Porcelain Hearts Burn Slow

Chapter One: The First Glance

Eastbrook Academy – Tuesday, 7:08 AM

The croissants were already cold. That was Lilan's first thought as she rushed across the back courtyard, tray wobbling in her grip, apron half-tied. Her backpack dug into her spine. Her sneakers, the cheap ones with fraying soles, slapped against the cobblestone like they didn't belong here-and they didn't.

Nothing about her belonged here.

She was only at Eastbrook on scholarship. A fluke, a miracle, a clerical error-she hadn't decided which. All she knew was that she had to keep her grades up, clock her hours in the kitchen, and stay invisible. That last one was the hardest.

She was rounding the corner of the staff entrance when the world stilled.

A black Maserati pulled into the courtyard like it had been summoned by fate. Smooth, sleek, purring like a wild animal. Every student on the steps froze, eyes drawn toward the car like moths to a flame. Even the birds seemed to pause.

Then the door opened.

And he stepped out.

He wasn't tall so much as he carried height like a weapon-shoulders squared, posture lazy but deliberate, every motion dripping with indifference. His blazer was designer, not a wrinkle in sight. His dark hair was perfectly disheveled, like he'd woken up stylish. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but his mouth...

That mouth.

It curved into a smirk, just a hint of one, the kind that said I know exactly what you want from me-and no, you can't have it.

Aidan Voss.

Lilan had never seen him in person before. She'd heard the name, of course. Everyone at Eastbrook had. He was the heir. The legend. The beautiful, arrogant, untouchable heartbreaker from the Voss dynasty. His family funded half the school's elite programs. His presence alone could shift the social hierarchy with a single look.

And today, he didn't even look at her.

She stood there, tray shaking, croissants trembling. Somewhere, a teacher's voice called out roll numbers. A phone chimed. A laugh broke the air like shattered glass.

But Lilan was frozen.

She told herself it was just curiosity. A passing crush. A little schoolgirl awe. That's all. Nothing dangerous.

"Lilan, are you deaf?" barked Mrs. Gertie, the kitchen manager, her voice sharp as vinegar. "Get your ass moving!"

The tray jolted. A croissant tumbled to the ground, splatting against her shoe like a soggy insult. Heat rushed to Lilan's cheeks. She bent to pick it up, fingers trembling, heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

Aidan was already walking away. His footsteps were slow, unhurried, and somehow cruel in how completely he ignored the chaos around him. Girls smiled at him. Boys nodded like servants. Teachers didn't dare stop him.

He was a god in human skin.

And she was a ghost in a dirty apron.

That night, Lilan sat in her cramped bedroom above the bakery where her mother worked weekends. She curled her fingers around a half-dried pen and stared at her notebook, the pages full of grocery lists, quotes from books, and a sketch she had done weeks ago of a faceless boy.

She flipped the page.

Aidan Voss.

She wrote it once. Then again. Then again.

She didn't know what it meant, not really. She didn't know why her stomach flipped or why her pulse wouldn't settle. All she knew was the second he stepped out of that car, the world looked different.

No one had ever made her feel small like that. Not with cruelty, not with insults.

With presence.

He didn't see her. And that was the problem.

Lilan Reyes didn't want to be invisible anymore.

And so began a hunger-not for love, not yet-but for notice.

She wanted him to see her. Even once. Even briefly.

And she'd do anything to make it happen.