The second-floor corridor was a storm of grief and rage.
Girls from every classroom on the floor were sobbing openly. The air was thick . Faces were flushed with humiliation, eyes swollen from tears.
Whispers turned into wails, then to furious curses.
"Never in my life did I think this would happen," one girl choked out, hugging herself. "All of us… stripped like animals… in front of everyone."
One girl, braids half-undone — whispered hoarsely:
"They made us strip…. I've never felt so dirty in my life."
Another girl short hair, with glasses — sobbed:
"My mom's going to kill me if she finds out. But how do I hide this? How do I ever look anyone in the eye again?"
Another girl cried out,
" Never in history has something like this happened to so many school girls at once. All because of those monsters."
Another sobbed into her friend's shoulder. "They made us show our bras like we're some strip girls. I can't even look at my own body now."
"They laughed," someone whispered.
"They actually laughed while we cried."
" And passed such nasty comments " someone added.
Another girl — growled angrily. "It's all because of those fucking monsters! The Krossvales! They own the school now — they can do whatever they want!"
The humiliation burned like acid in every girl's chest.
Then the door to the end classroom opened slightly.
Ira stumbled in — barefoot, hair wild, torn shirt clutched desperately to her chest. Some buttons were gone; the fabric gaped open in places, revealing flashes of bare skin. No bra. Her eyes were swollen from crying, cheeks blotched red, lips trembling.
The room went quiet for one heartbeat.
Then it exploded.
A girl near the door gasped. "Ira? Oh my god…"
Then someone whispered:
"It's her…"
A girl stepped forward, voice shaking with rage.
"It was your bra, wasn't it?"
Ira flinched.
All eyes turned to her.
They surrounded her — violently, urgently, desperately.
A tall girl with braids stepped forward, tears still wet on her face.
"They searched every classroom because of you! We all got stripped because of you!"
Another girl — ponytail, shaking — cried out:
"We had to open our shirts! In front of the whole class! Because of *your* bra!"
Another girl accused, tears still falling. "They made us stand there half-naked while they stared. Because of you!"
The accusation spread like fire.
Ira backed against the wall, clutching her shirt tighter.
Her knees wobbled. She shook her head weakly.
Her voice came out weak, broken.
"I… I didn't do anything. Vanessa and her friends… they grabbed me. Tore my shirt. Took my bra. Threw it down. I couldn't stop them. I tried—"
Her voice broke into a sob.
"Which girl would want her bra thrown at the Krossvales? I was scared… I'm still scared…"
The girls stared at her — torn shirt, bare chest half-covered, tears streaming, body shaking.
The rage shifted.
The room went still again.
Understanding dawned slowly — then fury turned outward.
A girl with short hair clenched her fists.
"It was *Vanessa*. Of course it was."
Another — glasses, voice shaking with rage — whispered:
"They've been bullying us for years… but this? This is too much."
The girl with braids stepped forward.
"They made us all suffer… because they wanted to hurt *her*."
The anger grew — fast, hot, unstoppable.
Vanessa, Ava, Sophia, and Daria had been hiding near the back of the crowd — hoping to blend in.
They saw the shift.
They paled.
"No… wait—" Ava stammered.
Too late.
The girls surged.
A dozen hands grabbed the four bullies.
Vanessa screamed,
" What do you want—"
A girl stepped forward.
"It was you."
Vanessa's heart popped up in her mouth.
Another girl growled.
"You threw Ira's bra down. You made them search every class. You made us strip."
Another girl's voice cracked with rage.
"We're all humiliated because of you four!"
Ava backed up.
"We didn't know they'd go that far—"
"Liar!" someone screamed.
The dam broke.
The girls surged forward .
Vanessa screamed as someone grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
"You bitch!"
Ava tried to run — a girl caught her arm and twisted it behind her back.
Sophia swung wildly — a girl punched her square in the stomach, doubling her over.
Daria shrieked as three girls tackled her to the floor.
The room filled with raw, furious sounds — slaps, punches, hair-pulling, screams.
"You made us strip!"
" You provoked the monsters !"
"You ruined us!"
Vanessa sobbed, face already swelling.
"Please—stop—we didn't mean—"
"Shut up!" A girl screamed, slapping her hard across the face.
Sophia sobbed. "Let us go..... please...We didn't know they'd go this far! We were just messing around!"
