Chapter 8 Shoes.

Elara sat still after Damien left. Her fingers were still wrapped around the ripped pieces of her shoe. Everything that had happened hit her all at once, like a giant wave, crashing down with full force. She hid her face in her arms, her thin body shaking. She took short, uneven breaths as quiet sobs wracked through her. Tears flowed freely, hot and sharp, running down her cheeks and soaking into her uniform. She tried to hold back, tried to stop the feelings that were tearing at her chest, but the more she fought, the harder it was to breathe.

She wasn't just crying because Bianca had shamed her. Not completely. She was crying because she had only one pair of school shoes, and now they were ruined. She couldn't afford another pair, not by tomorrow. And she knew the school wouldn't make an exception for someone like her. Rules were rules. They were strict, unbending, and made for students who could easily follow them. And she couldn't break the rules. She never could. If she didn't have the right shoes, she wouldn't even be let inside the school gates.

Her fingers curled around the shredded parts of her ruined shoe, squeezing until her knuckles turned white. It had been on purpose, the way Bianca did it. A planned move meant to remind Elara of her low place in the school. And now all Elara could do was sit there, stuck in her own helplessness. She had to pull herself together. The next class was about to start. Forcing herself to sit up straight, she reached into her bag. She pulled out a small mirror and looked at herself. Puffy eyes, cheeks wet with tears, and tangled hair – all signs of how weak she had just been.

She took a sharp breath, blinking quickly as she wiped her face with shaking fingers. She smoothed her hands over her hair, combing through the strands and tucking them neatly behind her ears. By the time the first students started coming into the room, she was sitting upright, calm, and showing no emotion. No one could know, no one would know what had happened.

The lesson passed by quickly, a blur. The words on the board looked like messy scribbles. Elara didn't even try to take notes. She kept her head down, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her desk, just waiting for the time to pass without anyone noticing her. The teacher didn't call on her. He barely even looked her way. Damien never came back to class. Not that she wanted him to. It was better that the seat next to her was empty and not taken by someone who would make her feel nervous. She would feel embarrassed by the cold look he had in his eyes.

The rich and powerful students could skip classes, but not her. Her scholarship meant she had to be a "book warmer," someone who was always in class, always studying. By the time the teacher left, students rushed to pack their things, eager to leave. She stayed seated, waiting until the room was completely empty. Then she stood up and moved carefully, taking gentle steps. She didn't want to draw attention to herself, but the news had already spread to other parts of the school. It was hard to hide her problem.

She stopped near the door, looking down at the dirty white fabric covering her left foot. It looked sad, clinging to her skin, already stained from the dust and dirt on the floor. The thought of walking home like this made her stomach churn, but she had no choice. The school bus was out of the question. She wouldn't be allowed on board without a complete uniform, and she didn't have the energy to beg for an exception. Either way, she wouldn't be let in. Her fingers curled into fists. She would just have to walk home.

Damien had not meant to wait for her. It just happened. He had spent the last hour in his car, staring at the clock, fighting every feeling that told him to just drive away. Then he saw her. Elara slowly moved forward, her back straight, her head slightly bent as she walked through the crowd of students. They were all looking at her as she passed – some laughing, others staring at her leg that had no shoe. His eyes dropped to her left foot, seeing how it barely lifted from the ground, her sock-once white-now covered in dirt. His jaw tightened.

Was she really planning to go home like this? A muscle in his cheek twitched. It was stupid. She was acting stupid. Why couldn't she stand up for herself? She seemed to have more class and style than anyone else he had seen so far. When he saw her get off the bus this morning, she looked like she came from a rich family, from the way she talked and held herself. How could she be bullied like this? Before he could stop himself, he was already moving. The car door slammed shut behind him as he crossed the parking lot in quick, long steps.

"Elara?" She froze, looking at him, but didn't say anything. "Get in the car. I'll take you home," he said calmly. She stumbled, her eyes wide with shock. How did he even know her name? But then she remembered that almost everyone here knew her name because of her scholarship.

"No... I'll..." she couldn't finish her sentence. He reached forward, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her towards the car. Her body became stiff in his grip, as if she wanted to fight him, but after a quick second of hesitation, she let him drag her along. She didn't want to cause a scene.

Silence hung heavy between them as the car sped down the road. The engine's soft hum was the only sound filling the space. Elara sat stiffly, her arms on her thighs, her eyes fixed on the buildings and trees passing by outside the window. Damien kept his eyes on the road, his jaw tight, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

When he finally pulled up in front of a very fancy boutique, she stiffened. He got out of the car, opened the trunk, and handed her some simple slip-on shoes to wear. "Where are we going?" she asked, but he gave her a look that told her to stay quiet. She was slow to get out of the car, but he pulled her out, guiding her to the boutique.

Inside, the mood changed the moment they walked in. A saleswoman approached them. The woman's smile was overly polite, almost fake. "Right this way..." she said, leading them further into the store. "Choose any shoe that you want," Damien ordered Elara. She was a bit unsure, but his eyes spoke louder than his mouth, and she felt forced to walk forward. She saw shoes that looked like hers, and then she checked the price. Her eyes widened. She walked back to Damien immediately, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear.

"They are too expensive. Can't we check for a cheaper store? This is a designer store," she whispered. Damien looked at her, then walked to the saleswoman. "Those ones," he said, pointing to the shoes Elara had looked at, "we'll take five pairs." Elara was shocked; the saleswoman also seemed surprised but very happy. "Are you sure, sir? The same color?" she asked, and Damien nodded, handing her a black card. The saleswoman couldn't ask another question.

Elara had thought that after this, he was going to take her home. But the way the car was going said something else entirely. "My apartment is in the other direction," she said in a low voice. She had noticed that he got upset very quickly and didn't want to risk being thrown out of the car like a piece of luggage. He didn't say anything, and her hands started trembling. "Relax," he said, noticing her shaking hands that she was trying to hide.

He pulled up in front of a grand hotel. She swallowed hard when he got out of the car, and she stayed inside. He then stood for a few seconds, waiting for her to get out, but she stayed seated in the car. "Are you coming or not?" He had opened her door, and she nervously got out. The hotel doors loomed ahead, the golden light of the lobby spilling out onto the sidewalk. She was scared to even take a step forward. He looked at her, and when he saw her fear, he took her hand.

She looked at him more clearly now. His sharp, Korean-like features made him incredibly handsome, the kind of good looks that would make everyone stare without effort. Even now, in the soft lighting, he looked almost unreal. Her small hand felt tiny, like a baby's, in his much larger one. A waiter appeared and led them to a table. This was a very luxurious hotel. Elara felt too embarrassed to even look at the menu. She had never been to a place like this before. She felt so numb she couldn't even talk.

"What would you like to order?" the waitress asked Damien. "Just some water," he replied. Then she turned to Elara. "What about your girlfriend?" she asked. Damien gave the waitress an annoyed look, his eyes narrowing.

"She's not my girlfriend," he said sharply, not even bothering to listen as the waitress quickly apologized. The waitress then approached Elara with a warm smile. "What about you? What can I get you?"

"Water... I'll have water too... yeah," Elara said, smiling nervously. If Damien was ordering water, she would do the same. She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of him.

"Get the menu and order food," Damien said, almost like a command. Elara immediately picked up the menu and started looking, hoping to find something simple she would like. Then she spotted it.

"Kimchi fried rice with an egg and a matcha latte..." she said, sounding unsure, as if asking a question.

"Oh wow, I guessed right! You are Korean, aren't you? Your beauty says it all... Anyway, I'll be right back with your orders," the waitress said, walking away with a big smile.