Page 131 of Picture Perfect

"Is it?" I mutter, more to myself than to her. Huge, terrifying, unexpected—all of it.

"Let me see the ring!" Another classmate leans over from the row behind us, eager eyes sparkling.

"Sure," I say, and there it is again—a flash of admiration, a touch of jealousy, and a whole lot of questions I'm not ready to answer.

"Saint sure knows how to pick 'em," Sarah continues, her gaze fixed on the diamond. "That's a serious rock, Addy."

"Guess so," I reply, feeling a strange mix of pride and discomfort.

"Are you excited? Nervous?" she presses, but I don't have the answers she wants.

"Both," I admit, because it's the truth. Excited for a future that promises stability and maybe even love. Nervous because it's all happening so fast, and under the scrutiny of an entire school.

"Alright, class, settle down," Mrs. Larkin announces, and I've never been more grateful for the beginning of a lecture. As I pretend to focus on the notes projected on the board, I can't help but feel the weight of dozens of eyes flicking toward me, still hungry for more.

I know one thing for certain—as much as the attention unnerves me, I can't deny the small thrill that comes from wearing Saint's ring. Despite the unease, it's a reminder that I'm not alone anymore—and maybe, just maybe, that's worth the whispers.

But, it's also overwhelming.

By midmorning, I can't take one more second of the whispers and the burning stares. My hand shoots up, trembling slightly. "Mrs. Larkin, may I have the hall pass?"

"Of course, Addy," she says, a hint of sympathy in her voice as she hands it over.

"Thank you," I mumble, practically bolting from my seat. The chatter follows me like a shadow as I escape into the hallway, clasping the cold metal ring around my finger for some semblance of comfort.

The bathroom is mercifully empty when I push through the door. I lean over the sink, splashing cool water onto my heated cheeks, watching the ripples distort my reflection—a girl caught between worlds. Each droplet feels like a tiny shock, grounding me back to reality.

"Get it together, Addy," I whisper to myself, reaching for a paper towel.

The door creaks open behind me, but before I can turn around, I hear the click of the lock snapping into place. My heart stops for a beat, then races.

"Isn't this a surprise?" Wesley's snide tone cuts through the silence.

Panic grips me as I see him reflected in the mirror, Preston looming just behind. I yank my phone from my pocket, fingers flying over the screen to the SOS app—Chess's creation, our silent alarm.

"Ah-ah, Adelaide," Wesley chides, slapping the phone out of my hand. It clatters against the tile floor, skidding into the corner.

"Leave me alone," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. But inside, the fear is a living thing, clawing its way up my throat.

Preston's face is a twisted mask, his pupils swallowing the color in his eyes until they're just two dark holes staring back at me. He rocks on his heels, jittery energy radiating from him like heat from a fire. It's clear he's riding the high of something stronger than his usual vices.

"Look at her," he slurs, his voice barely coherent. "Sitting pretty with your name. Like she deserves it."

Wesley leans against the door, arms folded across his chest, the picture of disdain. "You've got some nerve, Adelaide. My family, they took you in out of pity, and this is how you repay us? Parading around with that ring, as if you belong."

His words are like knives, but they don't quite connect. They're too absurd, too surreal. But fear has made my thoughts sluggish, hard to grasp.

"Belong?" I manage to say, though my voice shakes. "I never asked for any of this."

"Didn't you?" Wesley sneers, pushing off from the door. "You strut around, playing the part. You think you're so special. Just another prime cut of beef, really. If you even make it to your eighteenth birthday... Well, let's just say we might find a better use for you."

A chill runs down my spine at his cryptic threat. I'm trapped in here with them, the walls closing in, their intentions as murky as the look in Preston's wild eyes.

"Better use?" I repeat, trying to buy time, to keep them talking. Anything to delay what feels inevitable.

"Shut up," Preston growls, taking an unsteady step toward me. His movements are erratic, unpredictable. I back away, but there's nowhere to go. The hard edge of the sink digs into my back, and I realize I'm cornered.

The door shudders suddenly, a loud bang echoing through the small space. My heart leaps. Someone's outside. Another bang, and then another, persistent, demanding.

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