IN LOVE WITH MY BOSS'S WIFE

A PUBLIC HUMILIATION

The second day at school had seemed peaceful, the morning hours had passed and no one seemed to pester her, yet. Recess hours were over so students were returning to their classes, the hallway buzzed with chatter as students moved from one class to another. Some were laughing, others discussing weekend plans, but the moment Celeste Lancaster and her entourage stepped into the hallway, all attention subtly shifted to them.

She was the centre of gravity in this school, and everyone knew it.

Ziba kept her head down as she walked, clutching her books tightly. She had learned quickly that blending in was the safest option.

But it seemed she was too late to learn that lesson.

Celeste’s voice, honeyed with false sweetness, rang out behind her.

"Oh my God, girls, look who it is!"

A wave of giggles followed. Ziba felt the attention on her like a physical force, but she didn’t stop walking.

Just then, a sharp foot hooked around her ankle.

She never saw it coming.

One moment she was walking, the next, her world tilted and she fell hard to the floor. Her books hit the ground first, then her hands scraped against the cold tiles. A gasp rippled through the hallway and was immediately replaced with waves of laughter.

Celeste's voice was sickeningly sweet.

"Oh no, Ziba! Did you just—fall?"

Ziba stayed still for a second, the laughter felt deafening and the heat of humiliation was crawling up her skin.

Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her knees, reaching for her books. Her fingers trembled, but she refused to let it show.

A pair of designer heels stepped into her line of sight.

Celeste crouched down, picking up one of Ziba’s books and flipping through it. "Wow. Do you actually study? I thought you just memorized smart-sounding things for attention."

More laughter burst out.

Ziba exhaled through her nose. "Give me my book."

Celeste’s lips twitched. "Oops!"

She let the book slip through her fingers, watching it land in a puddle of spilt juice from someone’s drink.

A fresh wave of giggles erupted.

Ziba clenched her fists. "You did that on purpose."

Celeste’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "Did I?"

One of her friends, Brielle, smirked, stepping closer. "You should be more careful, Ziba. It would be a shame if you kept accidentally embarrassing yourself."

The students laughed again, clearly entertained.

A guy nearby, one of the athletes leaned against the lockers, shaking his head. "Man, this is brutal."

His friend chuckled. "Nah, it’s entertainment, she kind of deserves it."

Ziba’s nails dug into her palms. Deserved it? For what, for existing or not being filthy wealthy like the rest of them?

Not everyone was laughing.

A few students exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable. A girl in glasses, standing near the lockers, bit her lip as if considering stepping in. But the second Celeste’s gaze flicked in her direction, she looked away.

Ziba saw it for what it was.

Fear.

Celeste wasn’t just some high school mean girl.

She was the queen of this school, and no one dared to cross her.

Ziba straightened, brushing off her hands. She would not let them see her break.

"You think this makes you powerful?" Ziba’s voice was calm, despite the burning humiliation inside her. "Tripping people, throwing books in juice? That’s a little pathetic, don’t you think?"

The hallway went dead silent.

Celeste’s smile faltered, just for a second.

Then, she let out a slow and condescending laugh. "Oh, Ziba, sweet, naïve Ziba. This isn’t about power, this is about putting people like you in their place."

Her smile sharpened.

"And you don’t belong here."

The words hit like a slap.

Ziba’s grip tightened on her remaining books. She would not cry. She would not show them how much it hurt.

A seemingly dry and uninterested voice cut through the tension.

"Is there a problem here?"

Everyone turned to see Mr. Harrington, one of the older teachers standing a few feet away, his arms were crossed and his gaze flickered between Celeste and Ziba, but there was no real concern in his expression.

Celeste, ever the actress, put on her sweetest smile.

"Oh, no, sir. Ziba just had a little accident. We were just helping."

Mr. Harrington’s gaze landed on Ziba.

For a split second, she thought he might say something, probably stand up for her. But then he merely sighed. "Get to class, all of you."

And just like that, he walked away.

Ziba almost laughed.

Of course, no one stood up to Celeste. Not even the teachers.

Celeste turned back to her, smirking. "See, Ziba? No one cares."

She gave a little wave before sauntering off, her entourage trailing behind her, still laughing.

Ziba stood there, heart hammering.

She glanced around, some students avoided her gaze. Others gave her pitying looks before hurrying off, but no one helped.

No one said anything. She bent down, picked up her ruined book, and walked away.

As she walked back to her classroom, Ziba’s hands were clenched so tightly around her books that her knuckles turned white. She walked forcing one foot in front of the other, her head held high despite the burning sting of humiliation clinging to her like a second skin.

The hallway buzzed with life around her, students were chatting and laughing, moving on as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t just been publicly humiliated. And maybe, to them, she hadn’t.

Maybe this was just another normal day at Westbridge Academy.

She exhaled sharply, bit the inside of her cheek and told herself it was temporary.

This school, this world of designer bags and luxury cars and cruelty wasn’t forever.

She had come here to study, to push through, to make something of herself. She would not let Celeste Lancaster and her army of entitled minions break her.

But as she walked, she could still hear their laughter ringing in her ears.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed open the doors to the library. The moment she stepped inside, the noise of the school faded.

Ziba let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The scent of old books, polished wooden shelves, and faint traces of coffee filled the air.

Here, there were no taunting whispers, no judgmental stares. Just rows and rows of books, filled with lives she could slip into.

And here, she wasn’t the girl who got tripped in the hallway.

She made her way toward the back, settling into a quiet corner near a tall window. The sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow over the pages of the book she randomly pulled from the shelf.

She let herself disappear.

She read about warriors and rebels, about people who fought back, who didn’t let the world crush them.

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

She wished she could be like that, unshaken and untouchable.

“Hey.”

The voice was soft, hesitant.

Ziba blinked, looking up.

A girl stood there, shifting awkwardly on her feet. She had dark curls, big brown eyes, and a nervous energy that suggested she wasn’t used to speaking up.

“You—um.” The girl hesitated before nodding toward Ziba’s books. "I saw what happened earlier in the hallway."

Ziba tensed.

Of course, even here, she couldn’t escape it.

She forced a small, tight-lipped smile. "Yeah? You and everyone else."

The girl flinched slightly, clearly unsure of what to say. "I just… I wanted to say it was really unfair."

Ziba raised an eyebrow. "Thank you."

The girl bit her lip. "Celeste does this to everyone she doesn’t like, it’s not just you."

Somehow, that wasn’t comforting.

Ziba glanced back at her book. "Then why does no one stop her?"

The girl looked away. "Because she’s Celeste Lancaster."

Ziba didn’t respond. She already knew that answer.

After a moment, the girl cleared her throat. "Um. I’m Lia, by the way. If you ever need someone to sit with I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But just so you know you can sit with me."

Ziba looked at her.

Lia’s eyes held something different from the others she’d met here. Not pity or amusement. Just an understanding.

Ziba hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Thanks."

Lia smiled, a little relieved, before shifting awkwardly. "Okay see you around, I guess."

She turned and left, leaving Ziba alone with her thoughts.

Ziba exhaled slowly, maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought. She closed her book, determined. Celeste might rule this school but Ziba wasn’t going down without a fight.