Daria kicked wildly. "Let go! You can't do this!"
A girl with ponytail slapped her hard across the face.
They dragged the four girls into the center of the corridor.
Fists flew.
Slaps cracked.
Hair was pulled.
Shouts turned to screams.
Vanessa tried to fight back — nails raking — but three girls pinned her arms.
Ava curled into a ball, sobbing.
Sophia begged. "Please… please stop…"
Daria's lip split; blood trickled down her chin.
The beating was chaotic, emotional, cathartic.
Fists flew. Nails scratched. Knees drove into stomachs.
The bullies screamed, begged, cried — but no one listened.
They had terrorized the school for years.
Today, karma arrived — raw, furious, unstoppable.
On the other side.
The matte-black SUV glided smoothly through Draxen's evening traffic, windows tinted so dark the outside world looked like a muted photograph. Inside, the air was thick with leather, expensive cologne, and the low hum of the engine.
The five younger brothers sprawled across the seats — coats open, legs spread, voices loud and filthy.
Lucas lounged in the back seat, legs spread wide, grinning like a wolf after a kill.
"Fuck, those second-floor girls? Tits bouncing when they cried? I could've watched that all day."
Victor laughed from the middle row, cracking his knuckles.
"Bet their nipples are perky. I want to pinch them till they scream my name."
Damon leaned against the glass, smirking.
" I bet nerds always scream the loudest when you bend them over a desk."
Damon smirked, eyes half-lidded.
"I wanted to rip every single bra off myself. Line them up naked in the courtyard. Make them beg."
Ren's gloved fingers drummed on his knee.
"The quiet ones are the best. They cry so pretty. Makes me hard just thinking about breaking them slow. "
Leon chuckled from the front passenger seat, voice smooth and nasty.
"Fresh meat. Tight holes. Untouched. Better than any club whore with a stretched cunt and fake moans.I want to feel them clench when I push in."
They laughed — rough, hungry, unfiltered.
In the front passenger seat, Vernon sat rigid — head turned toward the window, long dark hair falling forward to hide his face. He said nothing. His jaw was locked so tight the muscle jumped under the skin.
But his eyes — shadowed, burning-bright — kept flicking to the rearview mirror.
To Kai.
Kai sat in the back, legs crossed, one elbow on the armrest.
In his right hand he held the red satin lace bra — he turned it slowly between his fingers — thumb tracing the delicate lace edge, then the smooth cup where her breast had rested—studying the delicate stitching, the faint warmth still clinging to the fabric. He brought it closer to his face once, inhaling subtly — feminine skin.
His expression didn't change, but his eyes — cold, calculating — darkened with something raw and possessive.
Raw desire flickered across his sharp features — possessive, quiet, intense.
Vernon saw it.
His stomach twisted violently.
Jealousy — hot, sudden, irrational — burned through his chest like acid.
*He's touching her bra.*
The thought repeated, over and over, each time more jagged.
*He's holding something that was on her skin. Something that smelled like her. Something that touched her breasts.*
Vernon's fingers curled into fists on his thighs — hard enough to leave crescent marks on his palms.
He felt sick.
Irritated.
Furious.
But his face remained calm — blank, detached, the same cold mask he always wore.
Ren noticed Kai.
He leaned forward, smirking.
"Woah… Kai seems to really like that bra a lot."
Lucas laughed.
"Yeah, look at him. Holding it like it's fucking gold."
Damon raised an eyebrow.
"Smells that good, huh?"
Victor grinned wider.
"I wonder whose it is."
Kai didn't respond.
He simply folded the bra once — carefully — and slipped it into the inner pocket of his suit.
Then he looked up — straight into the rearview mirror.
Straight at Vernon.
Their eyes met.
Vernon's heart slammed once — hard.
Kai's gaze was unreadable.
But Vernon felt it — that piercing, measuring stare.
Kai spoke — voice low, calm, final.
"We'll find out whose it is. One day."
Vernon looked away first.
He stared out the window at the passing city lights — blurred, distorted, meaningless.
And for the first time in years, he felt something sharper than guilt.
Jealousy.
Possessiveness.
Need.
He wanted her.
He wanted her real bad.
He felt this feeling for her.
More than anything — he wanted to be the only one who ever touched anything intimate that belonged to her again.
To be continued....