily pull your reins to the path I want.” My father, Neilson, smiled grimly at me before marching out of the room, leaving me fuming.

Luca peeked into the doorway, worried for me, once he was sure Neilson had left. He walked to my side as I shook with rage. “Blaze—”

“Not a word,” I hissed, stopping him mid-sentence. Each breath burned my lungs. The more I tried to calm down, the more suffocation seeped into my bones. Lucas could see my chest heaving, desperate for air.

But he didn’t dare move closer. I was usually strong enough to take it all, but seeing me like this was new for him. I blinked away the anger, but it only made my hands itch to destroy everything around me.

“Ha! Is that what you want, old man? To watch me destroy everything? You’re wrong, Father. I’m not the i***t you fooled anymore. If you want marks, then that’s all you’re going to get.” I exhaled heavily, my breath shaky as the fire of anger crawled through my veins. A sheen of sweat coated my neck and temple as I rubbed the back of my neck. My fingers itched to pull my hair, but I knew better than to fall into that pit of darkness.

Just then, I sensed the door creak open, and Seraphina stepped in with papers in her hand. I waved Luca away without turning around, desperate for a moment of solitude.

“Blaze—” I cut her off sharply as I turned to her, narrowing my eyes. The veins in my temple throbbed as I dug my nails into my palm.

“Get out.” I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes. No matter how hard I tried, my anger wouldn’t budge.

“Here are some forms the teacher asked you to fill for Political Science. She’s calling for you,” she said, placing the papers on the dusty desk before stepping back out of the classroom. I fought the urge to scream and took a few deep breaths, clenching my jaw.

Some of the anger faded, so I walked toward the door. But as soon as I stepped forward, everything rushed back. The knot around my Adam’s apple tightened. I dropped to my knees, my breaths heavy, as if I were going to burst with every inhale. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears, drowning out my thoughts. Warm tears slid down my face; the first one fell from my left eye. I blinked, desperate for clarity, but only more tears came.

“Blaze?” a soft voice called, making my head buzz as I hyperventilated.

It was strange to have such an extreme reaction to a simple conversation. But the conversation wasn’t simple, and neither was my reaction. I felt exhausted from the constant need to control my feelings, and I could feel the ugliest emotions churning in my gut as I breathed harshly.

A warm hand gripped my shoulder, trying to help me up, but I wouldn’t budge. Huffing loudly, Seraphina just hugged me, and I felt her small, comforting frame stiff against me. I breathed in her cardamom scent, which calmed a part of me. But as soon as I realized who I was hugging, I tried to pull away. The struggle only made her tighten her grip.

“I know you hate me, but you could be selfish for a while,” she whispered, understanding the turmoil I faced. It happens when you’re stripped of your dignity in front of everyone; you have nowhere to hide, not even from shame, even when it engulfs you.

I was a wildfire, burning everything around me, unable to be controlled. But Seraphina was like a candle, burning herself to warm others, guiding the lost even when she was lost too.

Her hands fumbled with my shirt as she loosened my tie. She knew I felt suffocated while crying, so she did that. I sighed, nuzzling my head against her chest, but then stiffened.

“What do you want?” I asked in a low, husky voice, slowly pulling away from her.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t affected by me, but there was another story threading behind the scenes, a story of her that no one knew, that no one had ever heard. People would call her an i***t if they knew she hugged me in an empty classroom. But she didn’t hate me. She had been hated, and she was fine with it.

Seraphina slowly stood as I pulled away, confusion written all over my face. Why was she acting this way? She straightened her dress, dusting off her knees and socks, and pointed to the desk where the papers lay. She walked out of the classroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I tilted my head, shaking it in disbelief, and followed her to class. We found ourselves in Political Science together.

“Where were you, Mr. Hernandez?” the teacher asked as I entered, my eyes fixed on the ground as I marched to the last seat.

Seraphina took the first seat, and I caught her watching me as the teacher called on her to answer a question.

“Seraphina, what do you think about Marx’s theory?” The question was pointless; she knew it. I could see the mental smirk on her face, though her expression remained blank.

“I guess you forgot to teach us before asking,” she replied, and snickers echoed in the classroom, making the teacher burn with embarrassment.

“I doubt you’ll pass this class with that mouth of yours,” the teacher retorted, turning to the blackboard with a lopsided grin.

“Let me worry about that, teacher,” she shot back, her words dripping with mockery as she settled back into her seat. There was no way any teacher would kick either of us out of class; our parents were too influential for that.