Chapter 3 The First Strike

Ivy had foolishly hoped that after her humiliating encounter with Damien Vale, he would let it go. That he would be like every other entitled, self-absorbed heir at Ravenwood-bored and easily distracted by the next fleeting amusement.

But Damien wasn't like the others.

He was patient. Calculated. And worst of all didn't forget.

By the third day, the tension in the air had shifted. It was subtle at first-whispers that followed her wherever she went, gazes that lingered too long, the way students would smirk when she passed. She told herself it was just paranoia, that she was overthinking things.

Then came breakfast.

The moment she stepped into the grand dining hall, she felt it-the unmistakable weight of eyes pressing against her.

Ravenwood's dining hall was more like a ballroom, cathedral-like with massive crystal chandeliers suspended from vaulted ceilings, their prisms catching the morning sunlight. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side of the room, casting long golden streaks across polished mahogany tables, where students sat in their carefully curated cliques.

Everything in this school was designed to impress, to remind her exactly how out of place she was.

Ivy gripped her tray a little tighter, keeping her head down, trying to make herself invisible as she wove through the tables. If she could just make it to an empty corner, if she could just-

A single voice cut through the noise.

"Scholarship girl."

The words were slow, drawn-out, dripping with amusement.

The room stilled.

Ivy froze mid-step, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She didn't have to look to know who had spoken.

Damien Vale.

He was lounging in the center of the dining hall, at a long, elevated table reserved for the elite. His group-Ravenwood's untouchable royalty-surrounded him, their perfectly pressed uniforms and effortless smirks radiating superiority.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the very picture of casual arrogance. The sleeve of his uniform was pushed up just enough to reveal a silver ring glinting on his finger, tapping softly against the rim of his glass in an absentminded rhythm.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound filled the silence, slow and deliberate.

Ivy forced herself to keep moving. Ignore him. Keep walking.

She had almost made it past almost when he spoke again.

"Come here."

The words weren't loud. He didn't need to raise his voice. It wasn't a request.

A cold shiver crawled down Ivy's spine.

She could feel the entire room watching, waiting.

If she ignored him, it would be worse.

Taking a slow breath, she turned toward him, her fingers tightening around the tray as she stepped forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, the air thickening with unspoken expectations.

She stopped at the edge of his table, standing just outside the invisible boundary that separated them from everyone else.

Damien studied her like she was something insignificant, something unworthy of his time but amusing enough to entertain for a moment.

"You didn't think I'd let the other day slide, did you?"

Ivy swallowed but kept her expression blank. "It was an accident."

Damien's smirk widened. "An accident," he echoed as if the word itself was a joke. He shifted in his seat, fingers still tapping against his glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"I don't believe in accidents," he said smoothly. "I believe in order. In respect." His voice was quiet but carried across the hall, commanding in its softness. "And I think it's time you learned yours."

Before Ivy could react, he tilted his glass forward.

Golden liquid spilled from the rim-slow, deliberate-cascading onto her tray.

The warm tea drenched her food, soaking through her napkin, her books, and her fingers.

A single clink echoed as he set the empty glass back down.

"Oops," he said flatly.

The room erupted with laughter.

Not from everyone in his court. The elite. The ones who thrived off cruelty, who waited for moments like this to solidify the social hierarchy.

Ivy's breath caught in her throat.

Humiliation burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let it show.

Not here. Not in front of him.

Damien leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that only she could hear.

"Lesson number one, Ivy Monroe-you don't cross me."

It was a warning. A promise.

For a moment, Ivy stood frozen. She could feel the entire room waiting, holding its breath to see what she would do.

Would she run? Would she break?

Her fingers curled around the edges of the tray.

Then, before she could stop herself, she did something reckless.

She lifted her hand-still damp from the spilled tea and wiped her fingers against the front of his pristine uniform.

A single swipe.

A deliberate, mirrored movement.

A beat of stunned silence.

Then she tilted her head ever so slightly and whispered, "Oops."

The laughter died instantly.

A shift.

Like the air had been sucked from the room.

Damien stilled.

He was still watching her, still holding that slow, lazy smirk-but his eyes had darkened, sharpening like a predator who had just discovered that his prey had claws.

Ivy's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to hold her ground.

She had made a mistake-she knew that much. But backing down now would only make it worse.

Around them, the elite still hadn't spoken. A few students had turned away, as if afraid to witness what would happen next. Others were leaning forward in their seats, hungry for the inevitable retaliation.

Sloane, standing near the farthest table, had gone completely rigid. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second, and though she didn't speak, Ivy saw it in her expression.

Run.

But it was too late for that.

Damien exhaled slowly as if considering his next move.

Then he tilted his head, his gaze flickering over her like he was committing every detail to memory-the curve of her defiance, the stubborn set of her jaw, the challenge buried deep in her eyes.

And then, softly, he said, "Oh, Ivy."

He didn't sound angry.

No.

He sounded intrigued.

Like he had just found something worth breaking.

A slow ripple of unease slid down Ivy's spine, but she forced herself to turn away first. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out of the dining hall, her fingers trembling against the ruined tray.

And in that moment, she knew.

She had just made a very dangerous enemy.

And Damien Vale?

He wasn't going to let her forget it.