They always laughed.
You weren’t loud. You weren’t pretty in the way they praised. You weren’t rich, or confident, or anything they respected.
You were quiet.
The girl who sat in the back. Who kept her hair behind her ears and her eyes on the page. The one who wore the same cardigan every week and flinched at raised voices.
You didn’t fit their world.
So they made you their target.
It started small.
Someone knocked your books off your desk. Another pretended not to see you in the hallway. They'd leave gum on your chair. Water in your locker. Whisper your name just loud enough to make you turn—then laugh when you did.
You tried to ignore it.
But cruelty doesn't stay quiet.
The jokes got worse.
They tripped you during assemblies.
They posted pictures of your handwriting with captions like: “Ancient cave language lol.”
They’d steal your lunch, leave notes like “go starve, rat.”
You never fought back. Never told a teacher. Because you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.
And still— you broke anyway.
Then came the egg.
It was lunch. You were just trying to get to your seat.
Someone shouted:
“Heads up!”
And then it cracked.
Right over your scalp.
Yolk ran down your face. Shell stuck in your hair.
Your tray clattered to the ground.
And they laughed.
They howled.
Phones came out instantly.
“YOOO she got scrambled!!” “This is too good. Upload that—NOW.” “Omelette head.”
You stood frozen. Face burning. Hands trembling.
No one helped.
No one said stop.
You ran.
You locked your bedroom.
You didn’t come back to school the next day.
Or the next.
For three days, you didn’t eat.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe properly.
Your screen was a blur of cruel comments, viral reposts, and crueler edits.
You sat on the floor in the corner of your room—hair still crusted with shame—replaying the video in your mind.
Each time, you whispered: “Why me?”
And the silence never answered.
Then night came.
The third one.
You pulled on your coat with shaking fingers.
Your shoes crunched softly over the fresh snow.
The streets were silent—everyone home, warm, safe. You walked slowly, without a plan, like the night itself might understand what to do with you.
The cold bit your cheeks. Snowflakes stuck in your lashes. You walked until the quiet swallowed the sound of your breathing.
And then—
A black car pulled up beside you.
You froze.
The window rolled down just enough for you to see the driver nod.
And then the passenger door opened.
A tall figure stepped out into the snow.
You knew him even before you looked up.
Silas Veylor.
The school’s infamous prince.
Straight-A student. Top athlete. Son of a legacy family with more money than some countries. Silent. Impossibly cold. He’d never once flinched in a fight, never raised his voice in class. No one could read him. No one dared stand close for long.
He stepped out into the snow in a long black coat, black gloves, black tie—sharp like he belonged to a colder world than this one. His presence was silence wrapped in steel.
He leaned back against the car.
And looked at you.
Then he spoke.
“I saw the video.” “I saw everything.”
His eyes met yours. Unblinking. Ruthless.
“Use me.”
Silent
“Use me to get your revenge.”