The next morning arrived with golden skies and soft breeze—but none of it reached Gianna Veymont.
She woke with swollen eyes, her face turned toward the window but not looking at anything. The light poured across her bed, but the warmth didn't touch her skin. It was just brightness without meaning.
She had barely slept.
She hadn't eaten.
Her reflection looked exactly how her mother always wanted—flawless. But today, Gianna didn't do it for pride or perfection. She dressed up like it was armor—because showing up in anything less would make it all feel real. And she couldn't let herself break that easily.
She pulled on her pale beige coat, her fingers trembling only slightly as she fixed the collar.
Tristan's words from the night before were still etched into her bones.
"You think I love you?""You're not even in the league, Veymont.""You can't win something you were never close to."
She hadn't replied. She hadn't moved.
But inside her, something had shattered.
And the pieces were still falling.
Campus Hallway — Morning
She entered the university like a ghost in silk.
Eyes turned. Whispers rippled.
"That's her.""She really said he loves her?""Did you see the group chat screenshots?"
She heard them all. Every single one.
But her feet kept moving forward. If she stopped, she knew she wouldn't be able to start again.
The silence around her was deafening. Her usual strut had become a quiet drift. Her sharp stare was now a blank gaze. Professors who used to stand when she entered the room barely glanced up now.
And it wasn't because she was invisible.
It was because they were waiting for the spectacle to continue.
Crestmoor Estate Car – College Garden Drop-off
Lyra Crestmoor had been checking her phone all morning. She'd seen the memes. The threads. The edited videos of Tristan's cruel speech overlayed with music. The comments laughing at Gianna's "delusion."
It made her sick.
The driver dropped her off by the east lawn. She stormed into campus, eyes burning, searching for the only person that mattered.
She found Gianna alone in the garden.
Sitting beneath the tall stone arch where they used to laugh between lectures. Now, she sat motionless, her back straight, hands resting on her lap like a porcelain doll someone had forgotten to pack away.
"Gia."
Gianna didn't react.
Lyra sat down slowly beside her, quiet for a moment. Then, gently, "You didn't reply to my texts."
"I didn't know what to say."
"You could've said anything."
Gianna's lips twitched. "Would it have changed anything?"
Lyra swallowed hard. "You don't have to let him destroy you."
"I didn't think he would," Gianna whispered. "I thought… I really thought, deep down, he still—"
She stopped herself. But the ache in her voice lingered.
Lyra turned toward her, voice tight. "He made them laugh at you. He stood on that stage and turned your name into a joke."
"I know."
"No, you don't. Because if you did, you wouldn't be sitting here like a statue. You'd be screaming. Throwing things. Doing something."
Gianna looked down at her hands. "I think I'm just... tired."
"Tired?" Lyra echoed. "You've been quiet for weeks, Gianna. Ever since he left. You let people like Sabrina poke at you. You let Celeste breathe fire and didn't even blink. And now—after all this—you're just… tired?"
Gianna finally looked at her.
Tears rimmed her lashes, but none fell.
"I let him see me," she said softly. "Not just the loud, perfect version of me. The real one. I let him see how much it hurt. And he laughed."
Lyra reached for her hand. "He's a monster."
"No," Gianna said quietly. "He used to be my safe place."
That was when her voice finally cracked.
"I thought he was the only person who could never humiliate me in front of the world. And now—he's the one who did it best."
Courtyard — Afternoon
The crowd began to gather for the student council's open forum, but this wasn't a usual Friday meeting.
Everyone could feel it.
Rumors had already spread like wildfire: Tristan Greystorm had something to say.
When he finally stepped onto the platform, the courtyard went silent. Not even the birds dared interrupt.
Tristan looked like royalty incarnate—black cashmere, silver watch glinting in the light, flanked by Greystorm guards like he was walking into a press conference.
Gianna stood in the back of the crowd, flanked by Lyra, Emrys, and a few faculty members who hadn't dared speak to her all morning.
Her skin prickled. Her heart hammered.
She knew what was coming. But nothing could prepare her for how it would feel.
"I won't take much of your time," Tristan said casually, holding the mic with one hand. "I just felt it was important to clear up a dangerous rumor before it spreads too far."
He smiled faintly.
"There's been… talk. That I, Tristan Greystorm, am in love with Gianna Veymont."
The courtyard froze.
A few mouths dropped open. Others stifled laughter.
Tristan went on.
"It's amusing, really. And honestly, I can't blame people for thinking she'd assume it. Delusion runs in some bloodlines."
The laughter began.
Small, at first.
Then louder.
Gianna stared straight ahead. Eyes wide. Breathing shallow.
"She's been walking around like some tragic heroine in an old romance—quiet, sad, staring out windows like someone told her the castle burned down."
He chuckled. "The only thing that burned was the illusion."
More laughter.
Phones everywhere. Students elbowing each other, whispering behind screens.
"And to be clear—she means nothing to me," Tristan said flatly, the smirk gone now. "She never did. She never will. End of story."
He handed the mic back like he hadn't just detonated a bomb.
And walked away.
Back of Campus — Minutes Later
Gianna stumbled away before the crowd could catch her.
Lyra followed close behind, tears streaming down her face—not from embarrassment, but from rage.
When she finally found Gianna outside the back gates of the auditorium, the girl was sitting on a stone bench, still and pale.
She wasn't crying.
She wasn't blinking.
She looked like someone whose soul had quietly packed up and left.
"Gia—" Lyra whispered.
Gianna didn't answer.
Lyra crouched down in front of her, gripping her knees. "Please say something."
"I can't."
"You have to."
Gianna finally blinked, and one tear escaped.
"I'm not angry, Lyra."
Lyra looked stunned. "You're not?"
"No," Gianna said, voice small. "I'm just... embarrassed. And tired. And maybe stupid."
"Don't say that."
"I opened up to him. I told him to stay away because I thought I was protecting him. I thought…" She shook her head, another tear falling. "I thought he'd never use my heart as a weapon."
Lyra couldn't find the words.
So she just held her.
And Gianna—finally—let herself collapse into someone's arms.
For once, she didn't have to pretend to be strong. Or perfect. Or feared.
She was just a girl. One who gave her heart to the wrong boy.
And the world had watched her break.