The voice grated against Eira's ears, pulling her violently from her half-conscious state.
Eira slowly lifted her head, her indifferent eyes locking onto the cold brown ones of the girl in front of her.
The now half-full class turned their attention to the scene. Whispers buzzed as they watched in anticipation.
"You bastard bitch! How dare you insult Alan? You ignored him in front of the whole school. Did the accident make you go fucking crazy?! Who the hell do you think you are to disregard him?"
The girl snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are nothing, nothing but filth who lives off others. Filth like you doesn't get to stare at, stand together with, talk to, ignore, or insult him. Do you understand?!"
While the girl in front of her continued yelling, Eira just stared at her. The girl had a heart-shaped face with a prominent jawline, arched brows, almond-shaped eyes accentuated with dramatic winged eyeliner, full lips covered in nude lipstick, and a straight nose. Her black hair was styled into a high ponytail, pulled too tightly, with the wavy ends bouncing with her movements.
A typical high school mean girl with an exaggerated sense of self-importance.
[With a crush on Alan, Master.]
Right.
The girl continued, not knowing that her words went in one ear and out the other. "You may be his fiancée, but it's only in name. You don't have the right to do anything—"
"Miss Thorne," the teacher interrupted. "Please leave my class, would you? It's starting now."
Glaring hatefully at Eira, she reluctantly turned around and walked to the door.
"Also, please refrain from causing a scene next time, Miss Thorne."
The girl paused at the door, her hand tightening around the handle. Her jaw clenched as she shot one final venomous look toward Eira before stepping out, slamming the door behind her.
Eira remained unfazed, her expression unconcerned as she turned her attention back to the teacher. The classroom, now quieter but still buzzing with murmurs, barely focused on the lesson.
Unbothered by the attention, Eira leaned back in her chair.
[What did you say her name was again?]
[Arabella Thorne.]
[Are they all this loud and vulgar?]
[No, Master. As you can see, Liam isn't, but... you are.]
[Don't you think it's a pity I can't hit you?]
[Not at all, Master—uhh, I mean, I'm sorry, Master.]
At that moment, two girls walked into the classroom. One was tall with raven-black hair in a half-up, half-down style, extremely fair skin, and smoky makeup on her face accentuated by the dark choker and see-through, knee-length dark socks she wore. While the other was short, with brown, voluminous curls and caramel skin. She only wore lip gloss and eyeliner and a brown jacket over her white shirt which was untucked and almost covered her skirt.
[Master! Those are the Dellinger siblings. Their mother, the second daughter of the main branch, is the current CEO of Dellinger Media Company, one of the best film companies in the world.]
[Malia and Orla Dellinger.]
[Yes, Master. But how come you remember their names and not—]
[The short one is Malia, and the tall one is Orla, right?]
[Yes, Master.]
Eira watched the siblings take their seats without caring if they were late or not, especially Malia, who was animatedly describing something to her sister.
[Good. Now we just have to wait.]
The first class started and finished half an hour later, and the second class began ten minutes after. That class also took thirty minutes to end, and finally, the physical class for all junior and senior students started.
As the students filed out of the classroom and headed toward the field, Eira remained seated, her gaze lingering on the shifting crowd until it was just her in the class.
She stood up and walked to the window, waiting. Finally, her dearest stepsister and her dimwitted lackeys came into view.
[It's time to act.]
[Wishing you luck, Master.]
Eira breathed in, and in the next moment, her expression shifted into the nervous and hopeful one Ephyra used to wear.
She walked out of the class, stopped a step behind Myra, and called out, "Myra?"
Myra's head snapped around at the sound of her name, her surprised expression immediately turning into a hostile one as she turned to face Eira. Her lackeys' eyes narrowed in unison as they spotted her.
"What do you want?" Myra's voice was sharp, cold, and more grating than Arabella's.
Eira forced a small, uncertain smile, her hands nervously pulling her shirt, playing the part perfectly. Her once indifferent gaze was now softened, the same hopeful look that Ephyra used to wear back when she still tried to reach out to her stepsister.
"I-I just wanted to talk. I thought maybe we could..." Eira's voice trailed off. Her gaze flickered down to the ground, as though she were unsure of herself, vulnerable.
Myra's eyes flicked over her, suspicious and angered. "Talk? About what?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Myra always enjoyed watching Ephyra grovel or look weak. It fed her sense of power.
So what if the dummy didn't die? She would always be beneath her.
Eira took a small step forward, keeping her shoulders hunched, as if trying to make herself seem smaller, more vulnerable. "I just… there's something I need to talk to you about, alone. Can we talk in the locker room?"
