Chapter 164 The Night Before Everything
Chapter 164 The Night Before Everything
Tomorrow night had already started without me.
Fletcher Academy had stopped treating the Founder’s Ball like a dance. Now it felt like a verdict.
The corridors were full of garment bags, silver invitations, and girls checking their reflections in dark window glass like beauty was something they could still improve before tomorrow.
Near the Assembly Hall, staff arranged white roses in tall vases. Gold ribbons curled over the entrance tables. Name cards waited in perfect stacks, already deciding who sat close to power and who was placed near the edge.
Tomorrow, people would walk into that room wearing silk, diamonds, family names, and confidence they had inherited before they could spell it.
I would walk in wearing courage I wasn’t sure belonged to me yet.
Hopefully it fit.
“Clara.”
Krizzy caught up beside me, slightly breathless.
Across the corridor, two legacy girls near the notice display turned their heads. One whispered behind her phone. The other smiled without showing teeth.
Krizzy’s expression sharpened.
“Don’t absorb them emotionally.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were. I saw it happen.”
Before I could answer, Lecture Room Three opened. Ms. Arden stepped out with a clipboard pressed to her chest, looking exactly like the kind of woman who could turn breathing into a graded activity.
“Inside,” she said. “Final conduct briefing before tomorrow’s Founder’s Ball.”
A low groan moved through the students. Ms. Arden lifted one brow. The groan died immediately.
Krizzy leaned toward me. “I respect terrifying women.”
We filed in with everyone else.
The room filled by instinct: legacies in the center, elites close enough to be noticed, scholars scattered near the sides like footnotes in expensive shoes.
I took a seat halfway down. Krizzy dropped beside me. Ms. Arden stood at the front, heels aligned, expression clean and merciless.
“Tomorrow evening is not a costume party,” she said. “It is not a dating spectacle. It is not an opportunity for public embarrassment.”
My stomach tightened.
“Every student present will represent Fletcher Academy in front of trustees, alumni families, sponsors, and invited guests.”
Her gaze moved across the room.
“For some of you, this will be familiar. For others, it will be a test.”
I knew she wasn’t looking only at me. Still, I felt seen. Not the way Isaac made me feel seen.
This was different.
This was a spotlight with teeth.
Ms. Arden’s clipboard tilted slightly.
“Seating assignments will be finalized this afternoon,” she continued. “Do not switch tables. Do not adjust your placement. And do not embarrass your families, your sponsors, or this institution.”
Around me, students shifted with bored confidence, like this was another lesson on posture and silverware instead of a reminder that some futures came with conditions.
Krizzy’s knee bumped mine.
“You okay?” she whispered.
I nodded once.
A lie, but an efficient one.
Ms. Arden moved on to arrival order, photography rules, donor etiquette, and the exact point where conversation became “socially excessive.”
Fletcher had rules for everything.
When the briefing ended, students rose in a rush of perfume, blazers, and low voices. I had barely zipped my bag when someone behind us laughed.
“Imagine needing a reminder not to embarrass the school.”
Another voice answered, quieter but sharper.
“Some people need help with everything.”
Krizzy turned. I caught her sleeve.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes flashed. “I haven’t said anything.”
“You were preparing.”
“I was preparing responsibly.”
I pulled her into the corridor before responsibility became verbal assault. Outside, the noise had changed.
Screens lit up. Heads bent together. A few students glanced at me, then at their phones, then back again. My stomach dropped before I understood why.
Krizzy stopped walking.
“Oh, no.”
I looked at her. “What?”
Krizzy didn’t answer. Her face had already changed. She turned her phone toward me. At the top of the screen was the anonymous Fletcher account everyone pretended not to follow.
FLETCHER AFTER DARK
Under it was a blurred photo from the side corridor behind the Assembly Hall. A boy standing too close. A girl looking up at him.
Me.
My breath stopped. Then I read the caption.
Some girls don’t need a crown.
They just borrow a prince.
The corridor noise thinned. All I could hear was Isaac’s voice from yesterday. Farrah had heard enough to know where to aim.
Krizzy’s voice dropped. “I swear, if I see Farrah tomorrow—”
“Don’t.”
“She’s trying to get in your head.”
“I know.”
“Is it working?”
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
That was the problem.
Farrah knew exactly which door to knock on.
My phone buzzed before I could decide whether I wanted to throw it or bury it.
Isaac: Where are you?
I stared at his name.
Krizzy glanced down. “He knows?”
“I don’t know.”
I typed back before I could overthink it.
Me: East stairwell.
He found me three minutes later, still in uniform, sleeves neat, expression controlled. But his eyes went straight to my face, then to the phone in my hand.
“What did she do?”
I tried to laugh. It failed. “You make that sound like a category.”
“With Farrah, it usually is.”
I showed him the post.
He read it once. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t take the phone from me. He didn’t touch the screen, didn’t storm away, didn’t make the mistake of treating my panic like something he could simply handle for me.
He looked at me instead.
“Don’t let her decide tomorrow before we even get there.”
“You make that sound easy.”
“It isn’t.”
My throat felt tight. “Then why are we doing this?”
For a second, the stairwell seemed to hold still. Then Isaac said, low and clear,
“Because I’m tired of everyone acting like wanting you is something I should apologize for.”
The words landed so hard I forgot how to breathe.
Wanting you.
Not protecting. Not pitying. Not choosing me quietly where no one could object.
Wanting.
I looked away first because my heart had become embarrassing and public, even in an empty stairwell.
“Tomorrow, everyone will be watching,” I said.
“I know.”
“And if this gets worse?”
“It will.”
I looked back at him. He stepped closer, but stopped before touching me. Letting me choose the distance.
“I’m not asking you to prove you belong,” he said.
“Then what are you asking?”
“Walk in because you chose to. Not because they scared you into staying away.”
That was the problem with Isaac Fletcher. Sometimes he said things like commands. And sometimes he said things like he was handing me the only piece of courage I could actually carry.
That night, my dress hung from the wardrobe door, soft and impossible-looking under the dorm light. On my bed, my phone still showed the screenshot.
In my head, Isaac’s voice stayed louder.
Wanting you.
Tomorrow, I would walk into a room built to remind me I did not belong. But this time, I would not walk in invisible.
I did not know if that made me brave. Or stupid.
Maybe both.
All I knew was that Farrah had chosen her stage. Isaac had chosen his side.
And tomorrow night, everything would change.
The only question was what would survive it.