Chapter 165 Let Them See
Chapter 165 Let Them See
The dangerous thing about feeling beautiful was that it made you forget, for one reckless second, how badly beautiful things could be punished.
I stood in front of the dorm mirror while Krizzy zipped the back of my dress, my hands pressed flat against my stomach like I could physically hold myself together.
The dress was soft blue, almost silver when the light touched it. It made me look calm. It made me look like a girl who had not spent the last hour staring at a screenshot designed to make her feel small.
Behind me, Krizzy pulled the zipper up carefully.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re holding your breath aggressively.”
I released the air in one uneven rush.
“Better?”
“You look less like you’re about to fight the mirror.”
“I might. It keeps showing me things.”
Krizzy’s eyes softened in the reflection.
“It’s showing you a girl who deserves to go tonight.”
My throat tightened. That was the problem. Deserving something did not mean Fletcher would let you have it.
At Fletcher, girls like Farrah did not need to push you down with their hands. They only had to tilt the room until everyone watched you slip.
My phone lay faceup on the desk, dark now, but I still felt the screenshot glowing from it. The caption. The hidden accusation. The way people could turn one dress, one invitation, one boy’s attention into proof that you had reached too high.
Krizzy followed my gaze.
“Don’t read it again.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re mentally reading it.”
“That feels like a personal attack.”
“It's a best-friend observation.”
I looked back at myself. My dress looked expensive. My pulse felt poor. But under the fear, something else stayed. Isaac’s voice in the stairwell.
Because I’m tired of everyone acting like wanting you is something I should apologize for.
Wanting you. I touched the edge of my necklace and made myself stand straighter. And tonight, I decided I would not arrive like an apology.
The Founder’s Ball was not held in a room. It was held in a statement.
The ballroom rose three stories high inside the old west wing of the Fletcher estate, all carved pillars, gold-veined marble, and chandeliers bright enough to make every nervous thought feel professionally lit.
Above the entrance, the academy crest had been woven into white roses and dark ivy, like even the flowers understood branding.
Krizzy and I stepped through the archway together. For one breath, I forgot how to move.
There were trustees near the portrait wall, donors in black suits and pearl earrings, legacy parents greeting each other with smiles that looked rehearsed by bloodline.
Students stood in polished clusters beneath the lights, glittering in satin, silk, and confidence they probably inherited with their last names.
No one looked messy. No one looked unsure. No one looked like they had practiced breathing in front of a dorm mirror. Krizzy leaned closer.
“Should I say something supportive or insulting?”
“Both, preferably.”
“You look stunning, and everyone here looks like they were assembled by a committee.”
A laugh slipped out of me, small but real. Then a camera flashed. My smile disappeared.
Near the side aisle, two students angled their phones too casually. Across the room, a girl whispered behind her glass, eyes sliding from my dress to my face like she was checking whether I had stolen both. Somewhere near the stairs, someone’s screen lit with a group chat too fast for me to read.
I did not need to read it. Fletcher had a way of speaking without volume.
Krizzy touched my elbow. “Don’t shrink.”
“I’m not.”
Staff moved along the edges of the ballroom with silver trays, quiet and efficient in black uniforms. My stomach pulled tight before I could stop it. I scanned faces too quickly, searching for my father and dreading finding him at the same time.
He was not there. Relief came first. Then guilt. Of course guilt came. It had excellent attendance.
“You okay?” Krizzy asked softly.
I nodded even though my heart was not participating. Then the room shifted. Not loudly. Not enough for anyone to admit it. But conversations thinned, heads turned, and the air changed shape around one polished corner of the ballroom.
Farrah Valdez stood near the founder’s portrait in a pale gold dress that made her look untouchable. She looked at me. Then she smiled.
Farrah’s smile did not move. That was how I knew it was deliberate. Krizzy’s fingers tightened around my elbow.
“Do not let her see you panic.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re blinking like your soul is trying to escape.”
A low whistle came from my right. Jake Shepard appeared beside Franco near one of the marble columns, looking between me and the room with shameless interest.
“Well,” Jake said, “this explains why the group chat is having a medical emergency.”
Franco’s gaze stayed on the ballroom.
“Not medical. Social.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It is.”
I tried to smile. “Good to know everyone is handling this normally.”
Franco looked at me then, his expression quiet in that unsettling way of his.
“No one handles a threat to the order normally.”
The words slid under my skin. Because that was what I was tonight. Not a girl in a blue dress. Not someone trying very hard not to tremble under chandeliers.
A threat.
Then the far side of the ballroom went still. I felt it before I saw him. Isaac Fletcher stood near the entrance to the inner hall, dressed in black, expression unreadable, one hand resting at his side like the room had no power over him at all.
His gaze found mine. Not the way everyone else looked at me. He looked at me like the noise had disappeared. For one second, he did not move.
Then he started walking. The room noticed immediately. Someone near the portrait wall stopped mid-sentence. Farrah’s smile sharpened by the smallest degree.
Isaac crossed the ballroom slowly, clearly, without looking away from me. Every step felt louder than music. By the time he reached me, my heart had forgotten every rule of survival.
He stopped close enough that the air changed.
“You came,” he said.
My voice almost failed. “You said I would.”
Something softer moved through his eyes.
“I hoped you would.”
The words hit harder than they should have. I looked past his shoulder. Everyone was watching. Trustees. Students.The entire room felt like a verdict waiting to happen.
“Everyone is staring,” I whispered.
Isaac did not turn around.
“Then let them see me walk to you first.”
My breath caught. For once, being seen did not feel like being exposed. It felt like someone had crossed a room full of judgment and decided I was worth the distance.
So I made myself stay. I did not step back. I did not look away.
Tonight, I could not hide.
And Isaac Fletcher did not look like he wanted me to. Across the ballroom, Farrah Valdez lifted her glass.
Like a toast.
Like a promise.