As Nicholas leaned down, reaching for my wrist, I moved faster.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head straight into the wall behind him.
“Ahhh!”
A piercing scream tore from his throat.
His lackey rushed forward, shoving me hard against the wall.
Pain shot through my left shoulder as it crashed into the concrete.
I could almost hear the sickening crack of bone.
The agony was sharp, nearly blinding.
But in my mind, one thought echoed, “Not enough.”
I lifted my arm and dragged my forearm forcefully against the rough surface of the wall.
Blood smeared across the stone, raw and bright.
Nicholas, still hunched over in pain, was just being hauled back to his feet when he saw what I had done.
He froze, staring.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
The sun had shifted, burning away the last pockets of shadow along the quiet path.
I cradled my fractured arm, watching as the fresh blood trickled down, staining the hem of my dress in vivid, striking crimson.
“You’ve been in this school for three years, playing the tyrant, tormenting your classmates, never cracking open a
single book,” I said, my breath slightly uneven from the pain, my gaze steady.
“So let me teach you something from a textbook you never bothered to read.
“When the downtrodden rise in fury, blood is spilled at their feet… and the world stands in silence.”
I tilted my head, smiling through the pain.
“I actually wondered if you were smart enough not to pull something like this today. But it turns out, you’re just as hopelessly stupid as Stacy.”
The hot wind whipped past, searing my exposed wounds, sending another jolt of pain through my arm.
And yet, I only laughed.
“So, what if you were born at the top?” I asked, my voice light, almost amused.
“Can you guarantee you’ll stay there forever?”
The moment my words fell, two journalists carrying cameras appeared at the entrance of the alley.
Flashbulbs flared to life.
