They say paranoia is a symptom of guilt.
But I haven't done anything wrong.
At least, nothing I'd confess to.
So when I saw the note on the floor—plain white paper, no markings, no flair—I didn't think guilt.
I thought: trap.
I shut the door quietly behind me, bolted the lock, and stared at the thin little slip like it might grow fangs.
Then I picked it up.
> You think you've won. You haven't even started losing yet.
I stood there for a full thirty seconds, staring at those words like they might rearrange themselves into something less ominous.
They didn't.
I folded the note in half, then into quarters. It felt heavier than paper should. Like it carried something real.
Like a threat.
---
For the rest of the evening, I couldn't sit still.
I tried homework. Couldn't focus.
Tried music. It made me jumpy.
Tried pacing. That was easier.
Was this about Veronica? About the ballroom? Or was it… Damien?
Because here's the truth I haven't said out loud:
I know who I danced with.
I knew from the moment he touched my waist.
The mask didn't matter.
That presence? That arrogance?
That was pure Damien Carter.
And now, someone else knows that I know.
And maybe they're angry about it.
Or maybe… jealous?
I didn't like any of the options.
---
I couldn't stay in the room anymore.
The walls felt too tight, like they were inching closer every time I blinked.
So I went for a walk.
Big mistake.
The campus at night is beautiful. Still. Haunting.
But tonight, it felt… watched.
I cut through the quad, passing under Saint Augustine's ivy-covered archway. Normally I loved the sound of my boots on the cobblestones — now it echoed too loud.
When I reached the Thorns' study room, I paused outside the door.
Was I walking into comfort?
Or into the lion's den?
I walked in anyway.
---
Julian glanced up. Gave me a nod like I was a visiting politician.
Lara offered a tight smile — she looked tired. Tense.
Veronica was lounging on the velvet couch, glass of champagne in hand, like this was some Netflix drama she was bingeing from the inside.
"Rosella," she said smoothly. "You've got that hunted look again."
"What look is that?"
"The kind girls get right before they learn what this school really is."
I didn't rise to it.
I just sat down, crossed my legs, and gave her the same sugary smile I've perfected over the past few weeks.
"Funny. I thought you already tried to teach me that lesson."
Veronica tilted her head.
"Oh, sweetie," she said, "I'm not the one you should be worried about."
She didn't say Damien's name.
She didn't need to.
---
After half an hour of listening to their whispered conversations and veiled insults, I left.
And guess what?
Another note.
This time, it wasn't under my door.
It was taped to my mirror.
Same white paper.
> Don't trust the boy in the mask. He's not wearing it for the society. He's wearing it for you.
And suddenly, I was cold all over.
Because this one wasn't a threat.
It was a warning.
---
I sat on my bed for hours, staring at the mirror.
The message.
The meaning.
The question.
Do I trust Damien?
Because the thing is… I've started to.
I don't want to.
I know I shouldn't.
But that dance? That moment?
That was real. I felt it.
And that's what makes this worse.
Because I don't just want to trust him.
I want to believe we're on the same side.
That he sees something in me beyond strategy and power moves.
But maybe I'm being played.
Maybe I'm just the newest Lily Elms.
---
Lily Elms.
The name had stuck with me from that dusty file I found in the school archive.
She was smart. From the wrong side of the tracks.
Like me.
And she was gone — disappeared mid-year.
No goodbye. No warning.
Just gone.
I dug up everything I could that night. Cross-referenced files. Watched old school footage. Even read three months' worth of archived newsletters from 2019.
No mention of her after March.
No graduation photo.
No farewell statement.
She didn't just leave.
She vanished.
And now, someone's reminding me of that.
---
I barely slept.
When I finally dozed off, it was light outside.
And even in sleep, I dreamt of shadows.
Of red roses on fire.
Of masked boys with secrets tucked in their smiles.
Of a note being slid under my skin instead of my door.
---
When I woke up, I had one decision already made:
I'm going to confront Damien.
Not with screaming.
Not with tears.
But with questions that demand real answers.
Because if I'm walking into fire, I want to know if he's the match.