The whispers had become a storm, and Rayla was trapped in its eye. Some people even made their own stories about her, makingher look worse than the pictures did. She hadn’t left her dorm room in days—weeks, maybe. Time blurred together in the suffocating darkness of her isolation. The last time she’d tried, a group of girls had cornered her in the hallway, shoving her into the wall with enough force to leave bruises. Their words were worse than their hands—sharp, cutting, relentless. If Asher hadn’t shown up when he did, they might have done more than just bruise her. He’d been furious, his voice shaking with rage as he sent them scattering, but the damage was already done. Rayla had retreated to her room, locking the door behind her like it was the only thing standing between her and the