Myra laughed and took a step forward. "It seems that after hitting your head, you've gone foolish. You want to talk to me alone? And why should I answer? Besides, you didn't ask properly."
Eira's forced smile faltered, her expression crumpling into one of desperation, perfectly mirroring the vulnerable demeanor Ephyra once had. She took another shaky breath, as though gathering the courage to continue.
"I know we haven't... had the best relationship," she began softly, her voice trembling. "But I want to fix it. Please, Myra."
"You always were pathetic," Myra sneered, stepping even closer. "And now, you're even worse. What makes you think you deserve my time, huh?"
Eira hesitated, glancing down again, as though ashamed. She shuffled nervously on her feet, giving Myra exactly what she wanted—a sign of submission.
"I... I just want to make things right," Eira whispered, her voice barely audible. "Please, Myra. I'm sure you will be interested in what I want to tell you."
Myra's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Fine," she said with a flick of her hand, dismissing her lackeys, who glared at Ephyra before leaving. "Let's go to the locker room. You've got five minutes to grovel properly."
With that, she turned on her heel, leading the way. Eira trailed behind, her steps hesitant, eyes downcast. But the moment Myra was ahead of her, her nervous facade shifted, the barest hint of a satisfied smirk flickering across her face.
[Master, they are all out of the locker room and heading to the field.]
[Mm.]
They reached the locker room, the door creaking as Myra pushed it open. Once inside, Myra leaned against the row of lockers, crossing her arms impatiently.
"Alright, you've got your chance," Myra said, tapping her foot. "Get to it."
Eira closed the door before standing near the center of the room, her bag still clutched in her hands. She looked around nervously before locking eyes with Myra.
"Why do you hate me so much, Myra?" she asked, her voice still soft but with an edge of something sharper, something that made Myra blink in confusion.
Myra scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Is this really what you dragged me here for? To ask some stupid question?"
Eira tilted her head, her expression shifting again—this time, the nervousness was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating look that Myra hadn't seen before.
"It's not a stupid question. I really want to know."
Myra's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is this? What are you playing at?"
Eira took a slow step forward, her eyes locking onto Myra's. "I'm not playing. I want to know why you fucking hate me so much when I should be the one hating you."
"I should hate you because your slut of a mother seduced a grief-stricken man and had sex with him. I should hate you because not even six months after my mother's death, another woman came into my house with a bastard daughter. I should hate you because you took everything from me—my father's love, my fiancé, my identity, my dignity—and then you tried to take my life. I shouldn't just hate you. I should kill you if I could. So tell me, why? Why the hell do you hate me when it should be the other way around?"
Myra's face twisted in shock, her usual smug expression replaced by confusion and, for the first time, a hint of fear. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected Ephyra to say those things with such anger.
"W-What the hell are you talking about? Are you crazy?!" She walked towards Ephyra and swung her arm violently. "How dare you lie and talk about my mother and me that way?! What gave you the fucking right?!"
A loud slap echoed through the locker room as Myra's hand made harsh contact with Eira's face. The force of the hit sent a sting through Eira's cheek, her head snapping slightly to the side, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she slowly turned her head back to Myra, her cold gaze locking onto her stepsister's face.
For a moment, there was silence. Myra stood there, breathing heavily, her hand still raised as if ready to strike again.
Eira's lips curved into the faintest of smiles—not the desperate one she had forced earlier, but something much darker, a smile that sent a chill down Myra's spine. "You think you can keep hitting me, and I'll just stand here and take it forever?"
Before Myra could respond, Eira stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The intensity of her presence made Myra instinctively step back, but Eira caught her arm, twisting it behind her mercilessly. Myra's shrill scream echoed through the room.
[Master, they're already coming back.]
"You spent your whole life making sure I stayed beneath you, tearing me apart piece by piece. But now it's my turn," Eira whispered, her lips near Myra's ear. "You made a mistake, Myra. You should've prayed that I died that night."
Myra, sobbing from the pain, didn't register her words and continued pleading with Eira to let her go.
[Master, they're almost here.]
As soon as Eira heard that, she let go of Myra, slapped herself, and threw herself to the floor, scraping her knee and palm in the process.
[Did you start recording?]
[Yes, Master.]
With Myra holding her hand, staring down at Eira, whose face was red, lips bleeding, and both her knee and palm injured, the locker room door slammed open. Several students rushed in, including Malia and Orla Dellinger. They froze at the scene before them—Eira on the floor, bleeding and disheveled, while Myra stood above her, hand still raised, looking both shocked and alarmed.
