Chapter 1 The Perfect Girl Bleeds

The house always smelled like overcooked noodles and body spray.

Zahra Hart stood in front of the cracked hallway mirror, adjusting her collar until it was perfectly centered. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and studied herself. Her reflection stared back: composed, symmetrical, still.

Flawless.

Or at least, that's what everyone had to believe.

Her dark brown eyes were lined with just enough kohl to distract from the tiredness underneath. Her braids were slicked back into a bun - neat, tight, not a single strand out of place. Her brows were brushed, her lips lightly glossed. Her face didn't show how little she'd slept. Her body didn't show how heavy everything felt.

Because it couldn't.

Falling apart wasn't an option.

Not in a house like this.

Not in a life like hers.

"Zahraaaa!"

A loud clatter followed the voice - a cup knocked over, something glass shattering.

She closed her eyes for a beat, letting the shout echo through her bones.

"In the kitchen!" the voice called again. "Korede spilled the Milo! Again!"

Zahra sighed. Same chaos, different day.

She slipped her arms through the straps of her school bag and stepped into her worn black sneakers. The hallway walls were stained from years of rainy season leaks. A faded "God is Able" sticker clung to the doorframe like it, too, was tired of holding on.

In the kitchen, Tiwa - her 14-year-old sister - was already wiping chocolate powder off the counter, her sleeves rolled up, face shiny with heat and frustration. She looked just like Zahra, only with chipped polish on her nails and that gap-toothed smile she hadn't grown out of.

"Korede, seriously?" Zahra said.

Her ten-year-old brother stood stiffly beside the mess, eyes downcast, arms crossed like a soldier ready to be yelled at.

"I just wanted to make some for Sade," he muttered, gesturing at their younger sister. Sade stood barefoot by the fridge, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her tiny fists clutching a plastic cup.

Zahra didn't yell. She didn't sigh again, either. She grabbed a rag, crouched, and started cleaning. That was just how things worked here.

"Thanks," Tiwa said quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway. "Mum already left. Left really early."

Of course she had.

By the time Zahra zipped up the last lunch bag and found matching socks for Moyo, the five-year-old, it was nearly 7:30. She repacked Sade's hair - again - and wiped a milk stain off her uniform before finally heading out the door.

She didn't complain.

Perfect daughters don't.

At school, everything looked shinier. Newer. Easier.

The gates swung open, and Zahra stepped through like she always did - back straight, smile ready. She wore confidence like perfume.

Her name echoed in little whispers.

"Zahra Hart. Always polished."

"Does she ever look tired?"

"She's like a main character, fr."

She didn't respond. She didn't need to. She just smiled - the kind that said she didn't hear them, even though she did. The kind that didn't reach her eyes.

If only they knew how long it took to look "effortless." If only they knew how tight her chest got sometimes when she was alone, or how her legs ached from standing too long in queues trying to buy bread after school.

But Zahra had built something here. A reputation. A role. She was the golden girl. The girl who always knew the answer. The girl who always smiled back.

She couldn't afford to crack.

And then he appeared.

Leaning lazily against her locker, hoodie up, head bent over his phone like this wasn't his scene - like the world spun too slow for him.

Jordan Lane.

Her first love. Her biggest distraction.

They'd known each other since Primary 5 - back when she used to laugh with her teeth out and he wore his school shorts too big. Things were different now. Jordan had grown into his jawline, into his swagger. He wore confidence like a second skin, and that smile? Still crooked. Still dangerous.

"Still doing the superhero act, Hart?" he asked, glancing at her from under his lashes.

"Still trying to be mysterious, Lane?" she replied, her voice cool.

He chuckled, and it sent a jolt through her ribs. She hated that.

She loved that.

She didn't even know anymore.

Before she could say more, someone brushed past her. Fast. Cold.

Tyler.

The new guy. The one with shadows in his eyes. The one who never laughed, never spoke unless called on. There was something sharp about him, like he was always listening. Like he already knew too much.

She flinched slightly as he passed. He didn't look back.

"Zahraaaaa!"

A honey-sweet voice cut through the hallway noise.

Aaliyah.

She bounced toward her in her pink cropped jacket and silver hoop earrings, her curls bouncing with her. Her smile sparkled. Everyone loved her.

Zahra used to, too. Back before things got... messy.

"You okay?" Aaliyah asked, linking their arms.

"I'm fine," Zahra said.

"You look tired."

"I said I'm fine."

Aaliyah tilted her head, voice dipping lower. "Jordan's been texting someone new."

Zahra's heart twisted.

She didn't ask who.

She didn't have to.

Aaliyah's smile didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened.

By lunch, something felt wrong.

She approached her locker like it might bite her.

And then she saw them.

Rose petals.

Red. Scattered like a ritual. Like a warning.

And taped to her locker:

"Even flawless girls crack.

Can't wait to watch you break."

- J

Zahra froze.

For a full five seconds, she couldn't breathe. Her hand reached for the note on instinct, but her heart had already hit her ribs like a drumline.

The handwriting was clean. Too clean. Like whoever wrote it wasn't in a rush. Like they wanted her to read every word.

Her fingers curled around the paper slowly. Behind her, laughter - light, distant.

She turned.

Nothing.

No one suspicious. Not even Aaliyah, who stood a few feet away, sipping her apple juice with the ease of someone unbothered.

Zahra looked down at the petals again.

Then at the name. Or rather, the letter.

J.

Jordan?

Jayden?

A prank? A threat?

She didn't know.

But something told her this wasn't random.

Someone knew who she was beneath the makeup and speeches. Someone saw past the perfect hair, the perfect grades, the perfect lies.

And that someone had just declared war.

She tucked the note into her bag, her hands shaking just slightly.

The mask slipped - just a little.

A fine, hairline crack.

This year wasn't going to be like the others.

It had already begun breaking.