The administrative corridor was a vacuum of silence, the kind that usually preceded a corporate takeover or a high-stakes expulsion. Hannah Freil gripped the heavy brass handle of the Student Council office and shoved the door open with such force that it hit the interior stopper with a resounding thud that echoed off the high ceilings.
Inside, the office was bathed in the soft, clinical glow of the morning sun. Joel was alone. He was currently perched on the edge of a side table, a polishing cloth in one hand and a stack of archival folders in the other. He looked small against the backdrop of the massive, leather-bound books and the heavy executive furniture. When the door slammed, he jumped, nearly dropping the bottle of expensive wood polish.
His heart plummeted into his stomach the moment his eyes landed on Hannah. She was a vision of fury—her golden hair shimmering, her icy blue eyes narrowed into predatory slits.
"So," Hannah began, her voice a low, melodic hiss that carried more venom than a scream. "The charity case has found a new home. I see James has already started the 'rehabilitation' of Upperhill's favorite thief."
Joel scrambled down from the table, his fingers clutching the polishing cloth as if it were a shield. "I... I'm just doing my duty, Hannah. I was told to clean—"
"Don't you dare speak my name with that mouth," Hannah snapped, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her with a terrifyingly slow deliberation. She stalked toward him, her shoes clicking like a countdown on the hardwood. She stopped just inches from him, her height—boosted by her shoes—allowing her to look down at him with absolute contempt.
"I've been away for one day," she breathed, her gaze raking over Joel's delicate features. "One day, and I come back to find the entire school buzzing about you. You, with your girlish face and your big, pathetic eyes. Do you think you're special, Joel? Do you think because you have those soft features that you can just... slide into places you don't belong?"
Joel's face burned. He looked at the floor, his voice trembling. "It was a dare, Hannah. You know the senior tradition. It didn't mean anything. It was just a game."
"A game?" Hannah laughed, a sharp, jagged sound that had no mirth in it. She reached out, her manicured finger hooking under Joel's chin and forcing him to look at her. "Then explain the confession, freak. My friends told me everything. They said you looked him in the eye and told him you liked him. Was that part of the dare too? Was telling the President of the Academy that you've been pining for him for years part of the senior tradition?"
Joel's throat went dry. He couldn't lie about that part—it was the truth that was currently suffocating him. But he couldn't admit it to her. Not to the girl who claimed James as her own property.
"If it was so 'nothing,'" Hannah continued, her voice rising in pitch, "why didn't you avoid it? You're the king of disappearing, Joel. You've spent two years avoiding every gaze in this school. Why didn't you run? Why didn't you take the penalty? You wanted it. You've been waiting for a chance to put your hands on what belongs to me."
Something in Joel snapped. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of being hunted all day, or the lingering heat of James's touch from the night before, but he pulled his chin away from her finger and stood his ground.
"Maybe I didn't run because I'm tired of running," Joel said, his voice surprisingly firm despite the shake in his hands. "And maybe James isn't an object that belongs to you, Hannah. If he wanted to avoid it, he could have. He's the President. He makes the rules. Why are you screaming at me when he's the one who held me?"
The silence that followed was volatile. Hannah's face contorted, her features twisting into something ugly and unrecognizable. The Queen of Upperhill mask shattered.
"You... you little scholarship rat," she hissed. "How dare you speak to me like that? You think because he's hiding you in here that you're safe? You're a freak. A disgusting, confused little freak who thinks he's a girl."
She raised her hand high, her palm flat and ready to deliver a stinging, humiliating strike across Joel's porcelain cheek. Joel flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the impact, his shoulders hunching in anticipation of the pain.
The slap never landed.
Instead, there was a sharp smack of skin hitting skin, followed by a low, guttural grunt of surprise from Hannah.
Joel opened his eyes. James was standing there. He had appeared from the side entrance of the inner office so silently that neither of them had noticed. His large, powerful hand was wrapped firmly around Hannah's wrist, holding her arm frozen in mid-air. His expression was a mask of cold, terrifying indifference.
"James!" Hannah gasped, her voice transitioning instantly from a snarl to a wounded whimper. "James, let go, you're hurting me!"
James didn't let go. He held her wrist for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his amber eyes tracking the way Joel was shaking in the corner. Then, he slowly lowered her arm, releasing her as if she were a piece of discarded paper.
"Why are you in my office, Hannah?" James asked, his voice a smooth, low-frequency vibration. "And why are you attempting to assault my staff?"
"Staff?" Hannah shrieked, clutching her wrist. "James, have you lost your mind? He kissed you! He's a thief! He's a freak who's obsessed with you! I've been away for twenty-four hours and you've turned this... this person into your assistant? We've grown up together since we were nine years old! Ten years, James! Ten years of me being by your side!"
She stepped toward him, her eyes filling with tears of genuine frustration. "In ten years, have you ever kissed me for a dare? No. Whenever a game came up, you always chose the alternative. You always took the penalty or walked away because you said it was beneath you. So why him? Why now?"
James leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Hannah as if she were a complicated math problem he had already solved.
"Ten years is a long time, Hannah," James said, his voice devoid of the warmth she was begging for. "People change. Priorities shift. And games... well, the games at Upperhill have become very boring lately. I decided I wanted to play a different one."
"A different one?" Hannah whispered. "With him? You're choosing a scholarship student over ten years of history?"
James's gaze flickered to Joel, who was still standing by the window, his chest heaving. For a second, that dark, possessive glint returned to James's eyes.
"History is just a record of the past, Hannah," James replied, his voice dropping to a silken, lethal level. "I'm more interested in the present. And presently, Joel is my assistant. He is under my protection. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the Board—but I suggest you don't. It would be... embarrassing for you."
Hannah stared at him, her mouth agape. She looked at James, then at Joel, the realization of her own displacement hitting her like a physical weight. She realized that the school president wasn't just entertaining a whim—he was building a fortress around the boy she hated.
"This isn't over," Hannah hissed, though her voice lacked its earlier fire. She straightened her blazer, her eyes promising a thousand different kinds of revenge as she looked at Joel one last time. "You might be the President, James, but even you can't stop everyone from seeing the truth."
She turned on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind her for the second time that morning.
The silence that returned was heavy, charged with the lingering electricity of the confrontation. James didn't move. He stayed leaning against the desk, his eyes fixed on Joel.
"Are you hurt?" James asked, the President mask flickering for a moment to reveal the boy who had kissed Joel in the park.
"I... I'm fine," Joel whispered, his hands still clutching the polishing cloth. "Thank you."
James pushed off the desk and began to walk toward him. "I told you, Joel. You belong to this office now. And I don't let anyone touch what belongs to me."