"What the hell happened here?" one of the girls from Alan's class asked, stepping forward with a sharp gaze on Myra.
"Are you supposed to be asking me that?!" Myra snapped, suprising everyone, as she always acted kind. "What do you think happened? This bitch begged me to come with her to the locker room, saying she had something to tell me, and then she started insulting my mother and broke my arm, that's what—"
She was cut off by the quiet sobs coming from Eira before she exploded.
"You're fucking crying?! You bastard! After breaking my arm, you're now crying?!"
"Myra, you've said your piece. Let's hear what Ephyra has to say," the girl from Alan's class interjected, her tone firm. She turned to Eira and asked softly, "What happened?"
Eira sniffled, wiped her tears, and tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a very red cheek that could only have been caused by a slap.
"I... I wanted to talk to Myra, to sort things out. So I invited her to the locker room so we could talk alone. I wanted to tell her that I would break off my engagement with Alan, for her. B-but... suddenly, she started hitting me. I don't even know why... I never insulted her or her mother," Eira whimpered, her voice trembling as she curled into herself on the floor.
The crowd of students gathered closer, their eyes darting between the two sisters. Whispers surged through the room, each one more damning than the last.
"She broke her arm?" one girl murmured incredulously.
"Wow, this is just… I mean, didn't she just get discharged?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"Where would she get the strength to do that?!"
"So Myra's lying, and Ephyra is telling the truth?"
"That's unbelievable. Isn't Ephyra the bastard?"
"And how does that matter?"
"Besides, take a look at Ephyra's face! Who else, if not Myra, did that?"
One of Eira's classmates, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. "Why would Ephyra want to insult you, Myra? She's been quiet ever since... the accident," she said sharply. "And look at her. She's clearly the one who was attacked."
Myra's face flushed with anger and desperation as her good-girl facade disappeared. "Shut the fuck up! I'm telling the truth! She twisted my arm! She's not innocent! She—" Myra stammered, but her confidence faltered under the growing judgment in the room. Cold, hard stares from her peers pierced through her.
The stares drove Myra forward, and she lifted her supposedly broken arm, but it didn't land as a senior caught her hand.
"Myra, didn't you say your arm was broken? If it was broken, you shouldn't be able to lift it."
Myra didn't understand what she meant at first, her eyes darting between the senior and her own hand.
"What the hell are you—" Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. She tried to pull away, but it was too late. The students around them had already noticed, their attention fixed on Myra's raised arm—the arm she had claimed was broken. Gasps rippled through the crowd as they watched her try to yank her hand away.
"Myra," one girl whispered, her voice heavy with shock. "You said your arm was broken..."
The murmurs grew louder, and Myra's face twisted in panic. "N-No, you don't understand! She did hurt me! I just..."
The senior released Myra's hand. "I think we all know who's lying here."
The students continued whispering, enjoying the unexpected turn of events. For some of them, watching this was fun; others stayed because they were intrigued and wanted to see how it would end.
Myra Allen, the legitimate daughter, wasn't what they thought she was.
Some of them had pulled out their phone, wanting to capture and share it to the whole school.
Rich, spoiled teenagers like them always wanted to have fun or see something interesting. And a drama like this embodied both, so of course, they stayed to watch until the end and share it to everyone they could. They didn't care who was right or wrong; they only supported the winning side.
And Eira, who remained curled on the floor, looking small and vulnerable, was the winning side.
"Come on, let's take you to the nurse," the senior said, helping Eira up and leading her towards the door.
But before she left, Eira stopped and spoke, her voice soft but steady. "I... I never wanted any of this." She wiped her tear-streaked face, her eyes red and pained. "All I wanted was to fix things between us. Like with Alan, I just wanted someone who wouldn't hate me. That's why I sent that letter. But you misunderstood and thought I wanted to take him away from you. That's why you hired those thugs the day of my accident, told them to hit me, and then came to insult and threaten me. Maybe, just maybe if you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have gotten into the accident."
"Even after everything, I didn't hate you, and I never will. But I'm giving up. I won't try to plead with you anymore or try to please you. I don't want us to be sisters anymore. Even strangers treat each other better than how you treat me and I would be crazy to continue trying to repair something that was never real."
With that, she loosened her grip on the letter, letting it fall to the floor, and turned to the senior helping her. "Let's go."
"Alright," the senior nodded and led her out.
Soon, everyone left one after the other. The Dellinger sisters followed suit, but Orla suddenly stopped, bent down, and picked up the letter she'd stepped on.