By lunchtime, Rayla was drowning in praise.
The whispers that had once been sharp with judgment now hummed with admiration. Students who had avoided her gaze just days before now smiled at her in the halls, some even stopping to offer awkward compliments. The most jarring shift, however, came from Professor Veyra—the same woman who had given her that icy once-over when the scandalous photos first surfaced. Now, the professor’s sharp eyes held something softer, something almost like regret. She didn’t speak, but the tightness in her expression had loosened, replaced by a silent acknowledgment that she had been wrong.
Rayla should have felt vindicated. Instead, she just felt hollow.
How quickly they change.
One moment, they were ready to tear her apart. The next, they treated her like so
